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

In an ordinary forest, there would be a few birdsongs to add some color, but since the appearance of the Shadow Spirit and the Strange Hand, the birds and other wild animals seem to have completely vanished from this great forest. They haven't been seen for almost half a month. The wind howled like waves, as always. Thinking about whether to wake Gareth to relieve her, she decided to let her sleep a little longer. Gareth pinched the bridge of her nose, blinking her sore eyes a couple of times.

After the attack at dinner, the first half of the night was peaceful, and it seemed that nothing else would happen...

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he realized that this might be what Fina often referred to as "raising the flag" when suddenly the sound of weapons clashing came from the other side of the camp.

"Be careful……"

"what!"

The number of people on night watch is about 30% of the total number of people. Each person is responsible for a different area. No matter which direction the enemy attacks from, they can issue an alert immediately. At this moment, it seems that the enemy is attacking from the opposite side. The people on that side also noticed it immediately, and rushed forward with knives, guns and shields, while shouting to warn the others.

But the warning cry abruptly stopped halfway through, echoing in the cold night wind, quite strangely, followed by a scream. Gahoris stood up from the wooden bench. His eyesight was excellent, and he immediately noticed the dark figure surrounded by soldiers—it looked like a tall, thin man, wielding a long sword and a short sword, his figure appearing hazy and indistinct in the night.

The instant he looked over, the short sword cleaved through one of the shields, and the longsword swept across, felling the shield-bearer to the ground. Three others lay nearby, two disemboweled, one's head still rolling. Gahoris drew his longsword and rushed over. From within a nearby tent, a massive shield spun and crashed down. People from inside and outside the camp gathered around. The dark figure, like a mythical raven summoning death, wielded his twin swords, and a chilling malice was spreading through him…

P.S.: Please vote! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 197 The Three Siblings (Part 2)

With a sweeping motion of their twin swords, like a dark raven spreading its wings and black feathers fluttering down, the moment they clashed, the night watch squad opposite the camp had already suffered more than half its casualties. Gareth reacted extremely quickly, getting up, drawing his sword, and was about to rush over, but Gareth, who should have been sleeping in his tent, was a step ahead.

Before the figure even appeared, the iconic large shield had already torn through the tent fabric and shot out with a whoosh. The Shadow Spirit was about to kill another soldier on the spot by cleaving the incoming hook axe in two with a single sword strike when he saw the shield coming at him. He dodged to the side, and the soldier was dragged to the back by his comrade.

The tent, riddled with a large hole, swayed in the wind as the girl burst out. Everything had happened so suddenly; she hadn't even had time to change into her full armor, only donning her breastplate and gauntlets, her thin pajamas still underneath. Her face, almost identical to Gahoris's, yet with a touch more childishness, was solemn; her right hand stretched forward, fingers clenched.

"return!"

With a shout, the shield, which had already flown into the forest, suddenly veered off course, accompanied by a violent whooshing sound, and crashed straight into the back of the shadow spirit. At the last moment, the opponent crossed his twin swords behind him to block the attack—if an ordinary person were to take this hit, their spine would be broken or even shattered on the spot, but the shadow only staggered forward and seemed to be largely unaffected.

But the other soldiers didn't miss the opportunity either. Except for one who had lost his weapon and was retreating, shields, swords, and spears attacked almost simultaneously. Not far away, Gareth ran while picking up a spear from the side, suddenly flicked it, and prepared to strike.

At this moment, all possible directions for retreat were blocked, and the Shadow Spirit itself had not yet regained its balance. To most people, the outcome of the battle seemed inevitable. However, after witnessing the opponent's attack, the usually cautious Gahoris was not so optimistic. The technique of wielding those twin swords... he seemed to have seen it somewhere before.

The thought flashed through his mind, but with his nerves stretched to the limit, he couldn't delve any deeper. A sense of foreboding washed over him, prompting Gahoris to call out, "Be careful—"

The sound echoed, and in the next instant, this premonition finally came true.

The dark figure remained in a forward-falling posture, but as various weapons attacked, its upper body suddenly sprang up in a chillingly bizarre posture. The two swords in its hands also drew two arcs in the air. The short sword was silent, like a hot knife cutting into butter, easily slicing all the weapons that came to its side in half.

The longsword followed closely behind, leaving a bright line of blood in the night. The four soldiers simultaneously leaned back.

Gareth's spear pierced between the two men, and then turned into a shower of wood chips.

As several soldiers fell, she waved her hand, and the giant shield spun. The two figures collided briefly, the dull thud of corpses hitting the ground echoing as they passed. Gahoris arrived, sword in hand, just in time to see his sister raise her shield to meet the dark sword light. The next moment, a sickening metallic clang resounded as a dazzling light flashed across the shield, as tall as a man, before abruptly dimming, cleaving it in two along the blade of the short sword.

The weapons used by the siblings, though far inferior to the divinely crafted holy swords like Gawain's, were still made by some of Britain's top blacksmiths and enchanted by Morgan le Fay. In terms of defense alone, Gareth's shield could withstand almost any attack that mortals could imagine.

If it were a weapon of equal sharpness, it might be possible to damage it under the pressure of continuous accumulation, but to be able to cut it in half with a single blow was far beyond Gahoris's imagination, and could almost be described as absurd.

But it really did happen.

After the short sword slash, the long sword followed suit, and he reached out to grab Gareth's body, causing her sword to miss at the last second. However, he heard her let out a soft cry and glanced to the side, where he saw a shallow wound on her neck from the sword's wind.

"This is no ordinary Shadow Heroic Spirit."

"I know!"

A specially trained squad is capable of confronting and defeating a lone Shadow Spirit, and could even withstand the onslaught of Lotte and Gawain for some time. In other words, this enemy wielding dual swords may not be stronger than their father and elder brother, but he is at least an opponent of the same level.

The camp erupted in noise again, but Gahoris knew that in a battle of this magnitude, numbers wouldn't give them much of an advantage. Only he and Gareth could truly fight them, and... they saw almost no chance of victory.

Thinking of this, his heart sank. The dark figure didn't seem to be like those knights in the stories, willing to patiently wait for them to come up with a plan. In an instant, the long and short swords attacked again. Having witnessed the power of these two swords, Gahoris dared not fight them head-on. He worked with his sister and other reinforcements to buy time while carefully observing the opponent's swordsmanship and constantly searching for the source of that familiar feeling.

After only a few rounds, several more corpses lay on the ground. Although he and Gareth shared most of the pressure, they could only barely protect themselves. Every time that ghostly sword moved, a vibrant life was lost.

Gareth had no doubt that if things continued like this, the entire camp, more than a hundred people, would soon be wiped out... The increasingly strong smell of blood made him anxious. He accidentally tripped over a corpse at his feet. If Gareth hadn't pulled him up, he would have immediately become a victim of the other's sword.

“Now we’re even.” Even in this situation, Gareth still managed to say it quickly. Knowing that what she feared most was owing favors, Gareth twitched the corner of his mouth. For a moment, he couldn’t tell whether the girl was calm in the face of adversity or simply too carefree. But just as he regained his footing, the campfire light he caught out of the corner of his eye seemed to flicker slightly.

This change was fleeting, but it made his heart leap into his throat. If things continued like this, they would eventually be wiped out by this dual-sword warrior. However, once the flames went out, everyone would be dragged into the darkness by those endless monstrous hands. To this day, people still do not know what happened to those who were dragged into the darkness. Even if they did not die, the outcome would probably not be much better than death.

But in the instant the campfire flickered, the shadowy spirit seemed to sense something, its movements abruptly halting. Then, it abruptly sheathed its twin swords, acting as if they didn't exist, and turned to look in the east.

This battle was originally a one-sided massacre. Seeing the enemy, who had the upper hand, suddenly stop, the soldiers were stunned. They were not afraid of death, but if there were other options, few would be willing to die. For a moment, they wanted to take the opportunity to attack, but they were also afraid of provoking the enemy again. With their weapons in their hands, they were at a loss, unable to advance or retreat.

Gahoris watched him for a moment, then quietly raised his hand, gesturing for him to step back. The camp was already a scene of carnage; the campfire still burned brightly, but the surrounding area was littered with corpses, lying haphazardly, and blood flowed silently into streams at the feet of the shadowy spirit.

Even after the two siblings and the other soldiers had retreated to a certain distance, the Shadow Spirit remained motionless, his head turned to the east the entire time, as if wary of something. Gahoris also looked in that direction but found nothing. Instead, Gareth suddenly let out a soft "Eh?" at one point.

"The feeling of the wind... has changed." The girl, who relied more on intuition than her brain, looked around, her large, bright eyes seeming to reflect something that others couldn't notice: "Something suddenly pulled him in... wait, it's out!"

The girl suddenly screamed, and at the same time, the boy also noticed the subtle change in the surrounding air, as if something had suddenly returned to the body in front of him. The motionless Shadow Spirit suddenly raised its head—this action startled the few timid ones, causing them to take a step back—but it still stared straight at the east.

"A futile effort."

The deep, eerie voice seemed to burst forth directly from the chest, possessing a strange hollowness. Upon hearing this voice, Gahoris was suddenly startled; the familiar feeling that had always been there within him suddenly became clear.

That dual-sword technique, that voice... could he be...? The name reached his lips, but remembering the many ordinary soldiers present, he quickly swallowed it back. But the girl on the other side clearly hadn't considered this: "It's Uncle Leodogran!?"

"Wait……"

The words slipped out, and by the time Gareth tried to stop them, it was too late. In the ensuing silence, Gareth's voice carried far. The soldiers exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions shifting, but none of them uttered a sound.

But the dark figure merely turned its head slightly, its face, devoid of features and as black as ink, turning towards Gareth. Whether it was the girl's imagination or not, the eerie voice that seemed to come from nowhere now carried a hint of mocking laughter: "Leo—Dogland—is dead."

The black mist receded like a tide, and in the blink of an eye, the tall, thin figure that the brother and sister both knew so well was left behind. He had a full head of golden hair, half of his body was stained with blood, his armor was tattered, and the two swords in his hands had become the same length, gleaming coldly in the campfire.

Those usually deep, pale green eyes were now dull and stiff, like those of a dead person: "When will you make a decision to give this body—freedom?"

"I look forward to that moment."

As soon as he finished speaking, darkness surged in, quickly engulfing his figure and vanishing him without a trace. The next moment, several campfires went out simultaneously, plunging the surroundings into complete darkness. Gahoris's hair stood on end. Fortunately, he had prepared beforehand; with a flick of his hand, he had already ignited his magical device, and a tiny flame instantly appeared. But just as he felt relieved, he saw the small flame flicker violently a few times before suddenly going out again—this level of light was insufficient to ward off the darkness!

Gahoris's heart tightened. Suddenly, his raised wrist was gripped tightly by a terrifying, monstrous hand. Countless monstrous hands seemed to appear out of thin air, reaching out to grab all of them!

It was also at this time.

A soft sigh seemed to be heard beside him: "There's nothing we can do, we can't catch up... Clausolas!"

A beam of light pierced through the layers of darkness and descended from the sky. Amidst countless sharp and piercing screams, the monstrous hands scrambled back and disappeared, leaving only a cracked sword standing in the center of the camp, its brilliance dazzling and impossible to look at directly!

……

At the same time, on the border of Orkni, far from the great forest to the north, the environment returned to normal. Before dawn, in the drizzling night, a knight with a holy sword at his waist traversed the mountains and fields, referring to the map in his hand, and stopped at the edge of a quiet, desolate mountain forest.

"It should be right here."

Despite his worries about the situation in the north, Gawain, by chance, learned from the female magician about the place where her teacher—or rather, one of her teachers—once a renowned druid master lived in seclusion when he traveled south with Merlin.

After the strange occurrences in the great forest recently, he remembered this matter and, with the unanimous agreement of his father and mother, decided to come and ask this druid master to come out of seclusion and help him.

I heard that Merlin is very good at divination and prophecy, and I wonder if this matter is also within her expectations... Suddenly, he noticed two figures gradually approaching from afar. Just in case, Gawain stepped aside and used the magic prop given to him by Morgan to hide his figure.

As the two approached, he could clearly see the face of one of them, and he felt puzzled.

“That person… should be Pat. He should be the ruler of Scotland now, so why is he here?”

……

Chapter 198 This is a verbal tic

The Druids have a long history in this land. Even though the British began to convert to Catholicism after Roman rule, many Druids can still be seen in the countryside and mountains.

Just as described in the folk legends, some of them could transform into various wild beasts, some were good at healing injuries, and some of the most powerful druids—who were revered as druid masters—could even summon thunder and fire and control the wind and rain with their own power, making them almost omnipotent.

Blovas was one of the most renowned druidic masters of the era. He had lived in seclusion in the North for decades, possessing immense magical power, yet he rarely actually attacked anyone, instead devoting himself to teaching younger generations. He had at least a hundred apprentices, and countless others who had received a few pointers but had not formally become his disciples.

It could be said that a third of the druids active on the island of Britain today should call Brovas their teacher. The most famous of these is naturally the magician Merlin. She is not a pure druid, but as King Uther's right-hand woman, no one would deny that she once studied under Brovas for a period of time.

"...So strictly speaking, when we meet in the future, I should call her senior sister."

"Klark said with a smile. In Pat's eyes, he was a very easy friend to get along with. At a young age, he had already mastered excellent martial arts skills and always won first place in the annual knightly tournament held in Scotland. Although some people said that this was because Balan never participated in such competitions, and privately still thought that Klark was inferior to him, it was also a fact that no one among the younger generation of knights could beat Klark except Balan.

Not to mention that he was Blois's beloved disciple, having received his true teachings, and could perform all sorts of incredible magic. As a result, in just a few years, he rose from a commoner to a formal knight and was entrusted with important responsibilities by the King of Scotland. He had become a rising star in the kingdom.

What is most commendable is that Klark was not blinded by these honors and became arrogant and complacent. He remained gentle and humble, and handled people and situations with propriety. For Pat, the best thing was that he was closer to his side than his sister Guinevere.

He hesitated for a long time before finally asking the question. Klark replied, "Although the princess is quick-witted and has outstanding abilities, her personality is too gentle and she lacks the demeanor of a king. Compared to her, you are more in line with the image of the follower in my heart."

After this frank and open conversation, Pat had no more suspicion or doubt about Klark and trusted him completely. And as it turned out, Klark certainly lived up to that trust.

Privately, he regarded this young druid as his own Merlin, and often thought that given the chance, he would do better than King Uther had ever done—and now, the chance had come.

Throughout the journey with Klark, Pat repeatedly recalled the stories his father and other knights had told him when he was young. In those stories, some from a distant past and others from just a few days ago, there was always a protagonist with a strong will, an adventure full of danger and opportunity, and a mysterious and generous hermit.

In his imagination, his own appearance seemed to overlap with those legendary figures. The two previous defeats had certainly dealt a heavy blow to Scotland, but in another sense, they were also his turning point.

Father... he's getting old after all.

With these thoughts in mind, his gaze became firm.

It was late at night, and a light drizzle was falling, each drop seeping into the soil. Pat and the young druid had left the Antony Wall and were heading southwest. To save time, they had been riding horses, interspersed with walks to allow their horses to rest and recover. Now, having already traveled all night, the rain made the ground damp and difficult to run on, and with their destination nearing, they dismounted and continued on foot.

The young druid observed for a moment, then pointed ahead: "That's it."

Pat nodded slightly. Although he had been full of confidence all the way and was eager to ask the person whom Klark "admired" to come out of retirement to help him, he suddenly felt a little guilty when they were about to meet.

Klark seemed to sense his unease and smiled, "There's no need to be so nervous. Druids value nature and don't care much about worldly etiquette. Besides, my senior brother isn't the type to care about other people's attitudes."

“It sounds like Master Uru is easy to get along with.”

"of course."

The young druid smiled faintly, then offered a few words of comfort, which put Pat's worries at ease. The two walked into the woods, the pleasant sound of rain echoing in the air. Klark walked briskly, clearly very familiar with the area, turning left and right, while Pat stumbled along behind.

Knowing that the other party had a very high sense of pride, Klark would only quietly lend a hand when the other was about to fall, having nearby branches and roots extend to support him, while appearing completely unaware of the situation. This gesture made Pat quite grateful, and he quickened his pace as much as possible. About half an hour later, the view suddenly opened up, and in the distance, he could see a small waterfall cascading down, splashing up a fine mist in the drizzling rain.

A small wooden cabin was built next to the waterfall. The door was open and swaying gently. You could vaguely see the simple furnishings inside and a figure sitting at a table.

Before the waterfall stood a gaunt, hunched old man. As if hearing footsteps, the old man slowly turned around. His face was covered with large and small purplish-red patches, his expression was blank, his eyes were sunken, and his pupils were dark red, like congealed blood. When Pat met his stiff, lifeless gaze, he was so frightened that he took a step back.

"Are you here to see the master?" The old man's tone was as cold as his appearance, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, and every syllable sounded extremely difficult, like a rusty gear, with a faint, inexplicable melody that didn't sound like a human voice.

Klark didn't react much. He stepped forward and nodded: "I have brought the Scottish prince who was promised to me. Let your master come out."

The old man exuded an indescribable eeriness, which made Pat somewhat wary. However, trusting Klark, he did not make any other moves, but simply stood a step back and observed the situation.

"Understood--"

The old man lowered his hands, as if a deep voice was coming from his throat, and stood motionless like a puppet that had lost its control.

The door of the cabin next door slammed shut with a bang, startling Pat. The next moment, a gentle voice came from inside: "I am delighted to see you here in person, future King of Scotland."

This title seemed to indicate the goodwill of the person behind the door. Pat's tense nerves relaxed slightly. It made sense; Klark wouldn't harm him... He cleared his throat: "You, you are Master Uru? It's a pleasure to meet you, but your name and deeds have already spread throughout Britain."

In fact, he had never heard of this person named Uru, let alone what the other party had done. However, what he thought in his heart was one thing, but he still had to say what needed to be said.

A low chuckle came from behind the wooden door. The person didn't expose his insincere flattery: "Time is of the essence, so let's skip the meaningless pleasantries and get straight to the point."

This straightforward style was quite different from the eccentric and peculiar hermits that Pat had heard of. But he was not really willing to spend a long time chatting with a stranger in this deep mountain forest, so he was more than happy to accept this. Just as he was about to speak, the voice behind the door continued, "I know why you came. In fact, the reason I had Klark invite you here was precisely for this matter."

"I'm sure you know that some terrible things are happening in the great forests of the north. But people don't understand that Scotland is facing an unprecedented crisis. The evil dragon is about to awaken, and if left unchecked, the flames of destruction will soon burn the entire north to a wasteland."

“And the only one who can stop all of this from happening and save this kingdom and its people is you, Prince Pat.”

At this point, the voice seemed to carry a hint of eagerness and expectation. For Pat, this feeling of being needed was very satisfying, and he immediately took a step forward: "I'm willing to do anything to stop this tragedy."

"Very good, Your Highness. Your courage and integrity will illuminate the long night like the rising sun."

A voice chuckled from behind the door: "First, I hope you can find the evil dragon's avatar as soon as possible and thwart its plot before it takes action—"

……

The rain stopped.

The camp was lit up again, and people silently bid farewell to their fallen comrades. After a simple funeral, the group of less than fifty people set off on their journey home.

However, due to the identity of the last enemy, all sorts of rumors were spreading in the sorrowful atmosphere. Someone informed Gahoris, but he knew it was inevitable. Having just experienced a life-threatening situation and witnessed the killing of many comrades, the morale of the army was unstable. If he rashly gave orders, it would only have the opposite effect. Knowing that the rumors would ferment as a result, he could only ignore them for the time being.

Even he himself harbored deep doubts, and for a moment, he didn't know where to begin asking. The boy pondered these matters and their potential consequences, feeling troubled. He looked up at Gareth, who was pestering someone with questions, and couldn't help but sigh.

Only at times like these would he genuinely envy his sister's carefree personality.

Gareth, however, was clearly oblivious to the boy's subtle emotions. She had already recovered from her earlier sadness and was now pestering her long-lost friend with all sorts of questions.

Thanks to Morgan le Fay's enchantment, Gareth, as the main defender, absorbed most of the attacks from the dual-sword warrior in the battle, and was basically unharmed. However, his valuable armor was completely destroyed and buried in the forest along with his equally damaged shield.

They had changed into clothes that allowed them to move around easily, and followed Guinevere around, turning left and right. It seemed as if there was an invisible tail swaying behind them.

“Fina, Fina, your sword is so beautiful! What's its name? And your armor, where did you get it? It's much nicer than the birthday present my father gave me… Was the uncle who just appeared a fake? I heard there's trouble in Scotland, do they need our help? Did you go south? Did you see King Arthur? Gawain seemed to have met you before and said you'd become very powerful—”

"In short, just put the punctuation marks in first."

"Oh." Gareth's forehead was pushed back slightly by Guinevere. He remained silent for only a few seconds before asking again, "Fina Fina, what are punctuation marks?"