I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

They observed each other from a distance—though she had a feeling that the other person's eyes were closed, and wondered if he was blind. This was not surprising, as it was common knowledge that there were three professions with the highest proportion of blind people: musicians, fortune tellers, and, third, third... third were StarCraft players.

Unable to come up with three whole numbers at once, she randomly filled in one in her mind. Guinevere felt incredibly bored, then she saw the other person open his eyes a crack in the distance, looking in their direction with a slight moment of surprise. With a "tinkle," he plucked the bowstring, producing a sound similar to a harp, which made Guinevere realize what the music from earlier had been.

"Alas... Even though the opponent was a demonic boar, to allow others to see such a wretched state, especially such a beautiful lady, is truly..." As the music began, the man sighed, "...It's heartbreaking." As if he might burst into song at any moment, the man placed his hands on the bowstrings, his tone tinged with sorrow.

But Guinevere was no ordinary person; she had played at least eighty or a hundred games back in the day, and was long accustomed to the bard's inarticulate nature. She nodded, displaying a calm demeanor befitting someone who had seen it all, and with a swift movement… hid behind Artoria.

Being used to this kind of persona doesn't mean she's good at dealing with them. She'd encountered this type before in the castle—they'd start by calling her a beautiful lady, and then naturally move on to kiss her hand. She'd met quite a few like them, and even fought off quite a few… But looking at Artoria's profile, she suddenly remembered a story about King Arthur she'd read in her past life. The knights in that story were indiscriminate, kissing men without hesitation.

Especially Tristan and Lancelot, who are famous for their tragic love story, "took off their helmets and kissed each other a hundred times" at the slightest disagreement. Thinking of this, he suddenly shuddered and quickly moved to block Artoria's way.

The other two looked at her with suspicion as she darted back and forth, unsure of what she was doing. The red-haired man approached, his limp despite his injuries, yet his pace was still quite fast. Upon reaching her, he made no move to kiss her hand or cheek, but instead gave a polite bow: "My name is Tristan, a knight loyal to King Marco. I came to investigate after hearing about the demonic boar attacking people here… Are you two also here because of this demonic boar?"

But the next moment, after he gave his name, he noticed that the strange girl was looking at him even more strangely... and he didn't know if it was his imagination, but the girl seemed to be intentionally blocking the androgynous-looking boy, and perhaps even the boy himself didn't realize it, subconsciously putting on an expression that was almost threatening.

He looked somewhat like a puppy guarding its food.

As a knight of impeccable manners, he naturally wouldn't reveal such impolite thoughts. On the other hand, this inexplicable wariness also caused him a slight sense of frustration. If the girl was simply being cautious, it wouldn't be so bad, but it seemed that she was more worried about what he might do to the boy than about her own safety.

...It's truly heartbreaking.

Guinevere, realizing that the other party had no intention of making physical contact, lowered her guard. She finally remembered why she felt familiar with Marco, the King of Cornwall—not because of a character from the Whitebeard Pirates, nor because she had heard her father and others mention him, but because of the person before her.

Tristan.

As mentioned before, the language used in this world is similar to modern English, but not identical. As for whether Old English on the Moon is exactly the same as Old English on Earth, the transmigrator in her previous life wasn't interested in this topic and hadn't delved into it, so she couldn't answer that question. In any case, language is always a tool for communication; knowing how but not why, one still uses it as is. However, when thinking or talking to herself, Guinevere still habitually used her mother tongue from her previous life.

That's why she immediately associated the name with an image in her mind. The knight before her, whose name, translated into Chinese, would be Tristan, or, in a more down-to-earth version, Cui Sitong. A famous figure in later generations, one of the Knights of the Round Table, but what is truly widely known is not how he bravely fought and defeated his enemies, but the tragic love story between this handsome man and two women named Isolde.

One of the two women, Princess Isolde—often referred to as "the blonde Isolde" for clarity, and the other "the white-handed Isolde"—is Tristan's uncle and King Marco's fiancée. In one version of the story, the uncle and nephew have an extremely close relationship, like father and son, but they part ways because they both fall in love with the same woman. In other versions, King Marco is portrayed as a narrow-minded villain who repeatedly plots to harm Tristan, but his schemes are thwarted by the other Knights of the Round Table, ultimately leading to his banishment from the court and Tristan's formal entry into King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table.

She wasn't sure which version of the world was using, but considering the image of the king described by the druid uncle, Guinevere currently leaned towards the latter. But what excited her even more than that was—

"Following Hector and Kai, this is the fourth one with a name!"

"Does it have a name?"

"It's nothing, nothing." Hearing Artoria's question, she waved her hand, then her gaze towards the red-haired youth softened considerably. Looking closer, the young man was indeed quite handsome, but still not as striking as Artoria: "My name is Fina. This is my companion..."

Having received instruction from several professional teachers, she naturally handled such simple etiquette flawlessly. She introduced herself readily, explaining that they were traveling together, exploring various countries to broaden their horizons, and had come across the demonic boar upon hearing its legend, intending to rid the people of this scourge—both wore swords at their waists, indicating that regardless of their actual skill level, they possessed at least some martial arts abilities. There was no need to hide this, nor was there any point in concealing it. After they finished speaking, Tristan sighed, "I've unintentionally stolen your opportunity to shine."

However, this statement was mostly meant as a joke.

Artoria smiled slightly; "You were a great help. Even if the two of us joined forces, we might not have a chance of winning against a boar of this size, yet you were able to defeat it all by yourself... That's truly remarkable."

“Nothing special, just a mere demon boar, and it’s turned into this state… Sigh, the thought that from now on, when you two hear the name Tristan, you’ll picture this blood-soaked, wretched figure makes me very depressed.” He plucked the bowstring again, and the harp began to play. This time, it wasn’t just a single note; even though it was intermittent, it was still a complete melody.

But the words came back again.

The feeling of talking while having background music playing in the background is actually quite nice. Should she try learning a musical instrument or two...? Guinevere began to seriously consider it. However, at that very moment, the bloody scent in the forest, which had been gradually fading over time, suddenly became intense again.

At the same time, an indescribable feeling suddenly surged up, and her heart skipped a beat. Guinevere came to her senses and saw that the light was bright overhead, and a dazzling halo hung on the branches. The sunlight, cut into small pieces, shone down and fell on her, but it did not bring her any warmth.

"Al, I have a question I'd like to ask you..."

With a downward press of his palm, "whoosh—" half of the sword was drawn, the edge of the blade flashing with a fleeting, cold light. But on the mirror-like surface of the sword, an unbelievable scene was reflected...

It was the demonic boar lying in a pool of blood. At that moment, its short, thick hooves seemed to twitch slightly…

"You pigs from the South..."

He took two steps back and stood side by side with Artoria. On the other side, a knight named Tristan held a harp bow in his hand, his gaze gradually becoming serious.

The demonic boar was covered in dozens, even hundreds, of wounds. The deep, knife-like gash on its forehead even exposed the bone. From any angle, it was undeniably dead. But now, under the gaze of three pairs of eyes, the ripples on the pool of blood grew increasingly violent, and the wretched boar, swaying, was indeed slowly... rising to its feet.

……

"what--"

The short spear thrust out, pinning a dark figure to a tree. Before it could be withdrawn, the figure had already turned into dust with a "sizzling" sound. Uru reached out and grabbed a small clump of dust, which, when turned over, was purplish-black and shimmered with an eerie light in his palm.

"What the hell is this thing...?"

He was worried about the safety of the two young men and returned to the village. However, he turned back, thinking that if the two were no match for him, he could meet them on the way. If the two were to die or escape to another place with the cloak, he should be able to hold off the demonic boar for a short time and give the villagers a chance to escape.

He waited and waited at the edge of the forest, hearing a rumbling sound from within, followed by silence. He had no idea what had happened; neither Fina nor Altos came out, nor did the enraged boar appear. Filled with questions, this mixture of anticipation and unease persisted until just now… Suddenly, monsters burst forth from the forest…

Countless purplish-black powders swirled and danced in the air. Uru, gripping his short spear, took a couple of breaths, then suddenly seemed to sense something. He whirled around and saw a figure formed from the dust appear out of thin air, thrusting a spear at him—this thrust was a familiar move: "Angus!?"

With a tone of surprise and doubt, Angus, the village chief's eldest son, was twenty-four years old and the most skilled fighter in the village. He had studied martial arts under him for a period of time, and the spear thrust—the technique of force generation and the attack point—was something Uru had personally taught him, leaving a deep impression on him. Upon seeing it, he immediately exclaimed in surprise. At the same time, a whooshing sound suddenly rang out behind them, and something heavy came rushing in!

With a loud "bang," his body was thrown off the ground and flew out!

……

Guinevere opened her mouth slightly, looking somewhat dazed.

pat!

A piece of flesh fell from the standing demonic boar's corpse, splattering a few drops of blood. Then came a second piece, a third, as the boar's body swayed incessantly, its flesh falling to the ground like raindrops.

The three of them stared at the scene, unsure of what to do. In the blink of an eye, all that remained was a stark white skeleton. The flesh that had been ripped from the body fell into the pool of blood, but suddenly emitted a strange "squeaking" sound, and white smoke billowed out. Hundreds of pounds of flesh and skin had vanished without a trace in the blink of an eye, leaving no trace of its existence.

A massive, complete skeleton of a demonic boar stood before the three. It looked like a museum specimen, but the next moment, the skeleton suddenly raised its upper body, stomped its front hooves, causing the earth to tremble and dust to billow, and the skeletal head turned towards them, letting out a silent roar—

"...Do all the pigs in the South have a second transformation?"

P.S.: I give up! Lu Xun once said, "If you can't solve a problem, then eliminate the problem itself!" So I changed the titles of the previous chapters, and the problem disappeared~ Tsk tsk tsk, why am I so clever? I'm truly terrified of my own wisdom—ah—ah—

Please add this to your favorites and vote with monthly tickets. Remember to give it a recommendation vote after you've finished reading!

Chapter Twenty-Two: We don't have pigs like this in the South.

Boom—Bang!

A deafening roar, like thunder, swept through the entire forest. The gigantic, boar-like skeleton flew through the air in a wide arc, crashing through countless trees, kicking up dust, scattering leaves and breaking branches, before crashing back several meters away with a thunderous thud. Only then did Artoria sheath her sword, stand there, and exhale a breath.

The three stood side by side, confronting the "resurrected" boar, now just a skeleton, for a moment. The boar charged forward first, but before Tristan and Guinevere could make a move, Artoria, standing in the middle, drew her sword and stepped forward, the ordinary iron sword whipping at them like a whip.

Although its name is Demon Boar, it only resembles the wild boars Guinevere from her previous life in appearance; its size is vastly different. An ordinary Demon Boar is about a size larger than a calf, and while a skilled knight or a dozen or twenty strong men could subdue it, they would inevitably suffer injuries. This Demon Boar, however, is almost the size of a young elephant, its massive size making it appear like a dark cloud looming over the area, obscuring the sky—this is not a figure of speech, but a fact.

But Artoria's sword strike sent the terrifying beast flying, hurtling several meters like a meteor. At that moment, not only Guinevere, but even Tristan's half-closed eyes snapped open—while he could also block the boar's charge, he could never have done it with such ferocity and dominance.

Moreover, with his perspective, he naturally understood that the opponent was not using brute force.

The moment the sword was drawn, an immense surge of magic gathered from that frail body with each breath, enveloping the iron sword about to be swung—this was the technique of releasing magic. Releasing magic itself was not a profound or complex spell; it was simply about channeling magic when needed to enhance the capabilities of the weapon and the body.

But to achieve such proficiency as the other person, being able to fully mobilize magical power within one's body in a single breath, requires both diligent practice and innate talent. And most importantly… even if an ordinary person masters this magic, due to inherent limitations, the amount of magical power they can use and mobilize is ultimately limited; at best, it's merely icing on the cake. If the original power is ten, reaching twelve or thirteen after releasing magical power is already quite remarkable. But this thin young man before me… it's not just a difference between ten and thirteen. That sword strike just now was like suddenly adding a hundred or two hundred to the original ten… perhaps only the legendary, long-extinct dragons could possess such an astonishing total amount of magical power.

Compared to him, Guinevere had the games she played in her past life as a foundation, so she wasn't particularly surprised. But the visual impact still momentarily stunned her, and then a wry smile crossed her mind: "No wonder he ate so much..."

But then Artoria turned around, seemingly wanting to say something, and suddenly froze. Guinevere, feeling a little guilty about her earlier thoughts, blinked, then noticed the unusual expression: "That's..."

Turning her head to look in the opposite direction where the demonic boar had been cleaved away, the trees in that direction were still intact—but this was relative; the wind rustled the leaves, and in the sound, it seemed as if a black figure flashed by. It almost made one wonder if they were seeing things, but Guinevere raised her left hand, and green leaves appeared. A strange wind swirled and dispersed around her, like a gentle ripple spreading across a lake. She closed her eyes, and after a moment, "Six, seven, eight, eight strange fellows, not living people. They're heading down the mountain. That druid uncle is holding them off… He's no match for them, there's danger… What should we do?"

"Lord Tristan, knowing that your opponents are strange, can you fight eight against one?"

Without much hesitation, within seconds, Artoria looked at the knight holding the bow and asked a question. The knight plucked a string, seemingly just playing a few notes on a whim, but as the notes danced on his fingertips, two sharp cracks rang out, and several more trees snapped and fell, revealing the dark shadow that had been glimpsed only moments before. The figure, seemingly formed from ink, took a few more steps forward, as if crashing into an invisible blade. Its body was suddenly split in two at the waist. No blood flowed out; the entire shadow exploded, splattering countless "ink" droplets onto the ground and trees, before vanishing without a trace in the next instant.

Then he replied, "If there were another zero after this number, I wouldn't be very confident."

That was an amusing reply, and Guinevere laughed too: "I don't think so."

"Then I'll head over now. You two should be careful... It's tough to crack, so be careful not to break your teeth." After saying this, the red-haired knight bowed and turned to leave, decisive and straightforward, without any hesitation.

The remaining two exchanged a glance: "What should we do?" Guinevere asked again. After all, she didn't have much practical combat experience. Scotland had been peaceful for a long time, and she usually sparred with the knights under her father's command. Naturally, they always stopped short of serious injury. At worst, they would get bruised and swollen, but they would never fight until they bled.

Occasionally, there would be minor skirmishes with the Picts on the northern border, with a dozen or twenty people fighting each time, leaving behind a few corpses. These skirmishes were mainly handled by Pat and Clarke, among others, to give Pat an opportunity to earn military merit and increase his standing for the throne. Even without this consideration, the King of Scotland, who cherished his youngest daughter dearly, would never have allowed her to go to the battlefield and fight to the death.

Now, having traveled south without concealing her identity as a woman and traveling alone, the sword at her waist had frightened away some and attracted a few bandits, but they were all lowly individuals. Relying on the sharpness of her sword, she easily broke their weapons with a few quick movements, and with a few sword flourishes, she arrived safely at the town where the king selection ceremony was to be held, without even having to use the Nine Witches' Holy Seal. As for practical combat experience, Guinevere knew her own limitations; not to mention others, even the person before her, Artoria, was no match for her.

After all, the two had discussed this topic before going to sleep, and learned that Artoria had been patrolling around the town for the past two years, and had also fought against small groups of thieves and Saxon scouts, so she did indeed have experience in battlefield combat. Because of this, although Artoria's personality was relatively introverted and she usually dealt with outsiders, she automatically and consciously gave up the initiative in this situation.

Artoria nodded. "Anyway, we need to know the reason first. Why would a supposedly dead boar stand up like this..." The two continued walking, chasing after the direction the boar had fallen. The ground was littered with broken branches and leaves, but they moved as if on flat ground. Guinevere ran while using the wind to probe their surroundings, exchanging brief words with Artoria: "The boar itself was special, or it was due to external forces. Artoria, which do you think is more likely?"

"Let's consider the second option first. Do you have any leads on external forces?"

“I know a way to manipulate clay golems. It seems to be a kind of runic magic…” As he spoke, his eyes lit up. Most of the trees around him were lying on the ground, making the small area in front of him seem exceptionally open. The huge skeleton was struggling to get up, and before it could even stand up, the two of them rushed out of the forest. The demonic boar seemed to have sensed the commotion as well. With all its organs gone and only bones remaining, it was hard to imagine how it could sense its surroundings… But thinking about these questions in a fantasy world was just asking for trouble.

But before the boar could even assume a wary stance and make a move, Artoria swung her iron sword, striking first with another heavy blow to its forehead. Her two strikes, seemingly casual, had actually hit the boar's skull. Earlier, Tristan's attack had not only torn its flesh but also left a shallow crack in its bone. These two all-out strikes were aimed at this "old wound." New wound, old injury—the iron sword struck down with a crisp crack, and the bone snapped!

Bone fragments flew wildly as she dodged to the side. The boar's forehead bone was broken, and its body was thrown back by the force of the iron sword. With a "boom," its short, thick hooves dragged four shallow grooves into the ground. As Artoria dodged to the side, Guinevere raised her right hand and pressed it down. With that press, the raging wind transformed into a long, blue whip that wrapped directly around the boar's front hooves. Her strength was very much in line with people's perception of girls of this age, and she didn't have the kind of cheat codes that Artoria had. In fact, Guinevere had tested herself and found that she only had about twenty magic circuits in her body, seven fewer than a certain young man named Emiya. It might be a little embarrassing to say that.

However, at that moment, seizing the instant the demonic boar lost its balance, she swung the wind whip, guiding it slightly in the direction of the force. Without much effort, the enormous elephant-like skeleton was sent hurtling up like a meteor hammer. Guinevere gripped the wind whip tightly with both hands, her body staggering and spinning several times under the centrifugal force, letting out a loud "Hey!"—she thought it sounded quite imposing, but the actual sound she made could only be described as cute—and the demonic boar was once again sent flying with a thunderous crash.

From the moment it charged forward to the moment it was over, only a blink of an eye passed. No matter how enormous its size, in such a rush, it posed no real threat to the two. But Guinevere bit her lip, her expression grave. Looking to the side, Artoria wore the same expression: in the instant the boar was thrown, they had definitely noticed—

The severed bones were restored to their original state in the short time it took for the two attackers to switch places.

"You pigs from the south..."

"We don't have pigs like this in the south either."

Guinevere smirked, "Al, you've improved. You can even answer questions faster now..." She paused, her tone becoming more serious, "If this pig naturally possesses this kind of regenerative ability, that would be terrifying... but it doesn't seem like it. We can't kill it, and ignoring it will only cause trouble if it goes on a rampage through the village... You stay here and hold off the demonic boar while I look for any nearby mechanisms or spells, okay?"

Artoria didn't speak, but simply nodded slightly. Holding her iron sword, she took a step forward. In the shadows not far away, the white bones stood stark, and the figure of the demonic boar slowly came into view. She swung her longsword: "Go quickly and come back quickly."

"I'll try my best. If you can't wait, you can gnaw on a couple of its bones first—"

The girl dressed as a boy rolled her eyes at his words. Guinevere chuckled, still holding the whip formed from wind in her hand. She flicked it to the right, catching it on a forked branch at the farthest point, and then swung off in that direction. With a few sways and the unnatural wind propelling her, her petite figure disappeared like a swing...

P.S.: Actually, I hesitated for a long time before deciding to update. It's Sunday, and everyone has worked so hard at work and school. They finally have a holiday, and they're already busy having so much fun. How could I possibly take up even more of their precious time with my clumsy writing? That wouldn't be right!

So I was originally planning to take the day off and not update today.

……

But because I felt I'd get beaten up if I said this was the real reason for taking leave, I shamelessly wrote a chapter anyway. Ahem, please recommend, vote, and add to your favorites!

Chapter Twenty-Three: Heroes of the Past (Part 1)

The wind swirled through the woods, swirling leaves up and then falling. Birds perched on branches were suddenly pulled downwards, frantically flapping their wings, yet still swept away by the swirling wind, spinning involuntarily several times, until, at some point, a soft exclamation seemed to drift through the wind: "Ah..."

It sounded as if surprised, yet also a little amused. But the bird couldn't discern the specific meaning behind the tone. In the next moment, the inexplicable wind suddenly lifted, and it hurriedly flew into the sky, dropping a few feathers, which were then caught in the wind and continued to swirl around in circles.

The same scene unfolded in other corners of the forest. If someone were to look down from the air, they might form the impression that an invisible giant reached out and swept the entire forest from left to right, before a sudden gust of wind swept in, tilting everything to one side.

A general outline gradually took shape in his mind as the wind carried it forward. Tristan met up with the druid uncle, who was injured and limping, his life hanging in the balance. His harp bow rang out, dragging the eight strange shadows to their feet... A voice also came through, but it was unclear, like a radio program with a broken channel, accompanied by hissing interference: "Life and death are separate paths, you must not go any further... In lieu of death, let me play a requiem for you all..."

She twitched her lips, no longer paying attention to what was happening there. Artoria… oh, she was currently engaged in a direct confrontation with the demonic boar. It seemed she wasn't at a disadvantage for the time being. Come to think of it, she hadn't actually taken the bones to gnaw on; she didn't know if she thought there wasn't enough meat on them or if she wasn't hungry enough… She thought someone shouted "Disrespectful!" beside her ear, but it must have been her imagination. The wind howled, figures rushed by, sunlight shone through the treetops, and the light filtered through the branches and leaves, casting shadows. The girl stopped in the shade of a tree.

The trees ahead were relatively sparse, revealing a clearing where five stones lay scattered—two large and three small. At first glance, they seemed unremarkable, but in the perception of the wind, this was the only place where everything was empty. Those stones were like black holes; the wind swept past them, and they instantly lost all connection. And having searched the entire mountain and the entire forest, if there was anything strange about this place, it was only here…

He rummaged in the small pouch at his waist, took out a tree seed, and casually tossed it. The seed traced a high arc in the air, and at its highest point, it flashed green light and transformed into a large, sky-blue cloth, fluttering as it fell towards the center of the pile of stones. Guinevere stared intently ahead, but until the cloth landed on the ground, nothing happened; no spells or mechanisms were triggered.

"what happened……"

She muttered something under her breath, then pressed down hard on the back of her hand. The surrounding air suddenly expanded, and something resembling a bullet shot out, its target the clearing between the rocks—

boom!

The wind bullet seemed to have struck an invisible barrier, and visible ripples immediately spread outwards from the point of impact. Her two small eyebrows furrowed slightly; "A magical barrier?" There was a hint of joy in her voice. In fact, this was exactly the development she had hoped for—someone had set up a barrier here. Why? Barriers are generally used to trap or protect something. In this desolate wilderness, deep in the mountains, setting up a barrier could be either one or the other. But considering that strange demonic boar, which could still stand and move even as a skeleton, and those shadows formed from strange black dust…

She patted the tree trunk beside her with her left hand, then flicked her fingers with a flourish...nothing. Guinevere pouted, slightly frustrated, but the gesture wasn't really necessary; it was just for adding a touch of style. Success would be great, and with no one around, failure wasn't shameful. But then, a thought struck her, and the large blue cloth in the pile of stones suddenly billowed up, waving in the air with a "whoosh—".

The next moment.

The small figure that had been standing under the shade of the tree vanished without a trace. In its place, a hand grasped the edge of the blue cloth, lifted it, and with a shift in light and shadow, Guinevere appeared out of thin air amidst the pile of stones. She held the corner of the cloth and gently waved it, and the cloak-sized piece of cloth transformed back into a tiny seed, lying in her palm.

She then flicked her finger, sending the seed flying forward in an arc. With a bang, it crashed into the invisible barrier once more, flew back, and was caught by the girl again.

"The barrier remains..."

With a vague idea forming in her mind, Guinevere scanned her surroundings and, sure enough, spotted some scribbled and peculiar symbols on the inside of several stones. She could sense a faint magical energy emanating from them, a similar aura to that of the skeletal boar and the black dust monster currently battling Tristan and his companion. This must be the key to the anomaly, she thought.

In her past life, my sister was extremely interested in this and once vowed to become an international-level fortune teller. She also dragged him to study it for a while, and most of it was related to divination, such as astrology and tarot cards, which also included runes.

Of course, the runes from her previous life were mostly devoid of any extraordinary effects. And in this life, she had no opportunity to come into contact with related people or things. It's said that the magic of runes was lost over a hundred years ago, and the last and most famous user was the Irish Child of Light, Cú Chulainn. It's unclear whether this Cú Chulainn is the guy in the tight-fitting suit who wielded a magic spear said to kill anyone who touched it, yet could never kill anyone but himself. But since Artoria is there, it must be him. In any case, this hound was a figure from four hundred years ago, long since dead, so there's no need to mention him again.

Returning to the runes, the runes of the two worlds might differ, and the runes used 1,500 years later would certainly not be exactly the same as those she remembered, but there must be some commonalities. She then carefully examined the runes on the stone, comparing them to her memories, muttering to herself, "Ansaz, Ingwaz... Nau... thiz... What are these things? The handwriting is so messy, which medical student transmigrated here..."

The handwriting was extremely messy, and coupled with the need to focus on the battles in the other two locations, Guinevere couldn't immediately figure out what the runes meant. She pondered for a moment, then snapped her fingers again—still no longer—and her figure vanished. The branches and leaves swayed, and the light filtering through the gaps shifted its direction. A beam of light slanted down, dispelling the darkness, and the girl, as if she had always been standing there, emerged from the shadows. It was precisely where she had just been standing.

They can move freely, without any restrictions on their movement from the outside in or vice versa. This is strange... Generally speaking, barriers in this world are easier to break from the inside. Therefore, no matter what school of magic is passed down, they will not overlook this point. Even if they cannot completely isolate space—and not many people can truly do this—most will set up some trigger mechanisms inside the barrier, which will be activated immediately when someone moves in, catching the opponent off guard.

She was mentally prepared for a sneak attack, but it felt like punching cotton, and a wave of doubt washed over her. Then she thought, perhaps the person who set up the barrier was of limited skill, or perhaps… they had immense confidence in the barrier itself, believing that even if someone were allowed to intrude, they wouldn't be able to easily break it. For a moment, these were the only two possibilities she could think of.

Unable to make a decision immediately, she wasn't about to do nothing. Tristan was likely quite strong, but with the injured druid by her side, the fight would inevitably be somewhat hampered. And those black dust monsters, like the skeletal boars, would revive after being killed, scattering and regrouping; a prolonged battle might lead to one or two oversights. More importantly, if she delayed, Al might get injured… These thoughts swirled in her mind as Guinevere walked forward, circling the rocks twice, about to repeat her previous tactic of moving into the pile of stones again, when suddenly, she paused, startled.

It might be a trap...

The absence of internal defensive mechanisms within the barrier inevitably leads one to suspect that its creator was a novice. Even those with a more cautious eye might only speculate, like her, that it stemmed from confidence in the barrier's inherent defensive capabilities. However… what if this was intentional, a trap to lure the enemy into a snare? There's no such thing as the Thirty-Six Stratagems here, but that doesn't mean we're incapable of using stratagems. Ultimately, throughout history and across cultures, truly intelligent people, in their thoughts and actions, are not so different.

If this wasn't just a defensive barrier, but an interconnected design, then once the outermost layer was touched, the second layer would immediately activate. In the cramped space amidst the rubble, even if someone noticed, they would likely be severely injured. She herself couldn't create such a concept, such a meticulously planned arrangement, but there are countless capable people in the world; it wouldn't be surprising if someone could.