If there is a possibility that things will go wrong, no matter how small that possibility is, it will always happen.
— Murphy’s Law.
‘It is indeed just as I suspected.’
Artoria sat behind the table, lowering her eyelashes.
The golden hair on her forehead covered her exceptionally cold gaze.
‘Ireland really is assembling forces.’
‘This is not good.’ Her left index finger subconsciously tapped the surface of the table as she pondered.
Outside the house, birds chirped crisply, and the spring breeze gently caressed the verdant branches.
However, this lighthearted and vibrant scene only made the atmosphere in the conference room seem all the more dull and oppressive.
With the diligent reconnaissance of the two knights over the past two days, they finally confirmed that what Lancelot had said earlier was true.
And now, this scene was exactly why they had gathered together, wanting to discuss how Britain should respond to Ireland’s actions.
In the room, Gawain, who had been silent for a long time, raised his head to look at King Arthur, who was deep in thought not far away.
Perhaps noticing his gaze, King Arthur, whose figure appeared somewhat slender, suddenly raised her eyes to look back.
Their eyes met.
The King’s emerald green eyes held calmness and composure.
With just a single glance, it miraculously soothed the annoyance and anxiety in Gawain’s heart.
This was truly incredible, yet it also seemed like a matter of course.
King Arthur just possessed such a unique aura; when you looked at her, it was as if no matter what kind of difficult situation occurred, it would not move her.
She could solve everything, so there was no need to worry.
Reliable, powerful, and reassuring.
She possessed an inherently dignified and clear temperament.
“Since we already know about this matter, why not turn their own plans against them?”
Artoria’s eyes shifted from cold to bright, like a river cleared by the wind.
Clear eyes, soft sunlight, and the spring colors reflected a dignified green.
Artoria softly explained her ideas to the knights.
Each word spoken from her lips was like a thread woven into a tight, large net.
And the big fish that this net was meant to catch was named Ireland.
A small house, the King and her knights.
Waiting for the chirping birds to fly away, waiting for the blowing wind to still.
As the constant discussions finally turned from ideas into a truly feasible strategy, the setting sun had long since gone down.
“Everyone, may victory and glory belong to Britain forever.”
With the blessing spoken by Artoria, she drew the final period to this long-lasting consultation.
“May victory continue, may glory last forever.”
The knights knelt on one knee, bowing their heads to recite the blessing, their eyes lowered in respect and reverence.
Watching their departing backs, Artoria’s mood became bright and clear.
The three knights went their separate ways in three directions.
Gawain went to contact the commander of Scotland to explain the current situation and request temporary command.
Lancelot went to the barracks to personally select soldiers and organize them into the two-thousand-man cavalry unit he would lead.
Kay went to notify the captains of each squad, having them check strategic supplies and make full preparations for battle.
The sun had already set, and the last glimmer of light scattered onto the floor through the window, leaving only a faint brightness.
Dust motes danced in the dim twilight.
A great battle was on the verge of breaking out.
Artoria stood on a high hill, and as far as her eyes could see, the entire land was stained red with blood.
Not far below the hill, the soldiers of Britain and Scotland were fighting fiercely.
They rushed forward one by one without regard for their own safety, and then fell one by one.
She could clearly see a young soldier wielding his sword, cutting down two enemies before being pierced from behind by an Irish soldier.
At the moment he fell, he was still shouting the slogan ‘Scotland will win’.
This scene ignited a towering rage in her heart.
The Dragon Heart in her chest was beating urgently, and the magical energy within her had already begun to become restless.
Artoria gripped the holy sword in her hand tightly, feeling once again how fragile life was.
She wanted to go into battle to kill the enemy herself, wanted to personally cut off the enemy’s head.
However, it was not time yet; the timing was not right.
She had to wait a little longer; she had to wait until Lancelot and Kay sent her the signal that the operation was successful.
Just at this moment.
“Boom!”
A sudden, sky-high blaze accompanied by a huge roar erupted from deep behind the Irish lines.
This unexpected fire instantly threw the Irish army into chaos, and they stared blankly toward the rear.
The faces of the Irish were filled with panic and unease.
The place where the flames rose was exactly where their military camp was located.
Artoria’s previously motionless figure suddenly looked up sharply.
Her gaze was like a torch, and ripples like sparks rose in her eyes.
She knew in her heart that the flash of fire just now was done by Kay and Lancelot, and the huge roar that resounded through the sky was the signal they had given.
“Prepare my horse.”
Artoria’s voice was dignified and steady, her emerald green eyes now filled with burning fighting spirit.
Taking the reins handed to her by her guard, she nimbly mounted her horse and raised the holy sword in her hand.
The radiance of the holy sword appeared holy and solemn under the shining sun.
“Attack!”
Following Artoria’s resounding shout, the assault squad that had been lying in ambush on the nearby hills leaped down, charging toward the Irish army, which had already lost its formation. Find the original chapter at novelping(.)com.
Riding her mount into the enemy ranks, Artoria swung her sword, as swift and fierce as an autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves.
Every breath was magical energy.
The overwhelming power she displayed shocked and terrified the enemy army; they had never seen such terrifying martial prowess.
Fear began to spread, and the Irish commander blew the horn for retreat.
The tide-like enemy army retreated like scattered sand, their previous arrogance now completely gone.
Could they run?
They could not.
Desperate cries came from the rear of the enemy army again.
Lancelot and Kay, having arrived in time, were leading their cavalry unit, driving the Irish army from the front.
Those scattered soldiers were the troops that Ireland had hidden and transferred from other fronts.
Originally, Ireland had wanted to catch them off guard to turn the tide of the war, but they hadn’t expected to be wiped out in one fell swoop by Artoria and the others who had turned their own plans against them.
The previous explosion had blown away their supplies and killed their hidden soldiers.
Only those survivors, numbering no more than a thousand, were left, crying and howling as they were driven into the battlefield by the cavalry led by Lancelot and Kay.
This was the perfect moment.
The armies of Britain and Scotland, following the previously set action plan, pulled out of the battle without hesitation and with speed.
At this moment, all that could be seen were the Irish enemy troops, gathered together, their expressions fearful and bewildered.
Artoria retreated to the edge of the battlefield, then gripped Excalibur tightly with both hands.
She slowly raised it above her head, and the brilliant, dazzling radiance slowly gathered on the holy blade.
It was simply too eye-catching, and the Irish army let out panicked screams.
There were mages in the army, but they had never seen such a powerful and soul-stirringly massive amount of magical energy.
In today’s world, where magical energy is still withered, such dazzling radiance would only exist in the past Age of Gods.
No, that unparalleled and irresistible amount of magical power was rare even in the Age of Gods.
Accompanied by the release of magical energy, Artoria swung the holy sword above her head down fiercely.
In an instant, a huge torrent of light swept across the entire battlefield.
The Irish army didn’t even have time to let out a death cry before they were evaporated by the blinding light.
When the light vanished from the world, all the surviving friendly troops were stunned.
With just one strike, all the Irish troops on the battlefield turned to ashes, vanishing from the world just like that.
Their gazes involuntarily turned toward Artoria, who held the holy sword; everyone seemed dumbfounded, as if they had been scared witless.
For a long time…
Like boiling water splashing on a calm lake surface, joyful and impassioned emotions surged like waves.
With a cheer, everyone began to excitedly shout for the hero of this war.
“King Arthur!”
“Long live King Arthur!!”