King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

For the past half month, the British and Saxon armies had almost settled into a strange, unspoken rhythm—knowing instinctively when the battle would start and when it would pause.

But today was different.

Lancelot and Kikyo led the British forces as usual, yet the soldiers' expressions were fiercer, their movements more confident. Even Lancelot—who had taken a beating every day—was unusually aggressive.

Before the Saxon vanguard even appeared, he rode to the front lines and shouted:

"Humble King! Come out! Today I'll take your head! Victory belongs to Britain!"

The provocation meant little to the current Humble King.

After all, this version of Vortigern lacked human emotion. Anger, irritation—those were foreign to him.

As expected, the pale old man in white armor led the Saxons into formation. He remained calm, his gaze fixed coldly on the two knights before him.

"Empty words will not change your fate. But since you've chosen to fight today, you must be prepared. Is your king finally ready to face me?"

His tone was dispassionate.

Time meant nothing to him. In fact, a prolonged battle favored his allies. The longer they dragged this out, the more likely Rome would muster its own attack. The moment the Sword Emperor landed on the island, Arthur would have his hands full.

Supplies? Not his concern.

If the soldiers starved, so be it.

Low-level troops were irrelevant now. Only warriors who could stand against the Knights of the Round Table mattered—and Saxon had none. But the Humble King could create them.

The more corpses, the more death energy he could collect. That death could be injected into new soldiers. If they survived, they'd grow stronger. Do it again and again—five, six times—and a match for the Round Table would eventually be born.

Yes, it was cruel, a process of poisonous selection by death and mutation—but the Humble King didn't care. The Saxons had numbers. A hundred thousand lives for ten worthy warriors? A fair trade.

Of course, not all Saxons could die. History still required them.

This was merely a backup plan, should Arthur refuse to appear.

"Whatever reinforcements you've brought, whatever traps you've prepared—it's meaningless against me. If you haven't realized that yet, allow me to help you understand."

Vortigern's warhorse stepped forward, slowly but with terrifying presence.

An overwhelming pressure radiated from him like a crushing tide, spreading across the battlefield and slamming into the hearts of every British soldier.

It was a force of death. Cold, suffocating, like a nightmare come to life.

But they had felt this every day for half a month.

Fear no longer ruled them.

"You're the one who doesn't understand," Lancelot shouted, holy sword raised high. "You think violence alone will make us submit. But no matter how many times I fall, I'll stand up again! Britain will never surrender! And so victory will be ours!"

He spurred his horse and charged forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

There was no more room for words.

The battle erupted.

Lancelot concentrated his magic, unleashing deadly slashes with every swing of his holy sword. Each strike split the ground and tore through enemy formations, felling scores at a time.

But in front of the Humble King, it was meaningless.

With a wave of his hand, the attacks were neutralized, deflected, scattered like leaves in the wind.

Then Lancelot leapt skyward, slashing downward with all his might. The blade struck—cutting through the scales on the Humble King's arm.

But it wasn't enough.

With a casual push, the Humble King forced Lancelot back. When Lancelot looked up, the wound was gone.

Even his clothes had reformed, spotless and immaculate.

Cold. Pale. Pristine.

Not like a warrior at all.

Yet no one could deny his power.

"Is that all?" the Humble King asked blandly.

He didn't lack for weapons. He could summon a magic sword as powerful as Wu Hui Hu Guang if he chose. But it wasn't necessary. Fighting barehanded showcased his superiority. Transforming parts of his body into a dragon's was more than enough.

Vortigern remembered a concept from human knowledge: demoralization through fear. That's what this was. A display of overwhelming power to break the enemy's will.

He tilted his head slightly—just enough to let a magic-destroying arrow whistle past his ear.

Yes. His method had stunned people.

The British soldiers were terrified—but not broken.

The Saxon soldiers were worse off. They saw his inhuman form and feared him more than the enemy.

But their eyes... their eyes were on Lancelot.

Yes, the king is invincible. He can crush the Round Table. He's stronger than any mortal.

But Lancelot...

Even when broken, he stands.

Even when bleeding, he rises.

No matter how many times he falls—he returns.

Violence cannot conquer a will like that.

Can such a war be won?

Still, regardless of doubts and fears, the battle raged on.

At the front lines, British soldiers marched in tight formation, shield and spear in hand.

Their synchronized steps thundered across the battlefield, shaking the earth and the hearts of the Saxons.

Then—charge!

There was no hesitation.

This army—this machine—was nothing like the tired Saxon troops.

Arrows rained from behind, slicing the air and carving through Saxon ranks.

The infantry surged forward like a tidal wave, smashing through enemy lines with shields, then piercing bodies with spears before the Saxons could even raise their swords.

This is what it means to be an enemy of Britain.

For the first time, the Saxons felt it—not just the power of Britain, but their hatred.

Before, the British only captured or wounded them, treating the Saxons as bandits to be swept away.

But this was different.

This time, the British weren't holding back.

This time—they meant to kill.

Crush.

Destroy.

And suddenly, the Saxon morale cracked.

Even the Humble King's personal guards began to lose faith.

They no longer believed they could win.

It wasn't a war anymore—it was a massacre.

A hopeless suicide mission.

And yet... the battlefield was far from decided.

-End Chapter-

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