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

But they weren't the only ones blocking their way.

Beside these giants, more figures were slowly emerging. These new figures were about the same height as ordinary people, some tall and some short, some male and some female. Most of them were unfamiliar faces, but there were also a few familiar faces to Guinevere.

The first thing you see is a black-haired woman with jet-black wings on her back and her eyes closed.

“Morrigan…”

She then recognized more "acquaintances," such as Dagda, Lug, Macha, and so on, all of whom were Danu people she had dealt with before.

The two sides, who were once sworn enemies, now stand side by side, like the closest allies.

This scene is truly absurd.

As Guinevere thought about it, she forced a smile and actually—somewhat reluctantly—smiled.

Her gaze lingered on one of the purple-haired old women for a moment, feeling that the woman was inexplicably familiar, but she couldn't remember who she was. She quickly glanced behind her out of the corner of her eye, and sure enough, she couldn't see Fafnir.

The people and monsters fighting around them completely disappeared into the thick fog, as if the whole world was left with only the blue moon gradually receding into the distance and dozens or even hundreds of phantom images of the divine era before their eyes.

And, her relationship with Clausolas.

One man, one sword.

"My Lord——"

The sword rang softly.

As if sensing something, Guinevere raised her hand, and a burst of intense light erupted from it.

"As long as the sharp edge remains in your heart."

"No obstacle can stop our path."

Clausolas's calm voice was as if he were simply stating a self-evident fact, or as if long ago, the God of War, with both arms intact, knelt respectfully on one knee, listening to the old man standing on the high platform say: "Nuada, remember."

"This sword is called Clausolas. No matter what enemy you face, as long as you still have a blade in your heart, you will never fail when you wield this sword."

From this day forward, only one person will make you experience defeat. That person is—

"yourself."

That was Krausolas's earliest memory. When it was born from the furnace, before the raging fire had died down, the god who forged it had already declared that it was a cursed sword that would bring misfortune.

It was abandoned for many years until Nuada came and it was able to see the light of day again.

And as it turned out, the forger's prophecy was proven true. Nuada, having witnessed the deaths of his two wives, lost his will to fight and was no longer protected by the divine sword, perishing tragically under the demonic eye of Balor. After many years of wandering and an incredibly long slumber, it finally found a master again.

"Hello, great sword of light. If you wish to find a new master, I have two excellent candidates here... Of course, the choice is yours."

The white-haired woman, who exuded a suspicious aura, woke it up and said with a smile.

It agreed.

A sword without a user is no different from scrap metal.

Although this girl named Guinevere was inferior to the destined-to-be-glorious "King Arthur" in every way, after a moment's thought, Clausolas finally made his decision.

Almost no one knows that Nuada, who initially dared to ask the druid for the divine sword, was just a flawed, reckless, and rude young man.

Perhaps it saw a glimpse of its former master in that ordinary girl, which is why the sword made its choice.

This choice ultimately led it back to this place, where former allies became enemies, leaving it isolated and helpless, much like that unbearable final battle.

But this new master is ultimately different from the former God of War.

With this thought, a strong premonition made Clausolas feel a long-lost shiver, as if he had returned to the time when he was just born from the flames.

Before it could understand the reason for this sudden tremor, Guinevere had already reacted.

That was the sound of a bugle.

The order to go into battle crossed the sea of ​​clouds, the earth, and the sky, riding the wind until it reached her ears.

However, according to Finnaville, Maeve's army was their last trump card.

Where does the bugle call coming from now?

……

The war horn was slowly lowered, its silver surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting a few strands of flowing purple hair.

"Kakaka-"

The skull's teeth clattered together, producing a rhythmic melody like a song. The girl, with her eyes closed, whispered, "This is how fate is woven—"

"As the mist spreads, birds of death will be born from it, spreading their wings and singing as they journey alongside the skeletons."

“You who cling to life, go east, to the end of the sea, to the end of the earth, where the last light falls from the sky.”

"As it turns out, it was 'I' who lost."

“...Niemann.”

There was a hint of relief and a smile in that murmured voice.

Artoria looked at her quietly, and after a moment, whispered something.

The little witch paused for a moment, then suddenly her eyes crinkled into a smile, and she laughed happily.

……

"Whose army is this...?"

While gathering the remaining soldiers around him, Cú Chulainn, half-covered in blood, looked ahead and clicked his tongue, saying, "There are quite a few of them, but they're too weak... Oh, those gorillas over there seem alright."

"do not know."

The spiral sword was swung down from above, and the resulting torrent of magical power was like the collapse of the sky. The burly man, who was shirtless, squinted and had a kind smile on his face: "I have never heard the horn sound before. It may be from an army from another era. That young man is indeed brave. If the occasion were not so inappropriate, I would really like to have a match with him."

“If we lose this time, you should have many more opportunities. But I didn’t expect that Magic King to have such a trick up his sleeve… Fergus, can you continue playing?”

"of course."

After a brief conversation, with a lingering doubt in his heart, Cú Chulainn once again charged into the endless sea of ​​monsters.

At that moment, a rough, large hand landed on the girl's shoulder.

Patted it gently.

"Fina, wait here for a moment."

Her cloak billowed in the air, and only a handful of people passed by her. Guinevere watched as the middle-aged man at the forefront drew his twin swords and uttered in a deep voice, "Kill—"

The person behind silently drew his sword, and with several clangs, the sharp blade gleamed coldly.

The light reflected in my eyes.

The shimmering water could be faintly seen.

……

P.S.: I originally planned to end this chapter with a round number of chapters, but I found I couldn't stop... Please remember to vote!

Chapter 301 The Dream Seen by a Young Girl (Sixteen)

The sounds of clashing swords and halberds gradually faded into the distance, and the once unreachable palace in the moon was now close at hand. After witnessing Leodogran and the others appear, Guinevere had a rough idea of ​​who had sounded the fourth horn, which added more questions to her mind, but she also knew that the current situation was not suitable for her to dwell on it any longer.

Even if it's a trap, we have no choice but to take the plunge.

But at the same time, it was as if a voice was telling her, "That person won't harm you."

The unfounded claim, which seemed absurd at this moment, was something Guinevere chose to believe. She watched as the middle-aged man drew his twin swords, and a mere handful of them charged at the renowned gods like eggs against rocks—the battle was one-sided from the start. Only a very small number of Ireland's elite troops were present, and even the most valiant and skilled among them, Sir Balan, was instantly stained with blood the moment he clashed with Luger.

Outnumbered and outmatched, no matter how you look at it, this was destined to be a suicidal battle. But it is often in such desperate times that people can be most focused and selfless in their fighting, their wounds and pain burning like fire, each hammer blow forging their flesh and blood into steel.

The bloodthirsty blade is honed and forged between life and death.

Leodogran swung his short sword downwards with his left hand, trading injury for injury, letting the enemy's hand axe cleave into his body while his other longsword sliced ​​off the axeman's head: "Quick!" He suddenly lunged forward, instantly inflicting several more gruesome wounds on his body, but with the help of the other equally fearless warriors, they managed to create a brief opening. The gap in the battle was fleeting; the next moment, someone was grabbed alive by the Vermort giant and torn in half, entrails and flesh raining down. Leodogran's gaze grew darker, and he was about to speak a warning when suddenly, a small figure flashed past in his peripheral vision.

At a measured pace, as he created the opening, Guinevere seized the opportunity and swept past. Several weapons swung towards her in the air. Balan blocked Luger's spear with his sword, and with three clangs, he used the force to deflect several other weapons from different directions, but he couldn't stop the last axe from swinging in a circle and coming down heavily.

The gap was being filled rapidly, and perhaps in the next second, this chance to break through would disappear without a trace. But the soldiers nearby suddenly threw down their weapons, spread their arms, and rushed forward, using their bodies to block between the Furmer tribe's axe and Guinevere. With a thunderous blow, they were thrown away like deformed rag dolls.

Golden hair fluttered, and red liquid splattered on the girl's face. She bent down and rushed past the last Danu who was about to intercept her. Ahead of her was a clear path with no further obstacles. Behind her, the soldier's dying screams had just begun to ring out.

The door before her seemed to appear both near and far, like the moon's reflection in water, elusive and perhaps symbolizing a fierce battle. Those who "died" at Neman's hands were far more than just the few here; people like Gawain might have also come to this dream—though there was no concrete evidence, Guinevere had a vague feeling that way. The loneliness she had felt earlier vanished, and seizing the opportunity, she reached out and truly touched the ancient, massive door.

Before the other party could move away again, the girl exerted a sudden force, and with a loud, illusory creak, the enormous size and the small gap were enough for her to slip inside.

Also at this moment.

Above and beyond the path of light, whether it was the people of Danu, the descendants of Fermor, or the endless army of demons, all their hands suddenly stopped moving, as if some invisible ripple swept across the battlefield, and the aura of iron and blood settled down for a moment.

"finally……"

The door slammed shut, and after a moment of silence, the loud noise even created visible ripples in the air. Leodogran watched as the figure flashed into the door and disappeared. Finally, a look of relief appeared on his face, as if he could not feel the pain in his body. His lips twitched, and he even revealed a faint smile. On the other side, a strange weapon that looked like a scythe swept across, but before it could pass his throat, it was easily caught by a tattered cloak.

The large gray cloth rolled up and shook, instantly shattering the scythe into a cloud of smoke. Only then did the man, whose face was shrouded in a thin mist, emerge from the portal. He stood amidst the chaotic battle, yet remained a calm observer. Neither the Scotsmen nor the fighting phantoms seemed to notice this unexpected guest.

Only Leodogland saw this figure reflected in his eyes.

The last time he saw her was when he had gone through countless trials to enter the Shadow Kingdom and catch a glimpse of that noble queen. Even back then, he knew of the existence of dreams, and he also knew that for everyone, including himself, birth, aging, sickness, and death were just an illusory and unreal "drama".

When death ceases to be real, those who struggle to survive in this world also lose the dazzling light that shines forth in their struggle.

"The nameless traveler—"

The fierce battle was right beside him, yet felt incredibly distant. Leodogran turned to the mysterious figure before him and posed the question that had lingered in his mind for so long: "You told the Queen of the Shadow Kingdom that in your plan, Fina was the only hope to break this illusion, but the hope was slim, and success or failure was left to fate. So, has the plan succeeded?"

"Just one step away."

"That's what the traveler replied."

The last batch of reinforcements was also retreating rapidly. He watched as the blue moon and the palace, which had once been so close, receded further and further away. In a previous cycle, this scene meant that the resistance forces had failed once again. At that time, he felt only despair, but at this moment, he felt unease.

"There's still one last step left."

……

The empty palace, vast and dimly lit, vaguely resembled the place where she had first encountered Cú Chulainn, but lacking a point of reference, she couldn't draw any conclusions. Guinevere gripped her divine sword, halted her steps, and immediately looked around warily, but to her surprise, the entire palace was deserted, not even a cat, let alone the enemy she had anticipated.

At first glance, the ceiling was nearly ten or twenty meters high, and the pillars supporting the palace were astonishingly thick, like towering trees that would take several people to encircle. They were carved with all sorts of ancient and bizarre pictures, as well as steps so large that she would probably have to jump to climb them. The appearance of these things was quite similar to the vision she had seen more than once before—the vision of Maeve kneeling in front of the cauldron to pray, but it was magnified several times in proportion.

The girl silently projected the image of the Fermorians she had just witnessed onto the scene, and after some estimation, she realized that the size of this palace, compared to that of ordinary humans, seemed to correspond to the burly cyclops. Could this place have originally belonged to the Fermorians? Or perhaps… Just as her thoughts turned to this, the Sword of Light suddenly spoke up: “My lord, this is the divine palace of Balor.”

"really……"

In the empty room, Guinevere murmured something, and as if sensing something, she looked up at the top of the wide steps. In the dim light, she seemed to meet the gaze of a scarlet eye.

That's not an eyeball.

Instead, it is an eye-shaped pattern composed of several red lines. The messy red lines resemble a child's scribbles, extending endlessly in all directions to form more "eyeballs." Most of them look like human eyes, while some look like some kind of ferocious beast or lizard-like upright prismatic pupils.

Tens, hundreds, thousands. The densely packed "eyeballs" were all crammed together, making Guinevere's scalp tingle and her consciousness momentarily dazed. But the flash of light from the sword in her hand brought her back to her senses. Only after she looked away from the numerous "eyeballs" did she realize that these chaotic red lines were actually drawn on the body of an ancient and solemn cauldron.

The large cauldron stands at the top of the steps, where the throne should be. Countless eye patterns cover the entire cauldron, so dense that it's suffocating. If you look at it for a while, you might even feel that those eyes are alive, containing joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. It's as if at a certain moment in life, when emotions are flowing most intensely, they have been abruptly stopped and then simply "placed" on the surface of the cauldron.

This was just a subconscious association for Guinevere.

But she soon discovered that this idea might very well be true:

"help me……"

Suddenly, a scream echoed in her mind. At the same time, one of the eyes that happened to meet hers suddenly filled the girl's entire field of vision: "Save me..." The heart-wrenching cry transformed into a bloody scene. She seemed to have become another emaciated and haggard man, lying on the ground, using the last bit of strength to reach out to the boots in front of her.

However, a long sword descended from the sky, pinning his hand to the ground. In his final moments, all he could hear was the opponent's unbridled laughter and a feeble, unspoken plea for help: "I...don't want to die..."

In the blink of an eye, another eyeball appeared, another story unfolded. She was no longer human, but a fledgling bird unable to fly independently, waiting in the nest for its mother's return. But an arrow took away this young life. The bird's cry was mournful, and the hunter who took its life could not understand its lament. Yet, a cold, detached eye recorded this scene.

"Pay the price—"

More tragedies swept by, and those who were able to muster a strong will to survive mostly died violent deaths, both human and non-human, in all sorts of horrific and even inconceivable ways. That eye coldly watched all of this, as if a grain of sand had slipped through its fingers, until at a certain moment, the image that appeared suddenly flashed.

That was the radiance from another world.

"Come on!"

In the midst of a sea of ​​fire, the young man, knowing all hope was lost, forcefully pushed the child away from his arms. Thick smoke billowed, and the child, with red eyes, shouted something before turning and running away. Watching the receding figure, he felt reluctance and regret. More flames swept in, followed by the excruciating pain of flesh being burned...

"I don't want to...die..."

Your wish will then be granted—

Being burned alive might be unimaginably cruel for ordinary people, but "it" had seen countless more cruel and unimaginable ways to die. Those strange buildings and clothing did not arouse "it" the slightest curiosity. Before this, as a wishing machine, it did not possess any curiosity or any other emotions.

This is precisely why it can make the best judgment at any time, perfectly fulfilling the wisher's request within the limits of its capabilities, and collecting the corresponding price.