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

"Fina!"

Although Artoria sensed the danger and quickly followed, she hadn't expected that despite being severely injured, the man's attacks would still be so fierce and swift. Suddenly, he threw a punch, and though they were only a few steps apart, it was too late to help. Guinevere, though startled, wasn't completely unresponsive. She instinctively wanted to use the Wind Mark, but just as the thought formed and the green leaves were about to appear on the back of her hand...

Nemia, who was biting her nails, suddenly seemed to sense something, looked up at her with a puzzled look in her eyes—the blood-red pupils seemed to ripple with water, and at one moment, they also reflected a green leaf—Artoria was so worried that she didn't notice this change in an instant.

The vibrations in the air stopped abruptly, and the green leaves on Guinevere's hand inexplicably vanished again. She felt as if she had stepped into thin air, experiencing an indescribable discomfort. In her vision, a bloodstained fist rapidly enlarged, and before she could react, a blow powerful enough to shatter a metal plate slammed into her face!

*******.

The wind and rain were fierce and the sky was dark. A bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, and a pale light shone in through the window, illuminating several equally pale faces. This was a magnificent castle, located in the center of Cornwall. Its strategically important location, easy to defend and difficult to attack, not only demonstrated the talent of those who built it, but also undoubtedly illustrated the castle's significance.

To the people of Cornwall, this castle was the heart of the kingdom.

Its master—the ruler of this kingdom—was sitting on a breathtakingly large chair, primarily made of gold, accented with silver and various gemstones, looking down at the red-haired youth kneeling on one knee below the steps. His gaze then fell upon the corpse before the youth.

“Tristan, my brave and righteous knight.”

"king."

"There are no outsiders here, so there's no need for such formalities. Just call me Uncle." Marco casually sat on the large chair, propping his cheek up with one hand, and waved with a smile.

The red-haired youth seemed to hesitate for a moment, then called out, "Uncle."

"That's right... haha."

Marco nodded and smiled happily.

His laughter, however, revealed little joy; instead, it was filled with exhaustion. It was as if every word he uttered required immense energy, and after only two soft laughs, he already appeared breathless.

Even seated in such an extravagantly luxurious chair, the king's eyes held no light, as if he had lost all hope for the world, and a profound sense of weariness emanated from the depths of his being. He seemed less like a powerful ruler and more like a near-death old man, half-buried in the earth.

"Uncle, about this matter—"

"No need to say anything more." He waved his hand again, interrupting his nephew forcefully. "No need to say anything more. I know, I know everything. This person stole a knight's longsword from somewhere and then impersonated a knight to deceive people, right? You see, I know everything. So there's no need to explain anymore... Since he's a fraudster, you can kill him if you want, it doesn't matter."

As if he had phlegm stuck in his throat, his speech was not very clear. After speaking, Marco turned his head, coughed for a while, and then said, "But I think... one or two of these swindlers are enough. Even you, cough cough cough... even you, Tristan, my nephew, the knight praised by all, can't always encounter such audacious swindlers, right?"

"...Yes, just as my uncle said."

"Haha..." After the laughter came a series of violent coughs. Tristan hesitated whether to go and help him up, but in the end, he kept his head down and remained kneeling on one knee. As the coughing gradually subsided, Marco tapped the armrest of the chair, his voice hoarse: "Is there anything else? If not, you can get down..."

"Yes."

"By the way, Isolde has been looking for you. Go see her later."

The moment the name was mentioned, the young man's body stiffened abruptly. Marco smiled with amusement: "Don't worry about such things. You are my nephew, my sister Blanchford's only child. In my eyes, you are like my own child. Let the gossip go in one ear and out the other. Don't take it to heart. Go on, you haven't seen Isolde for quite some time. She misses your exquisite piano playing very much."

After speaking, he closed his eyes, as if to signify the end of the conversation, and leaned back in his golden chair as if asleep. Tristan remained silent for a moment, then quietly left. The guards who had been there had also been dispatched elsewhere not long ago. Now the place was empty, with only the elderly and weary king resting with his eyes closed.

Suddenly, another flash of lightning appeared outside the window, followed by a thunderous roar that swept in. Just as the thunder roared, Marco, still with his eyes closed, whispered in a muffled and weary voice, "Where are the Royals? Have they been found?"

The question was drowned out by thunder, but the next moment, another voice suddenly rang out in the room: "The bird is already in the cage. Although it will take some time, we will be able to bring him to you soon."

It was a woman's voice, sweet as honey. But beneath that sweet surface lay a strange, inexplicable feeling. Fortunately, within that jar of honey, countless tiny ants were crawling back and forth, sending chills down one's spine: "Your Majesty, you are a sighted man, yet you speak with your eyes closed like this. Don't you feel uncomfortable?"

"Ha... It is indeed a bit uncomfortable. But unfortunately, ever since I was young, I have disliked seeing ugly women, as it affects my already limited appetite. It makes me unable to eat anything all day... And the type of woman I dislike seeing the most is an ugly, fat old woman wearing a lot of jewelry."

“Besides, after just seeing Isolde, if I opened my eyes now, I suspect I wouldn’t be able to eat anything today, and I’d even throw up the medicine I drank yesterday. You know, if I lose that magical medicine, I might not even see tomorrow’s sunrise. So…” Marco waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.

"Please forgive my rudeness, Fairy Queen."

ps: Second update.

Chapter Forty-Four: Pursuit and Search (Part Two)

Perhaps taken aback by the overly direct words, the room fell silent for a moment. Soon, the woman smiled sweetly again: "Your Majesty's words are still so sharp. But this just proves that everything is going according to plan, so I can rest assured."

"Everything is going according to plan... Ha, I'm curious, madam, what exactly is your plan? Let Royal, who has discovered the truth, escape, gather reinforcements, and then turn around and kill us. Our plan will be exposed, and we'll be killed by some righteous knight. Then, we'll use our lives to provide some small inspiration for those bards... It can't be that kind of plan, can it?"

The king, seated on his golden chair, propped his head up with one hand and chuckled strangely at the end. Footsteps approached from below the steps, stopping abruptly to the left of the chair. The woman laughed as well: "Your Majesty is quite the joker. It's precisely because everything has gone according to plan that Your Majesty is able to sit here today, instead of—lying in a cold coffin."

"Indeed, one experience of death is enough."

A low chuckle escaped his throat. Marco slightly opened his eyes, his deep-set eyes bloodshot, the whites of his eyes a dull yellow. His listless gaze fell on the voluptuous woman in the black robe before him: "Enough of this small talk. How many of the thirty knights I lent you are left?"

"Seven... oh, no, there are six people now." The fat witch covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled, "Sorry, I've had too many troubles lately, which made me mix all sorts of things together."

Are there only six people left?

Upon hearing this, Marco seemed to sit up abruptly for a moment, his expression shifting several times before returning to his slumped posture, his face etched with weariness. He sighed, "So be it... after all, it was Royal who was the opponent, so this result is not surprising. It's just... a pity for those knights."

“Their deaths have their due value. But Your Majesty…” The fat witch paused, “Isn’t your evaluation of that man a bit too high? In my opinion, Royal is indeed exceptionally capable, but the strength he has shown so far seems… unworthy of Your Majesty’s high regard.”

"Too high?" Marco shook his head: "That's because you don't understand Royal, and you don't understand what happened twenty years ago."

"The events of twenty years ago... could it be... referring to your adoption of Sir Tristan?" With a cunning glint in her eyes, the fat witch covered her mouth with the back of her hand and carefully said, "Although I didn't experience it myself, I've heard many rumors about it from others."

"Rumors?" He tapped his fingertips lightly on the armrest, making monotonous yet rhythmic sounds. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

"Of course, but..." She chuckled, a slight smile playing on her lips, "The rumors seem a bit too harsh for you. Are you really okay with that?"

"What are you implying, or what are you trying to confirm with this?"

"How could I dare? Hehehe... It was merely pure curiosity. Over twenty years ago, Ronuoa was attacked by three kingdoms simultaneously. King Livaran died in battle, and his wife, your own sister, Blanchefell, entrusted the then-newborn Sir Tristan to Livaran's most trusted subordinate, Royal, who was then Ronuoa's most famous knight, to protect him before committing suicide. Upon learning this news, you immediately gathered your troops and rushed to the front lines, not only recapturing Ronuoa but also conquering the three kingdoms. King Marco's name thus spread throughout Britain, and even the emperor of the empire across the sea is said to have praised your bravery and wisdom."

"After that, Sir Tristan grew up and became an excellent knight, making countless contributions... But another person, the former first warrior Royal, remained unknown for twenty years and was almost forgotten. Some say it was because he was seriously injured in his last battle, some say it was because he was too old, and some say it was because he gradually retired from the front line and began to guide and train young people... But besides these, I have also heard a very interesting explanation."

"Oh?" Marco raised his eyebrows slightly, his posture unchanged, seemingly indifferent, but casually added a comment to keep the conversation going.

“I’ve heard that Royal has long harbored resentment towards the King, and the reason he’s stayed by your side is only to wait for the right moment to rebel. Not only that, even Sir Tristan, who seems so loyal and is a model of chivalry, is secretly plotting how to cut off your head.”

The fat witch observed the man on the throne, noticing the slightest changes in his expression, trying to glean the information she needed. She spoke slowly and deliberately, enunciating each word: "What exactly caused these three unrelated kingdoms to join forces and attack Ronua without warning, resulting in the death of King Livaran, and the demise of Blanchefel and several others with sufficient prestige to temporarily rule Livaran in the chaos of war… Perhaps, behind that war, there was someone secretly orchestrating and manipulating events, scheming to maximize their own gain."

She rested her chin on her hand, revealing a sweet smile: "Your Majesty, they say that you killed your own sister and brother-in-law, seized the lands of four kingdoms, but because of a moment of carelessness and soft-heartedness, you did not get rid of your own nephew, but instead kept him by your side and raised him. But now, Sir Tristan has learned the truth from Royal."

"Perhaps one day, he will avenge his parents, march before you, Your Majesty, and behead you with a single sword stroke—"

……

boom--

The punch was so powerful that it even caused the surrounding air to ripple, and the rain, which had been falling off its banks, shot out in all directions, creating a blank space in front of the fist's edge.

In the emptiness, there was an astonishing killing intent, overwhelming and surging forth!

The Wind Mark inexplicably failed, and it was too late to draw her sword to block. Guinevere retreated, her body leaning back as if dodging arrows or hidden weapons. In that instant, her reaction was extremely fast, but the fist that came straight at her was even faster than her!

Despite her rapid retreat, the distance continued to shrink, and Guinevere could only feel powerless as she watched the enormous fist grow larger and larger in her field of vision.

Two steps away, Artoria was also rushing over. She didn't have time to draw her sword either. Her right hand was clenched into a fist, about to swing. Magic power trembled violently on her slender arm, as if countless threads were being woven into shape in an instant, vaguely resembling an iron gauntlet. Further away, the girl who called herself Nimue was biting her finger, her expression dazed. Ripples rippled out from her blood-red pupils, and in the very center was a green leaf that seemed to still be covered with morning dew.

boom!

Ahead, two figures collided heavily. A hint of despair flashed in Artoria's eyes. She clenched her fist, but still swung it out resolutely!

The burly man threw a punch, and the green leaves appearing in Ni Miao's eyes suddenly trembled, almost shattering, but eventually calmed down. Only slight ripples remained, still gently swaying, and the pattern in her pupils had changed somehow.

The green leaf in the left eye remains a green leaf. But on the right, it has transformed into a completely different pattern—

A pale skull.

Two small snakes coiled around the skull's two empty eye sockets and mouth, biting each other's tails, intertwined as if they were one. As this image appeared, the bloodstained fist struck Guinevere's face.

The next instant, Guinevere's body suddenly began to shake violently like ripples on water. As it shook, it gradually became illusory and unreal, like a phantom that did not actually exist. The fist passed through the back of her head with a muffled "bang," colliding head-on with Artoria!

click!

The ground beneath Artoria's feet was cracked in pieces, like a giant spider web, and the cracks continued to spread.

The magic-condensed iron gauntlet shattered into pieces with a few soft cracking sounds, returning to pure magic that dissipated and disappeared. Her body swayed, then swayed again, clenching her teeth, and blood spilled from her mouth.

Even so, Artoria didn't retreat an inch. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed back the mouthful of blood that welled up in her mouth. She first looked ahead in a panic, trying to check on her companions, but she didn't see the blonde girl who should have been there. She raised her head and stared at the massive body that was nearly two meters tall.

"you--"

What did you do to Fina?!

The moment he opened his mouth, he suddenly met a pair of blood-red eyes. The other person's eyes were unfocused, as if they had lost consciousness and were only using their last breath to drive their body to move and attack. In the previous exchange of punches, he had been directly injured in the internal organs, but the other person seemed to be completely unharmed. The left fist was suspended in mid-air, not retracted, but without making any other movements, frozen there, which was extremely strange.

Artoria took a deep breath and exhaled. Before she could make her next move, she saw the man's arm drop downwards, and he fell to her side. She leaped backwards, causing the man in shattered armor to crash heavily into the pool of water, splashing water everywhere and filling the air with a faint smell of blood.

"Passed out?"

The unexpected situation startled her.

But Nemia had already run over and stood beside her, her little hand timidly clutching the hem of her clothes: "Ah... Atori, there's danger. I... I'm scared."

The volume was soft, yet loud enough to reach Artoria's ears. Her expression was grave. She nodded, then took two steps back with Nemia, standing in a position perfectly positioned to observe the unconscious man's movements. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. She usually wore her hair in a ponytail for ease of movement, but now, standing in the wind and rain, her long hair fluttered in the breeze, like a dazzling golden light from the depths of darkness.

Across the rain, the sound of hooves drew closer, and several figures on horseback emerged from the rain, some near, some far. Artoria, her hand on her longsword, said, "Stop! Who are you—"

The other party seemed to be taken aback as well.

There are outsiders.

"How to do?"

"Kill him!"

They exchanged glances, and the men opposite them drew their longswords one after another. Artoria's eyes sharpened; with a clang, her iron sword was drawn, and in the blink of an eye, immense magical power surged forth, enveloping her entire body…

*******

Deep inside the cave, several torches stuck in the rock wall moved on their own without wind, their flickering light making the shadows of everything appear exceptionally long and narrow, exuding an eerie atmosphere.

Guinevere sat on a stone chair, still shaken, blinking hard a few times. Her memory was still stuck on the moment the fist slammed into her. When she came to her senses, her surroundings had completely changed. Her gaze swept around and finally landed on the woman sitting across a rough stone table, speaking to her.

It was a tall, thin, middle-aged woman, like a bamboo pole, dressed in a black robe and a tall, pointed hat—a classic witch's attire. But the fabric around her lower abdomen was torn, revealing a large ring of dark red marks…blood. A faint smell of blood lingered in the air. Guinevere looked at the woman and said, “Excuse me…madam, could you please explain what's going on?”

"Don't panic. I'm just using the magic I set up on Royal to temporarily avoid Terena's surveillance and meet you. I'll send you back safely later."

The tall, thin witch shook her head: "This should be our first meeting, so out of courtesy, I need to confirm how I should address you. Or rather, how would you like to be addressed—Your Highness, Princess of Scotland? The Master of the Wind's Mark? Or... one of the victims of Terena's Plan, the poor, ignorant sacrifice?"

Noticing Guinevere's sudden change in expression, the gaunt witch merely smiled coldly: "I told you, there's no need to rush. We have plenty of time to explain everything to you. Young lady, judging from your expression, you already have some suspicions about Terena, otherwise you wouldn't be reacting like this... Very well, now that the seed of suspicion has been planted, things should proceed much more smoothly from here on out. But before that, let's have a brief self-introduction."

Under the firelight, the witch's smile grew even colder. Guinevere wondered if it was just her imagination, but she felt that... even though the other person spoke normally, there was always a strange, inexplicable sense of incongruity in her expressions and body language.

But this feeling was fleeting. She shook her head, listening to the witch before her say, "My name is Gretel, one of the Nine Witches of Avalon. You may have heard of this name, or you may not, it doesn't matter. I only want to tell these things to the other sacrifices while I still remember them: the truth about the Queen of the Lake, the origin of your Wind Mark, and... the despair that this island, Britain, will face—"

P.S.: This is a 4,000-word chapter. Since I couldn't find a suitable time to break it into paragraphs, I just posted it all at once. I've been having a lot of fun these past two days and haven't been getting enough sleep. I started writing at 7 pm and I'm already so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open, so I won't stay up late. I'll finish the rest tomorrow... Remember to vote!

Chapter 45 Truth or Illusion (Part 1)

"Where should I begin..."

In the firelight, the witch who called herself Gretel rested her hands on the edge of the table, her gaze unfocused, seemingly lost in thought. Guinevere sat opposite her, her head slightly bowed, glancing around out of the corner of her eye at the winding passages leading out, the seemingly man-made caves, the torches arranged in a certain pattern on the stone walls, but what she saw most were the shadows cast on the walls.

One's own shadow.

While the shadows of everything else appeared normal, only her own shadow flickered, sometimes large, sometimes small, sometimes shrinking and sometimes becoming enormous, like a formless, wildly writhing black shadow that constantly changed its shape, making one... shudder.

"Guinevere...you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Suddenly asked this question, she immediately came to her senses and forced a smile: "Of course."

“That’s good.” Gretel nodded expressionlessly. “Then first, I’d like to confirm one thing, which will determine where we can proceed next. Guinevere, have you heard of the ‘Age of Gods’?”

"Kamiyo?"

Guinevere was slightly taken aback.

In this life, she had never heard of this term before, but as the name suggests, she could understand what it meant. Moreover, in the game where Artoria appeared in her previous life, several important characters were from the Age of Gods—since meeting Artoria, Guinevere, thinking it might be useful in the future, recorded all the relevant information she remembered and would review it in her spare time. Even without a photographic memory, after several readings, her impression of the relevant people and things was still very deep.

After a moment's thought, he replied, "That must refer to a long time ago, when gods still roamed the world, right?"

“Exactly. Since she’s Leodogran’s daughter, it’s not surprising that she knows these things.” Gretel’s tone was indifferent, but Guinevere sensed a different meaning in it: “Madam, you…know my father?”

Logically speaking, it's perfectly normal for figures like the Lady of the Lake and the Nine Witches of Avalon to know the name of the King of Scotland. But the way Gretel mentioned the King of Scotland's name didn't feel like she was talking about a stranger whose name she'd only heard of; it felt more like... the warmth of talking about an old acquaintance.

"The fact that you asked this question shows that you still know nothing about this matter. I have no interest in answering your doubts. If you have the chance in the future, go and ask your father yourself... but whether he will answer you is another matter."

At this moment, thanks to her extraordinary imagination and the influence of countless novels from her previous life, Guinevere had already imagined no less than three hundred different story developments, two hundred of which needed to be censored... Her expression changed several times, but fortunately she still remembered the main point. When she looked up, she met Gretel's empty and unfocused pupils.

Have you imagined enough?

"Uh..." As if her inner thoughts had been read, she couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed and nodded.

“Then I will continue.” Gretel gave her a blank look. “In short, planets change their physical laws according to the life that lives on their surface. The era that was once full of mystery and magic came to an end because you humans became the greatest power, and gradually declined. Nature that once had personality became a simple natural phenomenon, and the ether in the atmosphere also dissipated.”

Planets, laws of physics… It felt like the other person was constantly spewing out incredibly advanced terms in every sense of the word. Was it really okay? Or were all the magicians on the moon so knowledgeable that they could use terms from hundreds of years in the future with ease? Even as the conversation turned serious, Guinevere couldn’t help but secretly mutter a few complaints to herself.

This time, Gretel seemed oblivious to her thoughts and continued in that flat tone, "With the death of Solomon, the King of Magic, the decline of mysticism accelerated, and about five hundred years ago, the age of mythology came to a complete end. This planet became independent from nature, a world for animals that had broken away from the natural cycle and could barely survive on their own."

"To put it more simply, this planet has now become the one with the 'most suitable laws for human survival.' Whether it's dragons or fairies, they would be breaking the rules in your human laws, so they moved to the other side of the world, leaving the land to you. As a result, only creatures that cannot move to the other side and creatures that are unwilling to accept their impending extinction remain. The former are harmless, but the latter pose a great threat to humanity. Powerful individuals can survive even without the magic in the atmosphere, and in the most extreme cases, they might even inhabit this place for hundreds of years."