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

By the time she realized she was digging her own grave, it was too late. This forced Guinevere's plan to reveal her identity to be postponed once again... though it was entirely her own fault.

"Fina, do you see a village up ahead?"

Hearing Artoria's words, Guinevere immediately put aside her chaotic thoughts, took a few steps back, turned around, shaded her eyes with her hand, looked ahead a few times, and nodded: "There is a village. But it's still early, staying here would be a waste of time. Let's see if there are any kind people we can exchange some fresh food for..." Her voice gradually faded, and she looked around for a while in the swaying sunlight: "Why is there someone standing at the village entrance? It looks like they're looking this way... Are they looking at us?"

"Probably." Artoria wasn't sure either, looking around. "There doesn't seem to be anything else nearby." With doubt in their hearts, the two of them rode over, and then, upon seeing the appearance of the person at the village entrance, they were both taken aback.

Covered in animal skins and painted with oil paint, this was a style of dress popular among the Celts hundreds of years ago. Now, in Britain, only the Picts in the north and the Druids would dress like this. Even though Christianity quickly replaced the original traditional culture and became the most popular religion after the land became a province of the Roman Empire, the latter was ancient and deeply rooted and was not completely replaced. After the empire withdrew, the hidden Druids began to become active again.

Because they could, to some extent, manipulate the forces of nature, ensuring bountiful harvests or bringing rain to parched lands, most lords with a modicum of knowledge highly valued druids. If they heard of druids within their own territories, they would often send men to summon them and treat them as honored guests. It was rumored that Vortigern commanded about a hundred highly skilled druids, while Scotland recruited twenty-three druids with generous gifts. Their leader, named Klark, possessed not only druidic magic but also considerable swordsmanship. After achieving merit, he was knighted by the King of Scotland—a name that appeared earlier, the same man who cried out before the king, "Scotland will have no more soldiers to use," indirectly leading Guinevere on her journey.

As for the "druid" recruited by the lord, if he was actually a charlatan, and was exposed, fled, or beheaded, there's no need to go into detail. Several similar stories circulate among the common people, passed down orally, serving as a cautionary tale. However, Guinevere scrutinized the ordinary-looking middle-aged man. Powerful druids like Klark, with their long-term contact with the forces of nature, possessed a vitality far stronger and more surging than usual—a quality easily discernible. This man, on the contrary, lacked such characteristics; instead, he gave off an extremely weak impression, as if his life was nearing its end. Yet, he didn't seem like the kind of charlatan from folk tales—the reason was simple: what charlatan would stay in such a poor village where there was clearly little to be gained?

The sound of horses' hooves echoed as they arrived at the village entrance. Guinevere's questions were just beginning to surface when the druid approached. But as he drew nearer, Guinevere suddenly felt a burning sensation on the back of her left hand. Her expression changed, and she looked down to see that the green leaf pattern, usually hidden, had appeared on its own without being activated.

The other two also noticed this change.

"This is..." Artoria was simply puzzled. She only knew that this pattern was the symbol of the rulers of the fairy realm, but she was still completely baffled as to where Fina had obtained it, what its connection was to the so-called Nine Witches, and what the pattern itself did. From the previous battles, she had vaguely sensed that Fina seemed to be able to manipulate the wind, but she didn't know whether this was her own ability or derived from this green leaf pattern. But who doesn't have a few secrets? She herself was also hiding something from Fina—not to mention, she still presented herself as a man—so she simply kept her curiosity to herself, waiting for Fina to explain it to her one day.

But the other person's reaction was more intense than either of them expected—the middle-aged man's expression changed the moment he saw the green leaves. His original smile turned into a complex expression mixed with surprise and anger. With a wave of his hand, several green vines climbed out from his sleeve and in the blink of an eye transformed into a short gun about three feet long, which he held in his palm. He stared at Guinevere with a mixture of shock and anger.

"This is the mark of the Lady of the Lake—you, are you Elina's companion!?"

Elina, a name she'd never heard before, must be a woman… Artoria thought to herself, her hand subtly resting on the hilt of her sword, but sensing no killing intent from the middle-aged man, she didn't draw it. Turning her head, she saw Guinevere herself looking equally bewildered: "Elina?"

Facing the tip of the pistol, she thought for a moment.

"I only know one person related to this mark, named Terena. As for Elina, whom you mentioned, I'm sorry, this is the first time I've heard of that name."

The middle-aged man remained silent for a few seconds.

"It's the Terena you mentioned."

"And who is Elina?" Guinevere tilted her head.

This time the silence lasted longer.

The atmosphere, which had been tense to the point of near confrontation, gradually became subtle in the silence. After a moment, the middle-aged man sighed, released his grip on the short gun, and the gun immediately transformed back into the shape of a vine, writhing like a snake as it retracted into his sleeve and disappeared.

"I got a little excited and bit my tongue... Sorry, I have no ill intentions towards you two... Young man, please release your sword hilt, don't worry... Of course, I don't mean to make you believe I have no ill intentions. Rather..."

The middle-aged man spoke, glancing at Artoria with a slight wry smile. Artoria, still gripping her sword hilt, met his gaze with composure. Even though he had sheathed his weapon, it might have been a ploy to lull them into a false sense of security. Therefore, despite his words, she remained vigilant. Guinevere, on the other hand, seemed completely unconcerned about the man pointing a weapon at her; her face was relaxed, showing no sign of tension or anger.

Seeing the two of them, his bitter smile deepened: "I'm weak, I can't beat you, so you can rest assured—"

P.S.: Please vote, recommend, and favorite!

Chapter Nineteen: Arthur, The Showdown with the Demon Boar

At noon, the sun was blazing. In a dilapidated little wooden house on the edge of the village, there was a similarly dilapidated square table, low stools, three wooden cups, and wisps of white smoke rising from them. A few leaves floated and sank in the boiling well water. This cup of bland leaf-infused water was the only thing the middle-aged man could offer to his guests.

“Although I wish to apologize for my rudeness earlier, as you can see, this village is in its current state, and we really don’t have anything worthwhile to offer…” The middle-aged man paused, picked up the cup in front of him, and gulped down a large mouthful as if he didn’t feel the heat at all. “I was born and raised in this village. At the age of fifteen, I was fortunate enough to be taken in as a student by a druid master and was able to learn the Way of Nature. But thirty years have passed, and I am still a druid apprentice. At this age, it is unlikely that I can advance any further. After being expelled by my master, I wandered around and came back here, thinking that I could use what I have learned so far to help the people of my hometown in some way…”

He paused again as he spoke. Across the table, by the window, a girl held a wooden cup in both hands, blowing on it. The equally blond, blue-eyed, and slender boy had already finished his cup of water, even chewing and swallowing a few leaves along with it. The window was half-open, and the wind blew in from outside, ruffling a few strands of the boy's hair. He turned his head, his gaze seemingly falling on the small square patch of sky outside the window, where clouds drifted and the sparse trees on the hillside were grazing leisurely. A brown horse was strolling along, occasionally lowering its head to nibble on some grass.

He had already introduced himself to the two of them. The boy was named Altos, and the girl was named Fina. Although they looked similar, they were not siblings. They had met by chance on their journey and had traveled together ever since, "so they could look after each other," the girl had said, which sounded rather strange. Or rather, in Britain today, where monsters roam and bandits are rampant, young and beautiful travelers like the two of them—not to mention Fina, even Altos was a handsome young man, and if he had something to pad his chest, he would probably be no less attractive than Princess Isolde—were extremely rare.

But since one of them was a successor of the Nine Witches of the Lake, it wasn't surprising that he had traveled safely to this place. Uru thought to himself, glancing at the girl named Fina. The leaf mark on her left hand had long since disappeared, and if you ignored the jewel-encrusted, obviously expensive sword, she seemed like just a frail little girl. Like those royal children who lived year-round in magnificent castles, served by servants, their lives carefree, yet in that instant of confrontation at the village entrance, he had gained a preliminary understanding of their strength. If it were them…

While they were hesitating about how to begin, the boy named Altos started the conversation: "We've passed through several other villages and towns along the way, and the atmosphere here seems a bit..."

"Lifeless," the girl finished the sentence without looking up. Even though the cup in her hand had stopped steaming, she continued to blow on it relentlessly, making one wonder when she was going to drink it again.

“It’s nothing more than natural disasters and man-made calamities.” Uru gave a bitter smile. “The land is becoming increasingly barren, and the harvest is getting worse year by year. The first few years were alright, but this year, the harvest is barely enough to feed everyone in the village. That’s a natural disaster, but as for man-made calamities… From winter until now, over the past three or four months, the king has had several disputes with the fisherman king to the east, and it seems he’s preparing to send troops to attack the other. Because of this, he has already sent people to collect grain five times.”

Five times!?

The boy suddenly stood up, his eyes wide, and exclaimed in surprise. The girl beside him tilted her head and didn't say anything. The next moment, Uru saw the boy purse his lips and look over: "This request is too much. You should refuse."

"Refuse?" The middle-aged man shook his head and replied with a touch of humor, "If we can defeat the knight's sword, that would indeed be a good idea."

The boy's face grew even uglier: "The knight's sword... how could any knight be willing to carry out such... such an absurd order?"

“Otherwise, Al, who do you think all those five grain requisitions went into? As the saying goes, ‘The king’s command is hard to disobey, and it’s easy to make a quick buck—’” The girl smiled, her reaction much calmer than her rather indignant companion. But what Uru was more familiar with was precisely this calmness, and the meaning behind it—as if everything was commonplace, insignificant. She then took a small sip of her now-cold tea; perhaps it was a little bitter, because her little nose wrinkled slightly: “So, what does Your Excellency wish us to do?”

She sat in a chair made to fit Uru's physique; though short for an adult male, it was more than enough for the girl. Her toes barely touched the ground, and with a slight sway, her boots traced a brown arc in the air.

"If you have any difficulties, please feel free to speak up. My friend here is a very kind-hearted person, and as long as it's not something heinous, he should agree. Of course, we are just two travelers passing through, and our abilities are limited, so there are many things we can't do. Please understand in this regard."

"I see."

Uru set down his cup with a soft thud, his animal-skin cloak swaying slightly. He let out a long sigh; “Collecting grain is our own business, and naturally we wouldn’t trouble you two with it. But besides that, there’s another matter… one that might be life-threatening. I understand that making such a request on our first meeting is rather absurd, but regardless, it’s this one thing I’d like to ask for your help with—”

The two exchanged a glance. The girl spoke up, "Let's hear the details first. Then, I also have a request."

"Please say."

"Your Excellency seems to have a close relationship with Terena."

The moment the name was uttered, the middle-aged woman stiffened abruptly. Her eyes flickered thoughtfully. "To be honest, we are looking for Terena for some reason. But we only know that she lives in Cornwall, not exactly. If all goes well, could you provide some information about her? Anything, no matter how small, will be appreciated as a reward."

"I want to ask—" After a long while, Uru finally responded: "What is your reason for going to see that woman?" He then stared at the girl without blinking. The girl tapped her cup with her fingertips, and for a moment, her gaze seemed to drift towards her companions. A somewhat embarrassed but still polite smile appeared on her face.

"Finish off the sword."

*****

Two hours had passed by the time the conversation inside the cabin came to an end. The sunlight, which had been intense, softened into a gentle warmth, casting beams of light and shadow through the gaps in the branches and leaves. Dust floated in the air, and the protruding tree roots were covered with lush green fallen leaves. The wind rustled, and footsteps approached from outside the woods.

"It happened about two months ago. Before that, although we suffered from the king's unrestrained taxation, we were still able to barely fill our stomachs by hunting in the mountains..."

A middle-aged man draped in an animal-skin cloak walked ahead, carrying a short, emerald-green gun in his right hand, which he used as a cane. Two young men followed behind, listening to him speak: "Until one day, an acquaintance didn't return by nightfall. I was worried, so I went into the mountains to look for him... The forest has always been the druid's domain. Although my skills are meager, I'm not without a chance of victory against a few wolves or even a bear in the forest. And then... I met it."

“It was a deep black demonic boar. The first time I saw it, it was eating the corpse of an acquaintance of mine. It had already eaten almost half of it, the bones were crushed, and it was laughing as it ate… I don’t know how to describe the sound, but the demonic boar was definitely laughing gleefully. I fought it and was severely injured and on the verge of death. Afterwards, I told the villagers, and some brave people gathered a group of people to try to drive away the demonic boar. But… the demonic boar chased the few people who had fled back into the village, smashed down several houses, and killed many people. I had no other choice but to take out this thing…” He stopped and patted the animal hide on his body.

"This is the only gift I received from my teacher, a cloak made from the hide of a ferocious magical beast. As long as you wear it and sense its aura, other magical beasts will not dare to approach. Thanks to this cloak, the village's safety has been temporarily preserved, but this is not a long-term solution... As long as the magical boar remains in this forest, there is always the possibility of injury or death. Moreover, without hunting and food, everyone will starve to death before autumn... I am too weak to defeat that magical boar, so I have no choice but to ask for your help."

As he spoke, Uru took off the cloak and handed it to the two people behind him. The boy took it, then paused, and the girl asked, "What's this?"

"The demonic boar is just ahead. We should encounter it a little further on. If we find ourselves outmatched, this cloak will save our lives. This is the only help I can offer."

“But if we leave, without this, the demonic boars might turn around and attack the village…” The boy tried to hand the cloak back, but Uru pressed it down: “If that really happens, it’s fate. Just like I said, the demonic boars and the tax collection are our own problems. Because we had no other choice, we dragged you two, who are completely unrelated, into it. In that case, how can we let you risk your lives while we take no risks at all? There’s no such logic in the world.”

He spoke firmly, and the boy hesitated for a moment before finally nodding, "I understand."

Uru then smiled and said, "It may sound strange for me to say this, but please don't force yourselves. And then—" looking at the two of them, "Although, as someone who has fought that demonic boar, I should share my experience so that you can be prepared. But unfortunately, whether it was our first encounter or the time it stormed into the village, I was knocked away in one fell swoop, so there's really nothing to say... Please be careful."

"Ah."

"And please don't forget what you promised me."

The boy nodded, but the girl beside him offered a word of advice.

"Of course. Although I don't know much about that woman, I will never hide anything I know."

"That's enough."

Having said all that, there seemed to be nothing more to say. For Uru, the next steps were simply to return to the village and wait, or for the two to return with good news, or for the demonic boar to charge in with overwhelming force. He had placed his bet on these two people he had just met; if they won, all would be well, and if they lost, it would only mean death.

Thinking to himself, he added, "Oh, and one more thing. You absolutely mustn't wear this cloak for too long. At most, you can only wear it for half a day. Otherwise..."

The words have not yet fallen.

But then the two people in front of them changed their expressions and looked ahead, into the depths of the forest—almost at the same time, the rustling wind in the depths of the woods suddenly disappeared, and an endless silence spread, enveloping the entire forest. The next instant.

The sound of the zither resounded, soaring straight into the sky!

P.S.: This section is a bit longer than originally planned, so please don't criticize the title~ And I'm still asking for recommendations, favorites, and monthly tickets. Recently, the word count per chapter has increased, but the number of recommendations has dropped from around 300 per day to just over 200. Ah, how sad…

Chapter Twenty: Reflections on Pain, The Confrontation with the Demonic Boar

"Music can connect people who cannot understand each other through language... I have always believed this."

The warm afternoon sun streamed down through the branches and leaves, birds chirped, and leaves danced in the air. We were deep in the mountains, and among a few sparse trees, a large, jet-black boar was pawing the ground with its front hooves, constantly emitting low growls from its throat.

Its body was enormous, much larger than that of an ordinary wild boar. Its long, coarse fur was an ink-black color, and its two tusks stood out high, bearing dark red marks, likely dried blood. The origin of this blood was another matter.

But for the moment, no obvious hostility could be sensed from it. It growled softly, lowered its body slightly, and stared intently at the figure not far away. The two were less than twenty paces apart. While there might be room for maneuver between humans, this wild boar was exceptionally large, and its explosive power was undoubtedly astonishing. For it, this short distance was merely a blink of an eye. Perhaps that was why it hadn't launched an attack immediately.

But the more important reason is the sound that is currently echoing above the trees.

Tinkling and melodious, like a mountain spring flowing, the harp possesses an indescribable ethereal beauty. Yet, it is subtly different from other ordinary harps—in the period before the invention of the lute, the harp was still the most common and widely used instrument.

Bards traveled far and wide with their harps, singing tales of warriors battling powerful enemies in villages and castles. Among them were princesses and knights renowned for their harp skills. For the former, this was an allure beyond mere beauty; such fame often attracted even more outstanding men to pursue them. And in the eyes of the knights, being able to pick up a harp and play a tune in front of their colleagues and the king after a day's work was a truly elegant affair.

Of course, if one is not good at fighting, then no matter how well one plays the zither, it is just a trivial skill that is not worth mentioning, and one will only be ridiculed.

At that moment, melodious music filled the air, played by a young man with flowing red hair. He appeared to be in his early twenties, clad in silver armor with a large cloak over it, and a long sword at his waist. Even facing the ferocious demonic boar, the man's expression remained calm, his eyes half-closed, a faint smile playing on his lips—a smile that inexplicably carried a touch of sadness.

"...Leave. I don't know where you come from, but if you can understand what I'm saying, then leave from here and save us from a pointless fight."

His tone was sincere, as if he were earnestly persuading the monster before him. The boar let out another low growl, seemingly hesitant, as if it hadn't understood his words. The man's hands continued their work, and he offered a few more words of advice, but what he was playing was not a harp in the conventional sense—it resembled more of a longbow.

The bow, black and white, had six thin, flexible strings arranged side by side where the bowstring should have been. At first glance, it looked as if a part of both a bow and a harp had been taken and reassembled. The man held this object, which was hard to call a bow or a harp, in his right hand, while his left hand moved its five fingers rapidly, causing the six strings to vibrate and produce a beautiful melody that could take even the best musicians' breath away.

As time passed, the music came to an end, and the enormous boar finally took a step back, revealing a small, deep crater in the ground. With a flick of its finger, it subtly lowered the final note, transforming it almost effortlessly into the very first note of the piece. But in that instant, the boar, which had been about to retreat, suddenly swung its head, its tusks whistling through the air, and a tree trunk as thick as a bowl snapped in two with a crack.

The next moment, a deafening roar, like rolling thunder, erupted in the forest, instantly drowning out the harp's tone!

The man's expression finally changed slightly—but not out of fear from the roar. He slightly raised his eyelids, looking at the demonic boar that had already assumed an attack stance, a cold glint in his eyes.

"I see. So you don't want to leave..."

Sunlight streamed down, dazzling his eyes. His hand remained on the bowstring, not drawing the longsword from his waist, as if he had completely given up the struggle, preparing to close his eyes and await death. Yet, his calm, understated words rang out: "...Then... stay here."

The boar tusks flung to the side, lifting the tree that had just been broken high into the air. It then hurled it like a weapon, the broken tree stinging the skin even halfway through its flight. The man stood there, neither dodging nor avoiding, and with a flick of his fingers, he strung the bowstring. The music had barely begun when the broken tree seemed to have struck an invisible net of blades, shattering into countless fragments that fell to the ground in the blink of an eye!

However, at that very moment, the demonic boar pushed off the ground, and its mountain-sized form crashed into them with a thunderous roar!

The moment he moved, the entire ground beneath his feet shook as if an earthquake had struck. Trees swayed, countless leaves fluttered down, and countless birds were startled from the rustling bushes. The man swayed, but did not fall. Almost at the same moment the bowstring was plucked and the tree was torn apart by an invisible force, he plucked the string again. With this impact, his body flew backward, even faster than the demonic boar's charge.

With a forward and a backward movement, they retreated nearly a hundred meters in the blink of an eye. Countless trees along the way were broken and thrown into the air, but the unshakable and astonishing aura of the demonic boar showed no signs of diminishing. The man, in mid-air, pressed his hand on the bowstring and swung it again.

"Ow—"

A chilling roar suddenly exploded, and the air condensed, compressed, and transformed into an invisible blade that struck the demonic boar's head with a single note. The boar's hide was incredibly tough; in previous village raids, ordinary spears and short swords had struck it without causing any damage, and the weapons had even been destroyed or bounced back, sometimes injuring their users. Yet now, with just a pluck of a string, the man had left a nearly half-meter-long wound on the boar's forehead, its flesh torn open and blood gushing out!

But this is not the end.

As the force of the previous impact subsided, the man stumbled back several steps, his back slamming against a tree. Ahead, the wounded demonic boar appeared even more ferocious, its sharp, white tusks closing in, almost right in front of him.

"three……"

He dodged to the side, and the boar's left tusk pierced through the tree trunk. With a flick of its wrist, it uprooted the entire tree and, like a man wielding a hammer, smashed it down on him with a whooshing sound.

"two--"

He hastily retreated several steps, but was still grazed by the edge. The armor on his left shoulder shattered instantly, and his body fell backward. However, while he was in mid-air, he raised his harp bow. Suddenly, under the warm afternoon sun, countless intertwined and overlapping "threads" around the demon boar's body shimmered slightly in the light.

"one……"

The final note was perhaps too sharp for a harp, more akin to the soaring sound of a bowstring being released. Legend has it that the harp was originally invented by drawing inspiration from the bow and arrow, because the sound of the bowstring rebounding when an arrow is shot led to an understanding of the subtleties of sound production, and thus the instrument was created.

And then came that resounding twang that pierced the heavens.

Like a forest swept by a raging storm, broken branches, withered leaves, figures flying backward, the head of a demonic boar held high, dust rising from the tremors—everything seemed to pause for a moment. All things seemed dead, silent and still, except for the man holding the harp bow, who spat out a mouthful of blood in mid-air and landed several meters away.

From all directions, hundreds and thousands of sharp threads tightened simultaneously, blood violently splitting apart, and a shocking scream shook the heavens and earth. The mountain-like body crashed to the ground, and the entire world was a horrifying crimson!

P.S.: Oh dear, I still haven't reached the planned length. I originally wanted to write a little more, but I think stopping here is quite appropriate. Besides, to be honest, I'm experiencing writer's block. I scrapped it twice in the middle, and after forcing myself to write one chapter, I'm afraid I can't maintain the quality if I continue. So… well, I'll see in the next chapter~

Another reason—which is not the main point, of course—is that the Rashomon event has not yet been launched.

That's really not the point.

Finally, as is customary, I'd like to ask for your recommendations, favorites, and monthly votes!

Chapter Twenty-One: Your Southern Pigs...

As Guinevere and her companion followed the deafening sounds of battle, this is what they found:

Countless withered branches and leaves, and mangled tree trunks lay on the ground, dust billowing everywhere. A massive wild boar, enough to inspire fear, lay in the dust. Its left tusk was relatively intact, but it had several cracks. The right tusk was reduced to a small section, and the rest could not be found at the moment; no one knew where it had fallen.

Its fur, which should have been black, was now stained a fiery red with blood. Its entire body was covered in wounds, almost no part of it unscathed. Blood flowed freely, forming a small lake beneath the corpse. The two had come towards the sound of the music, initially intending to help save the musician should he be attacked by the demonic boar. Seeing this horrifying sight, they stopped in the shade of a tree, exchanged a glance, and Artoria said, "This is… the demonic boar the druid spoke of?"

"Looks like someone beat us to it." The battle had clearly just ended; blood was everywhere, and the thick, pungent smell of blood was almost unbearable. Guinevere covered her nose and muttered, "But this is too gruesome... Slaughtering a pig is nothing more than a quick death, but to go this far, what kind of twisted pig-slaughtering maniac is this..." Just as this joke left her lips, a figure swayed and stood up from under a tree a few meters away. It was a red-haired man with a longsword at his waist and a longbow in his hand, but he carried no quiver or similar items, and that bow... had six strings attached, and its shape somewhat resembled a harp.

Having traveled through time for so long, this was the first time she had ever seen such a strange weapon.

This guy is clearly a master!

He nodded to himself, but this conclusion was not solely due to the peculiar weapon that resembled both a harp and a bow and arrow. Firstly, the demonic boar was dead there, with no other corpses around, and the man was wounded. All these signs suggested that the man had killed the boar single-handedly.