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

A chill ran down my spine!

His hair was practically standing on end as he sat on his horse, reaching for the shield to his side. Before he could even raise the round shield, the light and shadows shifted and transformed into a scene of utter chaos. A pitch-black shadow suddenly "stood" up from the ground—like a tattered piece of black paper—and lunged at him!

The shield blocked in front of him, but it was like hitting a city wall head-on. It shattered into pieces, and a dark "tide" surged in. The man and the horse struggled in the whirlpool for a moment. With the horse's neighing, the darkness swallowed him up!

Chapter 52 Contact (Part 2)

Clop clop clop clop, the sound of horses' hooves gradually approached from one end of the road.

There were three horses. Leading the procession was a middle-aged man with disheveled hair and a thick, red beard. Five or six crisscrossing scars adorned his face, but instead of making him look ferocious, they gave him an imposing and heroic air. He was a burly man, as tall as an iron tower, with bandages all over his body. He wore a clearly short and worn-out garment, holding the reins in his left hand and a long, finely forged iron spear held upside down in his right, the tip still bearing traces of dried blood.

This was a long-abandoned mountain area, overgrown with weeds, and with no obvious paths to be found. The middle-aged man rode his horse forward, stepping through the weeds, occasionally glancing back and saying a few words: "...It's just ahead."

"Oh."

Two horses followed behind, almost side by side. One horse carried two people, while the other was empty, without any luggage. Hearing the middle-aged man's words, the blond boy nodded in response. But then, from behind Artoria, another hairy head suddenly poked out: "This place is really remote." The voice was clear and crisp; it was Guinevere.

The two riding together seemed like an elegant affair, but there was a hidden reason behind it. For some reason, Guinevere had never been liked by animals since childhood. Cats would scratch her, dogs would bark, cows would butt her with their horns, and horses would hoof her—the old horse Aite had only occasionally bitten her hair, which was considered mild compared to other animals—she couldn't even get close to horses, let alone learn to ride.

Having learned the whole story from Royal, the two men, who were originally looking for Terena to see if there was a way to repair the broken sword, now that they knew she might be up to no good, felt they had no reason to ignore it, both for their own sake and out of personal feelings. Having made up their minds, they quickly agreed that Royal would lead the way to his companion, Miles. Miles knew of a secret passage leading into the castle; if all went well, they could infiltrate the castle directly through the passage, confront Marco, thwart Terena's plot, and rescue Tristan, who might be used as a sacrifice.

They started on foot, and after walking for a while, they happened to rescue a caravan that had been attacked by wild beasts. They politely declined the caravan's gift as a token of gratitude, but instead, Guinevere bought three horses from the caravan at a discount: one for Royal, and one for herself and Al. With Artoria possessing a natural affinity for animals, the horse didn't kick them. It only occasionally gave her a sidelong glare, and Guineverere could swear it was always a look of utter disdain…

The third horse, however, was reserved for Nemia.

Artoria didn't hide anything about Nemia—she wasn't really good at keeping secrets from others yet. After deciding to cooperate with Royal, she immediately explained her encounter with the bone bird in the storm and her meeting with the little girl deep in the forest. She also hinted, to some extent, that Royal might know Nemia's identity.

Unfortunately, Royal only knew that the bone bird was most likely the third son, symbolizing "swiftness," who was said to possess the ability of invisibility and move like the wind. They had tried to besiege it several times, but each time suffered heavy losses, and in the end, they could only turn to surveillance. Unexpectedly, Guinevere had dealt with it, and he praised her sincerely, saying, "I never thought that Miss could break that troublesome invisibility spell. She truly deserves to be called the Queen of the Lake," and so on. Guinevere herself was puzzled.

From beginning to end, she could see the big, strange bird clearly and plainly; there was no way it could hide.

Completely baffled, they could only suppress their doubts for the time being. As for Nimue, Royal admitted that he knew nothing about her and had not found any similar children in that forest so far. He said that once this matter was over, he would help investigate her identity and try to find her family. But until then, this little girl, who could only be seen by Artoria, would have to stay with them.

"Fortunately, Nimiao is very well-behaved, doesn't make a fuss, and... he's already learned to ride a horse at such a young age."

"I feel like that sentence was directed at me..."

Artoria coughed softly, turning her gaze away from Nemia, who was sitting on horseback looking around with the curiosity of a child. Just then, she heard Royal say from ahead, "Back then, the enemy crossed the sea from France, fought their way all the way to Truro, besieged the castle for months, and the previous king was starved to death. After Marco ascended the throne, in order to prevent a similar thing from happening again, he secretly built this secret passage. He was cautious and suspicious by nature, and only told a few close confidants about the secret passage, including Miles."

“But Miles is a true knight. He possesses a soul of unparalleled nobility.” He praised his old friend without reservation, a smile spreading across his face. “He couldn’t bear to see people suffer, so he told us about the secret passage, hoping we could stop Marco as soon as possible—”

There was a pause.

There's one more thing Royal didn't say.

He called himself King Arthur because of Miles's suggestion.

“Marco has gone down the wrong path. We must stop him, but who will do it is the question.” Not long ago, at the last gathering, Miles explained in front of the others, “Lord Royal, you were once the chief knight under King Levalland, with Lord Lucan, Lord Yote, and the other former Ronua followers all under your command. In a sense, your decision carries more weight than Ser Tristan's. If you publicly declare your opposition to Marco, things will become very complicated. At worst, it might even be seen as Ser Tristan's attempt to usurp his uncle's throne—”

"So I have an idea. A few days ago, I received news that the long-lost great magician Merlin appeared in a small town and, through a sword-drawing ceremony, chose the so-called successor to King Uther. At the same time, people claiming to be King Arthur appeared in several places. I suspect this is a smokescreen used by Merlin to confuse the king's judgment, but we can take advantage of this opportunity."

"Although King Uther was defeated by Vortigern and has been missing for a long time, his reputation remains. Lord Royal, if you were to claim to be King Arthur, you would attract many loyal followers. Moreover... in the face of Marco's atrocities, the young king chose to stand up and fight bravely to prevent an impending tragedy. This is a great honor and will not harm the real King Arthur. Even if he comes looking for us later, we will have nothing to feel guilty about. Is it better to do this in your own name, Lord Royal, thereby inciting conflict between the old Ronuoa forces and others, and putting Ser Tristan in an unjust position, or... to give King Arthur a good reputation? I believe you can all see clearly which choice is better, so I will not elaborate further."

After this discussion, everyone agreed that Miles's consideration was thorough. Indeed, Royal's identity was sensitive; even if the matter ended smoothly, it could easily be used against them. It was much more convenient to act under the name of King Arthur—after all, they weren't the only ones doing it. At this point on the entire island, from south to north, countless people claimed to be King Arthur; one more wouldn't make a difference. However, this upright knight, when alone, couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. In any case, misappropriating someone else's name was never an honorable act, and if he ever had the chance to meet the real King Arthur, he must sincerely apologize for this…

His jumbled thoughts came to an abrupt halt with the sudden cry of an eagle. The middle-aged man reached out and pulled on the reins, looking up to see a majestic eagle with snow-white feathers spread its wings and swooped down overhead.

The eagle cried out in the sky and disappeared from sight in an instant, but that one glance was enough for Royal to notice the red cloth tied to its left leg.

"what happened?"

As the two horses behind approached, Artoria asked.

“That’s Lucan’s White Eagle… He’s in charge of monitoring Marco Castle. The red cloth on his left leg means Terenas has left the city, and judging from the direction the White Eagle is heading, he’s probably going to inform Miles and Bedivere.”

Royal shook his head: "In any case... that village is not far ahead, let's hurry over there."

P.S.: The book will be available for purchase tomorrow, so I'll try to update as much as possible today. There'll be another chapter later~ Remember to vote!

Chapter 53 Contact (Part 2)

It was nearing noon, the sun was blazing, and the stream flowed quietly. The water was so clear that the smooth stones at the bottom were clearly visible, but there was no sign of any fish. The wooden bucket sank and then floated up again, the water shimmering in the sunlight, and faint, fleeting rainbows seemed to appear in the distance.

Another small shadow was reflected in the wooden bucket, then grew larger. The man who was bending over to fetch water stopped, and the bucket floated on the stream. A white eagle with a red cloth tied to its leg flapped its wings, circled, and landed on a nearby branch, letting out another loud cry. The man looked at the red cloth for a moment, then released his grip, and the bucket wobbled away with the current.

He didn't even look in that direction, but simply raised his hand, touched his nose, and a look of realization dawned on his face: "Oh, the witch moved..."

The man was about thirty years old, not very tall, with dark skin, like a farmer who toiled in the fields year-round. But the long sword at his waist suggested that he was not an ordinary person. However, the most striking feature was his large, red, bulbous nose, which took up almost half of his face. Anyone who looked at him would definitely notice this distinctive feature first.

As a result, few people would notice those relatively ordinary eyes anymore.

And the cunning within it.

His name was Miles, a notorious clever boy in the village from childhood. He rose through the ranks to become a knight, highly valued by Marco, and was originally a very important figure in present-day Cornwall. But ever since Royal left—the king claimed he had banished him, but everyone knew the truth—Miles seemed to have lost heart. Soon after, he disappeared without a trace during a patrol mission, vanishing from everyone's sight.

It wasn't until he recently approached Royal and the others that they learned he had been staying there ever since, guarding the secret passage Marco had built and waiting for an opportunity.

An opportunity to get everything back on track.

He touched his nose again, then started walking towards the village behind him.

Although it's called a village, it had been abandoned several years ago. Overgrown with weeds, the doors and windows were dilapidated, and the houses themselves had become dens for small animals. It was a desolate place, with only a few small huts on the edge retaining a semblance of human presence. He had been living alone in this run-down little village for quite some time.

Marco deliberately chose this location for one end of the secret passage, and spent a full year or two relocating the villagers here and the surrounding area to other places under various pretexts, so that the village was abandoned. Because there were no important facilities or towns nearby, and the place was remote, it was rare for travelers to pass by throughout the year. As an escape route in case of emergency, it can be said to be extremely well hidden.

Miles walked toward the village, the sound of flapping wings behind him, and the white eagle followed obediently.

"Lukan's falconry skills are truly superb."

He smiled, his steps quickening as he arrived at a small hut with its door ajar. He pushed it open, and with a swift movement, the "messenger" followed him inside. It was still daytime; the hut was unlit, but the windows were wide open, letting in the midday sun, which slanted in, and dust motes floated in the air. The rustling of turning pages paused, and someone said, "Sir Miles?" Seeing the white eagle, the voice hesitated, "This is… Brother Lucan's eagle?"

"Bedewell, your elder brother sent this eagle to deliver a message..."

The term "knight" is generally used to address nobles of high status, and can also be used to address knights who have been formally knighted, as a title of respect. The sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy in front of him was Miles's squire, a novice knight, and had not yet been knighted, but had participated in this project with his brother, so he could not be called a knight.

Miles held him in high regard. Like his father and brother, Bedivere had also experienced the war that destroyed Ronua. He was still young then, but he still stepped forward and, at the cost of an arm, defeated enemy soldiers who wanted to harm his mother and sister. When people talked about this, they all admired the boy's courage, but most of them thought that Bedivere, now with only one arm, would never see the battlefield again.

But this only made him more diligent and hardworking, and he developed outstanding skills. His skills with spears and longswords were in no way inferior to those of other knights with all four limbs intact. If it weren't for the fact that there had been few wars around Cornwall in recent years, giving him no opportunity to show his abilities, Bedivere would probably have become a full knight at a young age, just like his brother Lucan.

With these thoughts in mind, Miles turned and closed the door, making the room slightly darker. He then walked over, pulled up a chair, and sat down: "...Terena has left the castle."

He tapped his fingers on the table a few times, watching Bedivere put down the papers in his hand—before he came in, the boy had been organizing some information about the "Nightmare Seven" that Gretel had provided—his green eyes looked over: "Leave the castle...now?" His tone was full of doubt.

“I didn’t understand at first either. According to Lady Gretel’s information—” looking at the stack of papers filled with writing, “her plan has reached the most crucial step. Even if we don’t know who the sacrifice for the fourth son is, the fifth son, who symbolizes the ‘great man,’ in this land, only Marco and Sir Tristan fit this description.”

“Both of them are in the castle,” Bedivere added.

Miles nodded. "So, Terenas shouldn't have any reason to leave the castle at a time like this. If I were her, I would definitely keep the most important target under my nose. But similarly, if I were that damned witch, I might want to deal with some potential obstacles before taking the most crucial step."

His tone was unhurried. Across the table, Bedivere suddenly seemed to realize something, and his expression changed: "Possible obstacles...you mean, Sir Royal and his men?"

"And us."

"us?"

"Besides Marco and a few close confidants, the only people who know about this place are Royal and you and me... That's theoretically true, but there's another being who isn't human."

Before he could finish speaking, Bedivere looked at the obedient white eagle perched beside the bed, his expression changing drastically: "She left the castle to lure Brother Lucan into a trap—"

“Then follow this white eagle to this place.” Miles said in a deep voice, “I’m not sure if this conjecture is true, but just in case, we’d better leave a coded message for Royal and the others immediately and then leave. Now, Bedivere, take your sword and destroy all this data. Meet in the square in a quarter of an hour.”

"Yes!"

The boy stood up, his expression solemn.

But it was at this very moment that a voice, not belonging to any of the three, suddenly rang out in the hut that should have contained only the two people and the eagle—a female voice as sweet as honey, enough to make one slightly dizzy just by hearing it: "As expected of the person King Marco considers a confidant, you understood the situation so quickly, truly—"

Bedivere turned sharply towards the direction of the sound. But there, all he saw was a simple hardboard bed and... a white eagle perched at the head of the bed.

Could it be...

The window was open, letting in dazzling sunlight, which cast shadows of varying sizes and lengths all around. Light and shadow are, after all, the most inseparable relationship.

But the boy stared at the white eagle, his chaotic mind almost forming a judgment. Before that, however, a not-so-tall figure suddenly stood up and blocked his way.

"Terena".

Miles' voice remained calm as he stood between Bedivere and the white eagle, something gathering in his eyes. "Hehehehehe..."

The woman's sweet laughter echoed in the narrow room, but Miles's gaze shifted from the eagle. He lowered his head slightly and looked at the black shadows cast by the white eagle on the bed and floor.

The edge of the shadow was twitching slightly. Like a viscous, insubstantial swamp, Miles slowly raised his hand and placed it on the hilt of his sword.

Sunlight poured down.

"go!"

"Buzz—", as if a long tremor had been heard, the sword blade slashed forward, and the viscous shadow seemed to come alive, suddenly springing up and pressing down on Miles and this direction!

boom!

The entire wall shattered with a deafening crash, and the boy stumbled and fell to the ground. He rolled away, dodging a broken sword that fell from the sky. With a soft "thud," the sword tip embedded itself in the ground, wobbling precariously. His entire field of vision shook violently as he rolled countless times, his face and body covered in scratches. Finally, he crashed heavily into something and came to a stop with a loud bang, a crash, and a thud—dust billowed as the entire rotten wooden door collapsed, smashing down on him.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Amid coughing, the boy pushed open the half of the door that was blocking him with one arm, struggling to stand up, but when he looked ahead, his body swayed violently.

"pity--"

Before him, outside the hut where the entire wall had been blown off, lay the lone carcass of the white eagle in a corner. Miles was choked and held suspended in mid-air.

What grabbed him was a pitch-black "giant".

This "giant" was over three meters tall, but its entire body was flat and flat, like a piece of black paper, indescribably terrifying and eerie. It had a round head-like thing and long, thin limbs like whips, standing there, its hands and feet twisting strangely.

"That's all. Hehehe..."

Terenas's voice came from the shadow beneath the "paper doll." Hearing the mocking laughter, Bedivere clenched his fist.

But contrary to his inner rage, his body was trembling slightly. The young novice knight knew he might die here soon…

P.S.: Remember to vote for Chapter Two!

Chapter Fifty-Four: War and the Situation (Part One)

Which song would you like to hear?

"I only want to hear the piece you want to play."

"it is good."

After that sentence, there was a brief silence, and soon, the melodious sound of a harp began to play. Tinkling and tinkling... People usually call those who play instruments and sing bards, but for those who are truly skilled in music, there is no need to open their mouths to perform; the notes flowing from their fingertips are one delightful story after another.

The music that began to play was not any of the existing pieces; the person was merely plucking the strings casually, yet the melody was so beautiful that it could captivate anyone who heard it, surpassing even the finest wine.

But the only listener at this moment was a woman sitting quietly in a chair by the window, her face filled with sorrow. Sunlight shone on her snow-white profile, on her dress made of the finest materials, and on her beautiful, ankle-length golden hair.

She was famous for her long hair, even known as "the blonde Isolde," and spent several hours every day grooming it. But at this moment, neither Isolde herself nor the red-haired youth playing the harp paid attention to her silky long hair.

A moment later, the impromptu music stopped. Tristan stood there—he always played standing—his eyes seemingly closed, or perhaps gazing at the girl before him, without saying a word. Isolde sat quietly in her chair, listening to her own breathing and the knight's, and slowly, a smile appeared on her face: "That was beautiful."

But there was little joy in that smile.

“Melancholic and sorrowful.” She added, as if to further explain, “Music can reflect a person’s mood. Sir Knight, you are sorrowful—you have always been sorrowful since I met you, but… it’s always different.” Isolde’s voice was soft, like a gentle breeze: “Your sorrow, your sighs, are because there are too many things in this world that cannot be changed. I thought I could understand your feelings, but now, although I know the reason for your sorrow, Sir Knight, I cannot fully comprehend it… but it is precisely this lack of understanding that allows me to begin to understand your feelings.”

The girl pursed her lips and smiled slightly: "Please play another piece for me. Even without words, I can gain a satisfaction from your music that others can't even imagine."

Tristan nodded silently, his fingertips lightly strumming another melodious tune. The girl remained silent, her hands resting on her knees, her head slightly tilted, her gaze towards the knight filled with longing…

The two, engrossed in the music, did not notice that the door to the room opened slightly at some point, then closed again, and an old figure walked in. Without making a sound, the figure slowly walked toward Tristan, who had his back to them. Because the red-haired youth's body blocked the view, the girl sitting in the chair also failed to see the person who entered.

He wore a crown, which shimmered in the sunlight, and a sharp dagger was held in his withered hand...

……

"You're going to die, poor lad. You'll die just like this guy, a miserable and painful death. Do you know why? Heh heh heh... It's because tiny insects like you dared to oppose me. Insects in my way are destined to be killed—"

In the dilapidated, deserted village, the sound of women's laughter echoed.

Miles was being choked by the bizarre paper giant. He wasn't dead yet and struggled desperately, but the slender tentacles were different from their appearance. They possessed unimaginable strength. Just now, this monster had struck out from the shadow of the white eagle, not only breaking Miles's all-out sword strike but also sending him and Bedivere flying along with the entire wall. Now, holding Miles in the air, the man's face slowly turned red, and his breathing became increasingly difficult.

"Strange……"

He seemed to want to curse as a monster, but after struggling for a long time, he could only utter a short syllable. Terenas's laughter grew even more triumphant, but just then, a voice said, "I will not die!"

Her laughter was abruptly cut short, leaving only an awkward echo in the wind. The one-armed boy struggled to his feet, his silver hair covered in dust, his face streaked with blood from the earlier commotion. He stood there, his body trembling slightly with fear, but Bedivere gritted his teeth and shouted again, "Sir Miles won't die either—"

"Heh... Kid, are you scared out of your wits? What do you mean you won't die? Don't you know that with just a little force, your Sir Miles will be a corpse in no time!"

"even so!"

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked, the boy took a deep breath: "Even so! As long as someone remembers him, Sir Miles will not die! Even if his body decays, his noble soul will not be killed by a monster like you! Never!"