King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

Light pierced through layers of dark, roiling clouds. The island's spiritual veins throbbed in response, as if awakening—but this was no harbinger of hope. It was a herald of devastation.

Like a falling meteor blazing through the heavens, or divine judgment cast down upon the world.

No one could measure the overwhelming magic power the Humble King had gathered. It surpassed every scale and device the British army possessed. One thing was certain: when that beam of light touched the earth, all life would shatter. Flesh and blood soldiers would be reduced to ashes in a heartbeat.

And this was exactly the fate Arthur could not accept.

"There is still time! Holy Sword Groups A, B, and E—move to reinforce Battalions C and D. Archers, join the Heavy Armor units. Rangers, order the Saxon captives: obey, or die. Have them integrate with the nearest teams. Those on the outskirts, converge with the Outer Magician Corps. Kikyo, bring Lancelot here..." commands rang out sharply.

The British army surged forward at full speed.

In moments of crisis, hesitation is a luxury none can afford.

Potions that unlock hidden potential were swallowed. Warhorses bred from rare bloodlines galloped faster than ever. Magic—usually unstable in the chaotic ether—was wielded with precision born of desperation.

All heard their king's urgency, and pushed beyond their limits.

Then came the glory.

A pillar of blinding light unfurled from the sky, rolling with deathly energy, cascading to earth like a divine hammer.

Where it touched, life was annihilated.

Plants, flowers, beasts—large and small—all their flesh melted instantly, leaving only brittle skeletons that looked centuries old.

The power was suffocating.

Even the most battle-hardened warriors trembled at the sight.

Life itself seemed to crumble as if time itself was stolen away.

This was no mere attack. It was a cataclysm, akin to a natural disaster.

Yet even in the face of such devastation, humanity did not kneel.

Earth walls erupted suddenly along the forest's outer rim, protective barriers raised by soldiers.

The Holy Sword Group—nearly a thousand strong, each wielding at least B-rank swords—unleashed a concentrated volley of radiant energy.

Above the Heavy Armor division, three colossal cross-shaped shields rose like mountains, blotting out the deadly light.

Before Arthur himself, a golden starlight shield blazed, deflecting the white death without faltering. Behind it stretched a sacred, untouchable sanctuary.

After several heartbeats, the overwhelming deathly aura finally receded.

A flicker of surprise crossed Arthur's face.

I miscalculated. The king's strength was far greater than anticipated.

Had he not rallied his best troops with the finest gear, perhaps only those shielded directly by Arthur's presence would have survived this breath.

"Report! All units—status of combat readiness!" Arthur barked.

Order was swiftly restored.

Battalions, squadrons, and smaller units quickly tallied their losses.

"My king, the Holy Sword Teams are intact, though their magic reserves are nearly depleted. Several swords sustained damage; they need five minutes rest before resuming combat."

"The Magician Corps remains fully operational and ready."

"The Heavy Equipment Team requests a short respite—"

"More than half the Scouts are lost."

"Archers are in good condition and ready."

"The Cavalry group—"

"The Rangers—"

Arthur breathed quietly as he logged the grim figures.

Losses were far lighter than expected.

The king's breath had exceeded the endurance limits of even Britain's strongest shields. A focused strike on a single point would have shattered any defense.

Improvised fortifications erected in mere moments had done wonders.

Yet the war had only just begun.

Arthur faced his soldiers, voice strong and steady.

"Well done, warriors I am proud to lead. Grip your swords tight. Raise your longbows! Our enemy is the very body of these isles—dragons that seek to cast us from our home. Are you afraid?"

The answer was a resounding, unanimous No.

With their king at their back, what disaster could they fear?

Arthur smiled grimly.

"You should be afraid. This dragon is mightier than any foe we have faced. One flap of its wings can stir a gale that steals your life. Even gods would tremble before it. How can we rest easy?"

He gestured toward the sky.

"Yet fear or courage, we face an undeniable truth. This island beneath our feet—our home, our birthplace—has risen against us."

"As sons of men, we have lived here for centuries. Where else would we go?"

"Indeed, nowhere. No one can bear the shame of exile from their homeland! Our ancestors thrived here. Shall we turn back now because the earth beneath us is angry? If we cannot tame our own land, what kind of Britain is this?"

His voice rose.

"We have nowhere to retreat—only forward!"

"Understand this: this battle is not for glory or justice. It is a battle for survival!"

"With swords raised, let us cut through these thorns and carve a legend for those who come after us!"

Arthur's call was simple, yet profound.

"Do not lose heart. Do not bow your heads. Fix your eyes on the enemy. The dragon—a cruel, vile beast destined to mark British history forever."

"In the name of King Arthur, my soldiers, my brothers and sisters—show me your will, your courage! Let this be the moment the dragon falls and our greatness is proven!"

Swords raised.

Hearts ablaze.

This was no mere story—it was the bare truth, wrapped in hope and fire.

And in that moment, the British army's morale exploded like never before.

Yes, the terrible dragon blazing overhead was real.

And yes, it was the challenge they must overcome.

With courage and wisdom born of mortality, the mortals dared to challenge God.

The soldiers stared skyward.

Even the Saxon captives—once enemies, now prisoners—felt their blood stir.

If there is no retreat, even gods can be slain.

Is this not the true glory of humanity?

But to the Humble King, the scene was folly incarnate.

He saw it as ants raising their tiny claws, screaming at a giant who barely noticed—soon to crush them without thought.

How laughable.

How foolish.

Humans, in the grand design, were no more than a nuisance.

Yet now—

The king's cold, vertical pupils fixed unwaveringly on Arthur.

-End Chapter-

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