Searching for King Arthur wasn't an easy task—especially not in Vortigern's territory. Ever since the arrival of the Darkness, more and more people had gone mad. Finding a sane person who also happened to be on their side was already difficult enough.
Ordinary civilians were rare in this region dominated by foreign races. Those who remained were either trapped here with no means of escape or diehard believers in Vortigern.
Now that the Darkness had descended, and the mad ones were constantly killing the sane, the pressure was suffocating. Under such dire conditions, finding even a sliver of a clue was unimaginably difficult.
Still, many hands made light work—they were able to gather a few leads.
But with their large-scale movement came an obvious drawback: the enemy could just as easily infer Arthur's whereabouts based on their search patterns.
It wouldn't be long before the two sides clashed once again.
This was something both Aslan's group and the opposing alien commanders were well aware of. Another brutal battle loomed on the horizon. No one felt particularly pleased—even with some news of King Arthur finally uncovered.
The only exception was the female subordinate intent on wiping them all out. Her mood was excellent.
She had finally located Arthur's hideout. She could finally eliminate the one who had dared to attract her king's attention. How dare that Arthur capture even a sliver of Lord Vortigern's gaze? Unforgivable! The king's eyes—his gaze—should be fixed solely on her!
Clutching the intel in her hand, the woman's twisted smile grew more grotesque. She had clawed her way to this point by pushing one person after another down the abyss—all so her god, her king, might look at her.
Lord Vortigern! My king!
"Ah~ My faith! Very soon, I shall present you with that wretched Arthur's severed head."
Just then, a soldier pushed aside the tent flap. Upon seeing his superior officer, he instinctively lowered his head and reported the latest intelligence.
What greeted him in return was a brutal whip strike—barbed and bloodstained—that carved a deep wound into his flesh.
Flesh and blood splattered across the floor as the soldier let out a pained wail.
The woman—who worshipped Vortigern like a deity—clutched the eyepatch over one of her eyes. The uncovered eye was filled with fury and irritation.
"Haven't I told you all not to disturb me when I'm declaring my love to our king?!"
Damn it. If someone had seen her looking that way… how embarrassing. Though of course, Lord Vortigern deserved the adoration of everyone.
"But you just said you found that damned Arthur, right? Then I'll spare your life. This time."
With that, the woman swayed out of the tent with a light step. Her whip cracked sharply through the air, echoing loudly.
"Gather up! Gather up! If anyone lets that Arthur bastard get away because they slowed me down, I'll flay you alive!"
Meanwhile, Artoria poked her head out and looked into the distance, frowning. She turned back and ordered the Knights of the Round Table to pack up their supplies.
"Time to move. I see a unit heading our way. No doubt about it—their direction is far too specific. They're coming straight for us."
Just as Artoria and her group began preparing to retreat, Gawain frowned at their planned escape route. A flock of startled birds burst into the sky from that direction—it was clear the enemy had already laid in wait.
"My liege! We're surrounded!"
Artoria showed neither panic nor hesitation. She raised her holy sword high and rallied the others.
They were outnumbered. Their only hope was to stick together and break through the enemy lines in one direction. If they were lucky, they might make it out. If not… they'd be paying a steep price.
After all, this was enemy territory. Wasting too much energy here would be dangerous.
As enemy soldiers closed in, Artoria was the first to charge. Her holy sword swept forth, sending out wave after wave of crimson arcs. One enemy soldier after another fell into pools of blood. Her silver armor was stained red, and even her golden hair took on a splash of blood—but as a king, Artoria had long grown used to such scenes.
The enemy commander—a crazed woman—watched the situation unfold, her face contorting with rage. She clenched her teeth so tightly they began to bleed, making her twisted expression look even more deranged.
"Advance! Advance!! Close in and crush them! Before the end comes, I will bring their heads to my king!"
Her whip cracked incessantly, and her frustration mounted at the sluggish pace of her forces. At this rate, when would she finally get to stand at her king's side again?
Just then, a soldier cautiously approached. Looking at her wild expression, he was clearly reluctant to report anything, but had no choice.
"C-Captain, a large force is approaching from behind us—it seems to be Arthur's reinforcements!"
Her whip coiled instantly around his neck, yanking him close.
"What did you say?"
She had heard him clearly. She didn't even need clarification. She just wanted to vent her fury. The whip tightened, digging deeper into his throat.
That large force approaching was none other than Aslan's group.
Once they realized Arthur's location was under siege, they could no longer afford caution. They reorganized and launched a full assault—Aslan at the forefront.
He had no choice but to lead the charge. The black mist was affecting him again. If he didn't unleash his power soon, he risked slipping into a reversed state—right in front of all these ordinary soldiers. That would only terrify them.
Besides, you don't just reveal your trump card for no reason.
"Keep moving forward! Your king is just ahead! For your ideals! For this land—give it everything you've got!"