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

The purple-haired woman shrugged, a smile on her face: "This is a matter of life and death for our clan, so of course we will do our best to assist you two."

"What about it?"

"Currently, we have 127 combat personnel at our disposal, including 60 wounded and 20 who are not skilled in covert operations. The remaining 47 will be divided into seven teams to search for the King of Scotland and the other knights throughout the Great Forest. But with our abilities, even if we do our best, we can only evade His notice for half a day, or about ten hours—any longer and He might detect Tirnanor's presence. We dare not gamble on whether that deity knows how to open the door—if we don't find anything within that time... then we will be powerless."

"Ten hours? That's a bit short... Oh well, these are extraordinary times, we can't ask for too much. So, one times seven is seven, two times seven is fourteen, three times seven is twenty-one..." Musashi counted on his fingers, muttering to himself for a while. Guinevere realized he was reciting the Japanese multiplication table, and she didn't know where he memorized it from, but he quickly got to forty-nine. "Perfect, put Princess Musashi and me in the team with two fewer people. Our strength shouldn't hold you back."

"understood."

In just a few words, the two had finalized their action plan and started discussing the detailed steps, leaving Guinevere, the actual person involved, aside. She blinked as she listened to their discussion, feeling a warmth in her heart.

Neof was primarily concerned with the safety of her own clan. To fight against that mysterious and powerful deity, they needed to find outside help. However, Musashi's decision to help seemed to stem purely from passion and goodwill. She had intended to suggest that this great swordsman, who was also a fellow transmigrator in a sense, travel south to sightsee and perhaps even get an autograph from Artoria and the others. She didn't want her to wade into this obviously dangerous mess.

She didn't think that the other party could see how dangerous this matter was. The opponent was a god, and just from the name, one could tell that he was not easy to deal with. Yet, he seemed to have never thought of withdrawing from the matter and participated in it very naturally.

If it were me, could I be so calm and fearless...?

That would be great if we could do that.

As Guinevere thought to herself, she looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling of the room. After reaching a general conclusion, Musashi urged her to get some sleep: "Eat your fill and sleep well! Only third-rate soldiers doze off on the battlefield!" He said, pushing her back as he followed Neof into the guest room.

The residential area was extremely large and the facilities were quite complete, with nearly a hundred guest rooms alone. She and Musashi chose two adjacent rooms, but because she still couldn't take off her armor, even though it was light and weightless, she still felt bumping and bruising everywhere when she lay down, which was extremely uncomfortable. So she had to get up halfway and switch to meditation.

With her eyes closed and open again, Guinevere remained in the same sitting position she had before falling asleep. She stared listlessly at the ceiling for a while, then looked away, resting her chin on her hand in a daze. The last time she had rested like this, cross-legged, was during a trip with Artoria, when they found Nemü in the forest that night—only a few months ago, yet it felt like such a distant memory.

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. She looked over: "Who is it...please come in?"

Thinking it must be either Neof or Musashi, the door opened slightly, and out appeared the pink-haired girl, who was about thirteen or fourteen years old and was called "Twelve" by the purple-haired woman.

She held a wooden bowl in her hands, which seemed to contain some clear liquid. Standing by the door with her head slightly lowered, she gave the impression of a wary little rabbit.

"what……"

She glanced at the wooden bowl, then cautiously looked this way: "Oh, ah—"

It was still that incomprehensible cry, but Guinevere had spent some time with the boy called Twenty, and could more or less intuitively guess what they were trying to say. Besides, in this situation, it was quite easy to understand: "This, is it for me to drink?"

She made a drinking motion. The girl's eyes lit up and she nodded hurriedly, "Yay, yay yay—" But the movement was too vigorous, and her hand slipped, sending the soup and water flying out.

She cried out in surprise and instinctively tried to catch it with both hands, but she couldn't catch it at all. The small bowl spun halfway through the air, and almost all the soup had splashed out. Suddenly, Guinevere stretched out her right hand, and with a strange swirling force, she managed to draw all the soup back into the wooden bowl, without a single drop falling to the ground.

The pink-haired girl stared blankly as the wooden bowl seemed to be held by an invisible hand, flying forward a short distance before landing steadily on the girl's dragon claw-shaped handguard. After a long while, she suddenly covered her mouth with her hand: "Ah—" This exclamation sounded completely like that of an ordinary girl.

"Thank you."

Guinevere was very satisfied with her performance, especially seeing how supportive the other party was. She was overjoyed and tried her best to keep a straight face so as not to show any smugness and lose her composure. She picked up the clear wooden bowl that looked like it was just plain water and took a small sip.

It's rare for such a pretty young girl to bring me food, so of course I have to savor it slowly...

"..."

"Ah, ahh?" The pink-haired girl took a few steps forward, her eyes full of anticipation.

"It's...it tastes really good."

Guinevere looked at her, expressionless, and drank the remaining liquid in a few gulps. She turned the bowl upside down, and with almost all her might, she managed to force a small smile onto her lips, her voice trembling.

"Ah—!" the girl exclaimed, catching the empty wooden bowl with both hands and happily running off. Once the figure had disappeared from sight, the girl slapped herself on the face: "Serves you right for doing all that! You should have just let this thing break! Seriously, cough cough cough, what is this rubbish? It has all five flavors—sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, and salty—I doubt even my Artoria could drink it..."

He muttered to himself to himself while keeping an eye on the door, afraid that the pink-haired girl might suddenly turn back and be hurt by his reaction. But finally, he couldn't hold back any longer and leaned over the bed, retching violently.

Faintly, it seemed that the same nauseating sounds were coming from the next room as well...

P.S.: My grades have suddenly dropped these past few days, it's really sad. Does nobody like Qingbai anymore? (wiping away tears)

Chapter 189 The Great Wall of Anthony

“Everyone else is ready to leave, and Miss Musashi is already…” Her words trailed off as she pushed open the door. Neof looked curiously at the girl, whose face was pale, lips were purple, and who was trembling uncontrollably: “What’s wrong?”

"It's nothing. It's just... the food here is really... profound." Guinevere managed a weak smile. Although some time had passed, the indescribable taste still lingered in her mouth. She wondered if it was just her imagination, but she felt a burning pain in her throat and stomach.

The only saving grace was that the food from the previous meal had already been digested, and nothing actually came up. Otherwise, it would have been too unfair to the host family.

Upon hearing this, Neof suddenly realized, "Judging from your reaction, Twelve's cooking probably isn't to your liking? Heh, she's the most enthusiastic cook of all the children, but unfortunately she's never had the chance to let anyone taste it. This time, she's probably a little too excited because she rarely has outsiders visiting."

"It's a good thing that kids enjoy cooking." Even though the finished products are utterly disastrous, clearly showing a complete lack of talent, at least it can cultivate their taste. Guinevere gave a wry smile, suddenly realizing something strange in the purple-haired woman's words: "They haven't had a chance to let anyone taste it?"

This statement could be simply interpreted as no one wanting to eat what the girl made—after all, the horrific taste was something she wouldn't want to try a second time. However, Neof's tone suggested something more. The purple-haired woman shook her head: "Didn't I say before that we don't need to eat? 'We' here refers to the Picts, or rather... the current generation of Picts."

"Do you know why we think we are the gods' favorites?" This was a question that had been raised earlier on the long staircase in front of the Golden Palace in the clouds. At that time, Neov changed the subject on the grounds that she had other important matters to attend to, but now she brought it up again: "Because long ago, in the time when the gods still walked among the earth, our race had already lived on this land."

"The laws of the world back then were completely different from now. The air was filled with true ether, and mortals could only tremble under the wings of the gods. But our race was able to move freely in the environment of true ether." Even as she recounted the glorious history of her race, the purple-haired woman's voice was cold, and even carried a hint of sarcasm: "We once possessed infinite energy, we did not need to eat, we did not need to sleep, we did not age, and we did not truly face death. Even if our bodies were damaged for various reasons, our souls would continue to exist and be reborn in a completely new form after several years or decades."

So, the Picts, like dragons, fairies, and giants, belong to the category of fantasy species… The girl's heart stirred, and then she heard Neof continue, “However, as the ether in the air gradually thinned, even survival itself became a problem for us. Fortunately, the artisans of our tribe created a mask that could refine ether, thus averting the crisis of extinction… Of course, we know that the design of this mask is a bit silly.” She shook her head with a smile, “Who told the author to have no taste?”

"But everyone understood that no matter how hard they tried, things belonging to the old era would eventually perish with the times... Those who refused to accept this fact started a war against the outside world, while the remaining three tribes accepted their fate of extinction and began to try something else—how to ensure the long-term continuation of Pickett. The answer was the birth of those children."

“Apart from birth, those children are basically no different from you outsiders. They need to eat to sustain life, they need sufficient sleep, they will inevitably age, and once they die, they cannot be brought back to life… They are, in a sense, a collection of flaws. But it is precisely because of this fragility that they are able to live in the new era without relying on equipment purified from ether, just like you.” As she spoke, the two walked out of the room one after the other. Before them stretched a network of corridors that seemed to extend endlessly. In the distance, Guinevere saw the pink-haired girl carefully carrying a wooden bowl in both hands, hurrying towards them.

"That direction..."

“It seems Twelve is quite fond of that young knight. Is his name Peden? I hope he won't fall ill because of Twelve's terrible cooking.” Neof's smile remained, but compared to before, it held less sarcasm and more of an elder's delight: “Perhaps the Picts will eventually perish with the age of the gods, but those children are the hope of the Picts. As long as they live, the will of our race will endure. If it is to protect this hope, even against the gods, we will fight to the very last moment—”

"I believe you feel the same way."

She smiled slightly at the girl and turned around: "Come with me, Miss Musashi and the others are ready."

"Please wait a moment."

"kindness?"

"Before that, I'd like to ask..." Guinevere recalled the exceptionally vivid dream she had just experienced before waking up, and tried to describe it simply.

She hadn't had high expectations, but after a moment's thought, Neoph replied, "We know that place. Since you have a lead, why don't you go check it out first?"

……

At the same time, on the northernmost border of Scotland, along the Anthony Wall, the first rays of the morning sun also shone brightly.

After leaving the dark forest where sunlight never shone, the influence of day and night finally became apparent. Most people continued their lives of working at sunrise and resting at sunset. As the rooster's crowing echoed in the air, the barracks, which had been quiet all night, gradually began to fill with the sounds of conversation and chatter. Soon after, the first patrol of soldiers was already walking on the city walls, heading towards their respective outposts.

In modern Britain, the Antonine Wall is a well-known and impregnable symbol that isolated the Picts to the north. Its history dates back nearly 350 years, commissioned by Antoninus Bishop of the Roman Empire and overseen by Urbicus, then governor of Britain. It took nearly 12 years to build, stretching over 60 kilometers from the River Clyde to near the River Forth, with 19 forts, replacing Hadrian's Wall in the south as the new border of Britannia.

Over the next few centuries, the wall was repeatedly captured and recaptured by the Picts until the Romans withdrew from Britain, at which point Scotland officially took over the defenses. After several repairs, it played a crucial role in the war against the Picts.

Even today, although the Picts have retreated into the northernmost forests, the Scottish army is still mainly stationed within the Great Wall. Baran's proposal is not to push too hard all at once, but to build new fortresses and temporary camps little by little, gradually blocking the Picts' way out in a piecemeal manner.

But in the last two weeks, those with keen intuition have noticed that the actions of the Great Wall defenders seem to have changed somewhat...

"Still no news of Father! You bunch of useless trash!"

boom!

He slammed his fist heavily on the long table in front of him, causing the entire table to shake. The sand table model and several flags piled up collapsed with a crash.

The people standing on both sides of the long table all had their heads down and remained silent, with only a few people quietly glancing at the young man standing on the high place.

The young man was about twenty-something years old, with long, golden hair cascading down his shoulders. He was handsome, with a pair of expressive emerald green eyes, and wore a gleaming suit of armor that shone brightly in the morning light outside the window, without a single scratch on it.

He wore a similarly ornate longsword at his waist and a brand-new cloak. If he were riding a tall horse, he would be the quintessential protagonist from those warrior tales. However, his current expression of anxiety and anger, coupled with the fact that he hadn't slept all night, made his eyes bloodshot and his appearance somewhat haggard, diminishing his otherwise elegant demeanor.

Seeing no one speak, the young man placed his hands on the table, his gaze sweeping over each person as if suppressing something: "Baran, our chief knight, went in and was completely wiped out! My father led the expedition in person, accompanied by thirty-five nobles, each one a renowned knight! This lineup would terrify even King Lot and North Wales! And yet only five returned! A bunch of useless trash!"

“Prince, please watch your words…” someone began to speak, but he suddenly roared back, “Shut up! You went out with your father, and now you’ve slunk back like mules. You are defeated generals, utterly without honor!”

He waved his hand forcefully, panting, and slammed his fist on the table, sending sand flying: "I know you don't respect me. You wish Guinevere was standing here right now, you wish she were the one giving orders—then you would definitely do as you please, wagging your tails like the hounds on my estate."

“But now, until Father returns, I am the one speaking here. Even if my sister returns, she will only obey my orders! If you understand, listen carefully. I don't care what methods you use, you must find him. As long as we can't find Father, Scotland will remain a piece of meat coveted by others. You all understand this…”

He shook his head, remained silent for a moment, and then waved his hand: "Everyone else except Klark... get out."

P.S.: Remember to vote!

Chapter 190 The Possessed (Part 1)

The morning light was bright, but it was somewhat blinding to those who hadn't slept all night. Duncan dragged his weary body out of the fortress, the sunlight pouring down. He shielded his eyes with his hand and let out a big yawn.

It was another long meeting… or rather, another pointless argument. Feeling somewhat annoyed, he thought to himself, when someone called out, “My lord… Earl.” It took him two calls to snap out of his reverie and nod to the person who had spoken.

Duncan is only thirty-one years old this year, and for an earl, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him a young man. It is worth mentioning that his title and lands were not inherited from his ancestors, but were bestowed upon him through his martial prowess and wisdom, and through his outstanding military achievements alongside Leod Ogland.

Although he was ridiculed by some traditional and inexplicably arrogant nobles as a rude country bumpkin or a brute who only knew how to wield a gun, he didn't care at all. In fact, most people thought that the nickname "The Rock" came from Duncan's short stature and dark skin, but only those who had actually dealt with him understood that the title truly described the duke's stubborn character, as unyielding as a bull.

He seems to be born without the understanding of compromise and tact; no matter the situation or who he's facing, he'll bluntly state his thoughts. Over the years, this has earned him countless enemies, yet he shows no intention of changing, as was the case in the meeting just now.

At this moment, a slightly overweight, bearded middle-aged man emerged. Unlike Duncan, who was in full military uniform, he was dressed in a dress uniform and was not carrying any weapons. He walked quickly while wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief: "Lord Duncan, my dear Lord Duncan, please be understanding and slow down."

"Speak directly if you have anything to say."

"Sigh." Seeing that Duncan didn't slow down at all, the man couldn't help but curse inwardly, but on the surface he still forced a smile: "Regarding your conversation with Prince Pat earlier..."

"So, you want to be Pat's mouthpiece?" Soldiers could be seen coming and going on the city wall from time to time. It was early morning, and the air was filled with the aroma of food. Duncan stopped and turned his head. His cold gaze made the middle-aged man freeze in his tracks, and he too stopped a beat later.

“Well, it’s not quite like that… I certainly think what you said, Lord Duncan, makes a lot of sense.” He stammered, “We’ve suffered heavy losses, and the King and Lord Balan are still missing. Rather than staying here and waiting for the outcome, we should definitely ask Orkney for help as soon as possible. But, but…”

“Once King Lotte arrives, Pat will no longer have a say in matters here,” Duncan finished the sentence for him.

The middle-aged man nodded repeatedly: "That's right, that's exactly it. You and I both know that Prince Pat is always very proud, and it's not easy for him to have this opportunity to show his talent... Young people don't want to give up their power, which is normal."

“If he were an ordinary person, it would be fine, but Pat is royalty, the future king. With such a frivolous mindset, it’s no wonder the king hasn’t entrusted him with any important responsibilities so far.”

“That’s right, that’s right…” The middle-aged man kept wiping the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. “But Prince Pat’s decision, while a bit clumsy, isn’t exactly wrong, is it? No matter what happens in the north, if the enemy wants to come, they’ll always have to pass through this wall. As long as we stay here and guard it…”

“Indeed.” This time, Duncan agreed with him: “Although Pat was unwilling to ask for outside help, his decision to have us stay here and wait for the outcome was neither wrong nor wrong. And the fact that he didn’t desert proves that he is not a coward. But…”

He then changed the subject: "If the king were here, he would make a better choice."

"That's for sure, after all, he's our beloved king..."

"The princess is one too."

The middle-aged man's sentence suddenly caught in his throat. His mouth opened and closed, and after a long while, he could only manage to squeeze out, "Well... not necessarily..."

"Is it?"

Duncan glanced at him, replied indifferently, and then strode forward as if the conversation was over.

The middle-aged man took two steps forward, calling out a few more times. When he saw Duncan's figure turn to the left and disappear, he suddenly threw the handkerchief he was holding to the ground and cursed.

"What a stubborn, stinking rock... Ah, so be it. In any case, neither our king nor that little princess you were hoping for is coming back. The wise know to choose sides now, as for the fools, well..."

He lowered his head, a slight smile playing on his lips in the shadows. A soldier in the distance noticed them, slammed his spear into the ground, and saluted. The middle-aged man smiled and returned the salute, picked up his handkerchief, dusted it off, and turned to leave.

……

"It should be right here..."

Guinevere knelt on one knee, pinched a bit of soil between her fingertips, rubbed it a couple of times, and then smelled it. There was a faint, burnt smell, like the marks left by flames.

really.

she thought.

At the same time, Musashi, who was searching for traces not far away, shouted, "Here—there's another corpse!"

"what--"

The long howls of the Picts echoed through the dim forest. Torchlight flickered, and Musashi, standing beside a rock, beckoned. The girl stepped forward, handed him a torch, and knelt down to examine the armored corpse closely. After a moment, she exhaled: "...He's Mald. My father's guard. He once made a bet with me, lost, and treated me to a terrible roasted meat."

She sighed, reached out and closed the other person's still-open eyes, stood up, and said in a heavy tone, "This is the thirteenth corpse we've found along the way."

"And they all died from the same sword wounds. One hit to kill." Although the corpse had countless wounds of all sizes, Musashi, at his level, could naturally spot the true fatal wounds at a glance, and could even roughly reconstruct the battle that had taken place in his mind based on the remaining traces around it.

As he spoke, he returned the torch, then gently patted Guinevere's shoulder with his free hand. The girl turned her head, gave Musashi a slight smile to indicate that she was alright, and then her gaze fell on Mald's cracked iron breastplate and the bloody, mangled chest beneath it.

She could almost see this scene: amidst the pitch-black flames blooming like giant lotuses, a massive scythe came crashing down. A knight with one arm crippled dodged to the side, deflecting the scythe with a single sword strike. Then, with a powerful slash from the upper left to the lower right, he sent the dark figure flying backward, crashing heavily into a tree.

The black mist that had been swirling around his body dissipated, allowing the young knight to see the light of day again.

At the cost of death.

……

"This one was also killed by Balanqing."

she said softly.

"So, he, like the twelve people from before, has become one of those... possessed shadow spirits we've encountered before?" Musashi frowned.

“That should be it… if what I saw earlier wasn’t wrong.” Guinevere shook her head. “Besides, I can’t find any other reason. Lord Balan is definitely not the kind of person who would harm his own comrades…”

"Perhaps, it's not these people who are being possessed."

Understanding Musashi's meaning, the girl couldn't help but smile bitterly: "That's truly the worst-case scenario." Before leaving, they had also exchanged information with Neof. According to her, the strength that a Shadow Heroic Spirit can unleash seems to largely depend on the physical attributes of the person it possesses.