=== Godrick ===
Godrick came to a stop at the foot of the hill, the wind tugging gently at the cape draped over his armor as he surveyed Aberrheidol Castle.
The fortress dominated the landscape, its thick stone walls encircling not only the castle itself but also the bustling town that had grown around it over generations.
His orders had been simple enough in theory, though far more difficult in practice.
He was to seize the castle, eliminate the four Headhunters hiding within its walls, and do it all while causing as little damage to the town as possible.
The Headhunters were among the Warlord’s most feared champions, each one strong enough to contend with the lower ranks of the Knights of the Round Table.
Beneath the Warlord themselves stood their four Generals, and beneath each General stood a single trusted retainer.
Those retainers were the Headhunters.
Today, Godrick would have to face all four, though hopefully… not all at once.
He exhaled slowly before rolling his shoulders, the plates of his armor shifting with a metallic scrape.
Tilting his head from side to side, he felt his neck pop before lowering his visor with a clang.
“Well…” he muttered to himself, tightening his grip around the shaft of his halberd.
“Better get to it.”
Atop the hill, Agravain folded his arms.
“Here we go.”
Beside him, Galahad could only nod as both knights watched the lone figure below begin his assault.
Godrick started forward at a measured walk.
Then his pace quickened.
A walk became a jog.
The jog became a run.
Within seconds he was charging across the open ground at full speed, every thunderous footstep shaking the earth beneath him as the distance between himself and the castle vanished.
The sentries spotted him almost immediately.
“Enemy!” one shouted.
The alarm bells began to ring throughout Aberrheidol, their frantic peals echoing across the town as soldiers rushed to the battlements and civilians scrambled for shelter.
One guard leaned over the parapet, squinting at the lone armored figure racing toward them.
“Why in God’s name are they ringing the bloody bell?” he scoffed.
“It’s only one kni—”
He never finished.
Godrick struck the iron portcullis as battering ram.
The deafening impact echoed across the valley as the enormous iron gate ripped free of its guides and launched backward into the heavy wooden doors behind it.
For the briefest instant the ancient timbers held.
Then they exploded inward in a storm of shattered wood, twisted iron, and pulverized stone that tore through the gatehouse.
The entire front of Aberrheidol Castle vanished beneath a cloud of splintered debris.
The mechanisms holding the portcullis together had been ripped apart by the impact, sending the enormous counterweights hurtling upward through the gatehouse in an eruption of shattered stone and splintered timber.
Chunks of masonry rained down into the streets below as a thick cloud of dust rolled through the entrance.
A lone figure emerged from the haze.
Godrick walked forward, his halberd resting comfortably in both hands.
Dust swirled around his armor, giving him the appearance of death itself striding from the ruins of the gatehouse.
Panic spread through the city.
Men shouted as they hurried their families away from the breach.
Mothers clutched crying children to their chests while fleeing deeper into the town, and merchants abandoned their stalls without a second thought.
At the same time, soldiers rushed toward the shattered entrance, forming a wall of steel between the lone knight and the rest of Aberrheidol.
Godrick stopped several paces from them.
“Do you know,” he called, his voice carrying clearly through the street, “that your lord harbors the Warlord’s Headhunters within these walls?”
A murmur rippled through the defenders.
Several soldiers exchanged uncertain glances, surprise plainly written across their faces.
“Those of you who wish to lay down your arms and accept the King’s mercy may do so now,” Godrick continued.
“Return to your families. No harm will come to you.”
His grip tightened around the shaft of his halberd.
“But those who choose to fight…”
The ashwood creaked beneath the pressure of his hands.
“…will answer to my blade.”
For several long moments, no one moved.
Then a handful of soldiers slowly lowered their weapons before letting them fall onto the stones.
Without another word, they turned and fled toward their homes.
“Cowards!”
The shout came from the rear of the formation as a heavily armored knight forced his way through the ranks.
He stood slightly taller than Godrick and wore blackened plate armor scarred by countless battles.
Resting across his shoulders was a halberd nearly identical to Godrick’s own.
“Name yourself!” the knight demanded.
Godrick remained silent.
“I said name yourself! Who are you to attack my city?”
“I’m not here to exchange words,” Godrick replied evenly.
“Surrender… or face death.”
The knight’s jaw tightened.
“You insolent little bastard. You don’t get to march into my city and make demands.”
With a sharp motion of his hand, he signaled for the surrounding soldiers to fall back before lowering the visor of his helmet.
The duel began without another word.
The black knight charged first, driving the spike of his halberd straight toward Godrick’s chest.
Steel crashed against steel as Godrick knocked the thrust aside before shoving his opponent backward with the haft of his own weapon.
The knight recovered quickly, snapping another thrust toward Godrick’s throat, but the younger warrior was already moving.
He batted the attack away before reversing his grip and bringing the hammer face of his halberd crashing down onto the man’s helmet.
The blow rang like a church bell, and the knight staggered backwards, his vision swimming.
Sliding his hands down the shaft of his polearm, Godrick reversed the weapon once more and drove the sharpened butt spike beneath the man’s breastplate, punching through the gap in his armor.
Before the knight could recover, Godrick wrenched him forward, dipped his shoulder beneath his center of gravity, and hurled the fully armored man over his back.
The knight slammed onto the broken stones with a thunderous crash.
Before he could even begin to rise, Godrick stepped in and brought the axe blade down onto the fallen Knight.
The man’s head separated from his shoulders, and silence settled over the street.
Godrick looked up from the corpse and found every remaining soldier staring back at him.
“Kill him!” someone finally screamed.
The street erupted into motion as dozens of armored soldiers surged toward him all at once.
His halberd swept across the front rank, its axe blade carving effortlessly through shields, armor, and flesh alike.
Bodies crumpled where they stood as he continued forward without slowing, each swing claiming more lives than the last.
The narrow street quickly became a slaughterhouse.
Steel rang against steel, men screamed, and blood washed across the cobblestones beneath his boots as Godrick carved a path toward the inner castle.
Within minutes, the defenders’ courage finally broke.
The surviving soldiers turned and fled in every direction, abandoning both formation and discipline in desperate bids to escape.
Godrick lowered his stance, then he ran them down.
One after another, the fleeing men fell beneath the sweeping blade of his halberd until no one remained willing to stand between him and Aberrheidol Castle.
“SON OF A BITCH!”
A soldier writhed on the blood-soaked cobblestones, both of his legs severed above the knee.
Godrick strode past without slowing, bringing an armored boot down onto the man’s head.
The skull burst beneath the weight of the blow, and before the body had even gone still, another soldier lunged from his left.
Godrick answered with a casual backhand.
His gauntlet struck the man’s helmet with such force that it crushed inward, folding steel and bone together before sending the lifeless body tumbling into the street.
‘Is this what the other Knights of the Round Table feel when they fight ordinary soldiers?’ The thought crossed his mind almost absentmindedly.
Another man rushed him with a spear.
Godrick stepped inside the thrust and drove his forehead into the soldier’s face.
The impact caved the man’s skull inward with a sickening crunch.
A broadsword suddenly crashed against Godrick’s raised forearm.
He felt the blade bite through the steel vambrace and slice into his flesh, but the wound barely registered.
Twisting his halberd, he drove the upper spike through the attacker’s chest before lifting the man from the ground and hurling him into another cluster of advancing soldiers.
He wanted to let go.
To stop caring about restraint.
To tear the castle down stone by stone until nothing remained.
His eyes settled on a line of retreating soldiers disappearing down the street.
Without thinking, he planted one foot and hurled his halberd.
The massive weapon spun end over end like the blade of a windmill, cutting effortlessly through the fleeing soldiers before burying itself deep inside a nearby building.
For a heartbeat there was silence.
Then the screams of women and children filled his ears.
Godrick froze as his blood ran cold.
The building began to groan as its support timbers cracked before the entire structure began collapsing.
He sprinted forward, smashed through what remained of the front door with his shoulder, and disappeared inside moments before the roof gave way.
Without hesitation, Godrick lunged beneath the collapsing ceiling and thrust both arms upward, catching one of the massive support beams before it could crush the mother and her children inside.
He pushed the beam, and much of the shattered roof resting upon it upwards, sending the debris back into the street, clearing enough space for the woman and her children to scramble free.
Only once they were safely outside did Godrick step out after them.
The mother stared at him in stunned silence before snatching her youngest into her arms and fleeing without another word, the other children tailing her.
The little girl looked back only once.
She saw the towering knight standing amid the wreckage, golden hair spilling from the back of his helmet as he silently retrieved the halberd embedded in the ruined wall. Read this novel at NovelPing for the best experience.
He did not look victorious.
Only disappointed.
Resting the weapon once more upon his shoulder, Godrick continued toward the castle keep.
No soldiers remained to oppose him now.
Those still in the streets had abandoned their weapons, choosing instead to usher frightened women and children away from the advancing knight.
Godrick ignored them completely, walking past without so much as a glance.
Eventually, he emerged into the broad roadway leading directly to the keep.
Two men and two women stood waiting for him.
Each carried themselves as someone who had survived countless battlefields, and each was unmistakably foreign.
The Warlord had conquered lands far beyond Britain, and Artoria had ensured Godrick understood the cultures that lay beyond their shores.
Even so, seeing warriors from those distant lands standing together was something else entirely.
The woman standing furthest to the left wore dark armor unlike anything forged in Camelot.
Layered plates protected her chest and waist, while tightly wrapped cloth secured the armor to her body.
Her face remained mostly hidden, save for the upper half of her eyes, and a long, gently curved sword rested at her hip.
Beside her stood a giant of a man, even taller than Godrick.
His armor covered only the essentials, leaving his heavily muscled arms bare save for thick iron gauntlets.
His head had been shaved except for a long topknot, and a fearsome mask adorned with metal tusks concealed his face.
Resting across one shoulder was an enormous wooden club studded with iron spikes.
The third warrior looked as though he had stepped from one of Merlin’s stories of the frozen north.
A wolf pelt draped over one shoulder, while a horned helmet framed the skull-shaped mask hiding the upper half of his face.
His braided beard hung nearly to his waist, ending in a heavy metal ring that swayed gently in the breeze.
In one hand he carried a broad axe large enough to split an oak in two.
The final member of the group was another woman, wrapped in thick furs despite the warmth of the season.
She held a long spear in one hand and a round shield in the other, while strange blue-black runes covered every patch of exposed skin.
Similar markings had been burned into her weapons, glowing faintly beneath the afternoon light.
Godrick’s gaze lingered on those symbols for a moment.
They were unlike any magic he had ever seen.
“So,” the armored woman said as she stepped forward, resting one hand on the hilt of her sword.
“It seems our little sanctuary has been discovered.”
Her eyes met his.
“Who are you… and why have you come?”
Godrick planted the butt of his halberd against the cobblestones with a heavy clang, letting the axe head settle beside him.
“Enough talking. I came to fight.”
A faint smile spread beneath the woman’s mask.
“As you wish.”
With a whisper of steel, she drew her blade.
As the four Headhunters spread out around him, Godrick tightened his grip on his halberd and began to march forward without the slightest hint of hesitation.
The largest among them moved first, charging with a roar as he swung his massive iron-studded club down with enough force to shatter stone.
Godrick sidestepped the crushing blow at the last instant before driving the shaft of his halberd into the man’s chest, the shove carrying enough power to send the towering warrior crashing onto his back.
No sooner had he recovered than the tattooed spearwoman swept her weapon low, attempting to take his legs out from beneath him.
The spear struck his armored boot, stopping dead against his planted stance as though it had hit solid bedrock.
Before she could recover, the barbarian axeman surged in from Godrick’s right, wrapping both arms around his waist in an attempt to lift him over his shoulder.
Godrick simply lowered his center of gravity and met the charge head-on, refusing to move even an inch.
With a grunt, he hooked one arm around the larger man’s torso, lifted him instead, and slammed him into the cobblestones hard enough to crack the street beneath them.
Seeing the opening, Godrick drove the spike of his halberd toward the man’s chest, intending to kill him immediately.
The barbarian twisted at the last possible instant, turning a fatal blow into a crippling one as the spike punched through his left bicep instead.
He howled in agony while rolling clear, forcing Godrick to wrench the weapon free, but before he could pursue, a burning pain exploded across his ribs.
The eastern swordswoman had slipped inside his reach without him noticing.
Her curved blade slid cleanly between the gaps in his armor before she immediately sprang backward, knowing better than to remain close.
At that same moment, the giant recovered from the earlier shove and brought his enormous club crashing into Godrick’s back.
The impact hurled him face-first into the street, knocking the halberd from his grasp.
He barely managed to rise to one knee before instinct screamed at him.
Looking up, he saw the eastern woman’s blade thrusting straight toward the left eye slit of his helmet.
Without thinking, he caught the sword in his bare left hand.
Steel punched through his gauntlet, tore through flesh, and burst from the back of his hand.
The blade stopped only inches from his eye as the guard struck his palm.
Ignoring the agony racing through his arm, Godrick tightened his grip around both the blade and the woman’s hand, trapping her where she stood.
His moment of success lasted less than a heartbeat.
The giant appeared beside him once again, roaring as he swung his club down with all his strength.
The first blow smashed into the side of Godrick’s helmet, plunging the world into darkness for a split second before his vision returned in flashes of red.
Blood began running into the right side of his visor, but when the second swing descended, he caught the club one-handed, his armored gauntlet stopping the massive weapon dead in midair.
‘Control.’ The word echoed through his mind.
He could see the surprise in the giant’s eyes through the narrow slit of his helmet, and for the briefest instant neither of them moved.
That hesitation cost him.
Something burst through his chest.
Warmth flooded the inside of his breastplate as he slowly looked down to find the spearwoman’s weapon jutting from his torso.
The force of the throw had shattered one of his ribs, and every ragged breath sent fire racing through his chest.
“Grrr…”
The growl barely escaped his throat as memories forced their way into his mind.
The crack of a whip.
Smoke.
Fire.
Screaming.
‘Don’t…’
He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.
‘Don’t lose control.’
As if sensing his weakness, the barbarian axeman returned.
Blood still poured from his ruined arm, but he raised his massive axe and hacked down at Godrick’s exposed shoulder again and again.
The first strike glanced harmlessly from his pauldron.
The second bounced away.
The third dug into the steel without finding flesh.
The fourth finally broke through as the axe bit deep into Godrick’s left shoulder, wedging itself between shattered armor and bone.
Something inside him snapped.
“DAMN IT!”
His roar shook the street.
With a violent twist, he ripped the giant’s club downward, smashing it directly into the spear still protruding from his chest.
To everyone’s astonishment, both weapons exploded apart in a shower of splintered wood and broken steel, although a jagged fragment of the spear remained lodged inside him.
Using the momentum, Godrick shifted his body to the right, dragging the eastern woman’s sword with him.
Still pinned through his own hand, the blade plunged into the barbarian’s exposed neck, opening it from ear to collarbone.
The huge warrior collapsed without a sound.
The swordswoman desperately tried to pull free, but Godrick refused to release her.
Instead, he seized the broken spear shaft still clutched in the spearwoman’s hands, tore it from her grasp, and rammed the shattered weapon straight through her throat.
Rising to his full height behind the thrust, he drove it completely through her neck before letting go and watching the disbelief remain frozen on her face as she collapsed.
The giant barely had time to react before Godrick spun and drove his armored elbow into the side of his helmet with enough force to snap his head violently sideways, cracking his mask.
Before the eastern swordswoman could recover from her own panic, Godrick pivoted again and unleashed a full-force punch directly into her face.
She managed only a single shriek.
The blow obliterated her helmet, tore her arm from its socket, and launched her broken body across the street.
The scream rang through Godrick’s ears until the entire world faded into black and white.
When color finally returned, he stooped, seized his abandoned halberd, and hurled it with every ounce of strength he possessed.
The spinning weapon punched through the woman, carried her completely off the ground, and buried both her and the halberd into the wall of a nearby building.
A heartbeat later the structure groaned, cracked, and collapsed around her in a cloud of dust and stone.
In a sudden burst of anger, Godrick twisted around, ripped the sword from his wounded hand, and drove it toward the chest of the large warrior who was preparing to bring his broken club down upon him.
The man reacted instantly, redirecting the broken weapon and catching the blade with what remained of the club.
The impact sent a shock through both warriors, but the force behind Godrick’s strike was enough to tear the ruined weapon from his grasp.
Before the warrior could recover, Godrick surged forward.
He wrapped his arms around the larger man, lifted him from the ground, and charged toward the massive portcullis of the keep behind them.
With a roar, he slammed the warrior into the metal gate, the impact shaking the entire structure before Godrick threw him through the entrance and deep into the keep beyond.
“Bastard!” Godrick growled, anger boiling beneath his armor.
He stepped forward, expecting the fight to be over.
Then the warrior emerged from the wreckage.
The man looked far worse than before.
Blood ran down his armor, and he limped heavily from a deep cut along his thigh, but his eyes remained focused and determined.
Steam poured from the holes in Godrick’s helmet as he charged once more.
The warrior waited until the last possible moment before stepping aside, using Godrick’s own momentum against him.
With a powerful shove, he redirected the young knight toward the darkness of the ruined keep.
Godrick crashed through the stone wall with enough force to bring another section of the building down around him.
Then the rubble shifted.
Godrick forced himself free, climbing from the debris with a furious expression hidden beneath his damaged helmet.
He had been tricked.
Outmaneuvered.
The realization angered him more than the pain itself.
He marched from the collapsed entrance of the keep, searching for his opponent.
The warrior had retreated back to where the remains of his weapon lay.
He retrieved the handle of his shattered club and turned to face Godrick once more.
“You think a handle will help you survive?” Godrick asked angrily as he approached.
The warrior only replied in a language Godrick did not understand.
The young knight did not care.
He lowered himself, then sprinted forward before launching himself into the air, bringing his fist down with enough force to crush stone.
At the last moment, the warrior moved.
Godrick’s fist struck the ground instead, the impact cracking the earth beneath them.
Before he could recover, the warrior drove his knee upward into Godrick’s helmet, sending him flying into the building beside them.
The young knight burst through the rubble moments later with a roar.
The right side of his helmet had been crushed inward, but his anger remained.
He charged again.
This time they met at close range, both warriors locking arms as they fought for control.
Godrick expected to overpower him, but the warrior moved with a technique he had never seen before.
Using his own strength against him, the man twisted his body and threw Godrick onto his back before grabbing him once more and driving a fist into his chest plate.
The force of the blow launched Godrick through the air.
He crashed through another building, sending dust and stone raining around him.
For several moments he remained still.
Slowly, he pushed himself onto one knee.
He finally understood.
The moment that man had taken up the broken handle of his weapon, his strength and skill had changed completely.
It was not simply a matter of power.
It was technique.
Experience.
Something Godrick had underestimated.
His eyes drifted toward the corpse of the eastern Headhunter he had slain.
His halberd was still buried through her chest where he had left it.
“Son of a bitch.”
He marched over and ripped the weapon free before stepping back into the ruined street.
The warrior stood waiting.
Godrick watched him carefully, studying the strange stance he had taken once more.
Around them was the evidence of his failure.
The streets were destroyed.
Buildings had collapsed.
The keep itself was barely standing.
He had been ordered to capture the castle with minimal damage.
He had failed.
There was no way Artoria would accept him into the Round Table after this.
For a moment, disappointment weighed heavier than the injuries covering his body.
Then he let out a quiet breath.
“Fine.”
Godrick reached up and removed his helmet, allowing his long golden hair to fall free.
He dropped the damaged piece of armor onto the ground and looked at the warrior standing before him.
The man had earned his respect.
He had fought with everything he had, even against an opponent stronger than himself.
So Godrick would do the same.
“What is your name?” Godrick asked.
The foreign warrior stared at him in silence.
For the first time since entering Aberrheidol Castle, Godrick was not looking at an enemy.
He was looking at a warrior.
“Shu Goki.”
The warrior spoke his name with a strange accent, his deep voice carrying across the ruined streets.
“Godrick.”
The young knight placed a hand against his breastplate as he introduced himself.
With their names exchanged, there was nothing left to say.
The two warriors began marching toward one another, each matching the other’s pace as they prepared for the final clash.
Godrick struck first.
His halberd swept through the air with enough force to split a man in two, but Goki moved beneath the attack with surprising speed.
The young knight found himself briefly caught off guard by the larger man’s agility, but he quickly pushed the thought aside as Goki immediately retaliated with the broken remains of his club.
Godrick reacted on instinct.
He swung his halberd back around, catching the shattered weapon against the shaft before twisting his body and tearing away one of the jagged pieces of wood still attached to it.
With the same motion, he ripped the fragment free and threw it aside before sweeping Goki’s legs out from under him.
As the warrior began to fall, Godrick drove his shoulder into him with enough force to send him crashing backward into the damaged walls of the keep.
The structure finally gave way.
Stone and debris collapsed around Goki as the keep that had stood for centuries began to crumble.
Godrick stared at the destruction before him, his anger rising.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
This was supposed to be the moment where he proved himself worthy of becoming one of his mother’s Knights.
Instead, all he had done was destroy everything he had been ordered to protect.
His dream of standing beside Artoria as one of the Knights of the Round Table was literally collapsing in front of him.
Without realizing it, his grip tightened around his halberd.
The weapon began to bend, then, with a sharp crack, it snapped in his hands.
Fragments of metal and wood scattered across his chest plate, lightly clinking against the armor before falling to the ground.
Godrick stared at the broken weapon for a moment before dropping both halves in frustration.
“Enough.”
He walked toward the ruins of the keep, determined to finish the battle once and for all.
Godrick stopped as Goki rose from the remains of the collapsed structure.
The warrior looked battered and exhausted, but he refused to fall.
He threw aside the useless remains of his broken club before spotting the fallen axe of one of his former companions.
Picking it up, he turned back toward Godrick.
The two warriors approached each other once more.
When they were within range, Goki roared and swung the axe with all his remaining strength, attempting to cleave the young knight in half.
But Godrick did not move.
He caught the axe.
His bare hands closed around the shaft, stopping the weapon in its path.
For a brief moment, the two warriors stared at each other.
Then Godrick’s expression hardened.
With a single motion, he brought his fist down upon the weapon and shattered the axe shaft in two.
Before Goki could react, Godrick shoved his arms aside and drove his head forward, smashing his head into the warrior’s face.
The force of the impact sent Goki’s head snapping backward, and before he could recover, Godrick’s armored hands closed around his throat.
Goki immediately fought back.
His hands clawed desperately at the gauntlets around his neck, striking and pulling with every ounce of strength he had left, but Godrick did not move.
The young knight’s grip remained unyielding as he slowly lifted the larger warrior from the ground.
“Mon…ster…”
The word escaped Goki’s mouth in a strained whisper.
His feet kicked against the air as his strength began to fade, his vision growing darker with every passing second.
Godrick stared into the warrior’s eyes, hearing the accusation in his final words.
But he did not stop.
The warrior’s struggle weakened.
Then, with one final snap, Godrick ended the fight.
He released his grip, allowing Goki’s body to fall heavily to the ground.
For several moments, Godrick simply stood there.
The battle was over.
The enemies who had guarded Aberrheidol Castle were defeated.
And yet, as he looked around at the destruction surrounding him, there was no feeling of victory.
Only failure.
The ruined streets, the collapsed buildings, and the shattered keep stood as a reminder of the task he had been given and the fact that he had failed.
Godrick turned away from the fallen warrior and looked upon the devastation he had created.
He had won.
But he had not accomplished what he came here to do.