King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

Today, the Humble King bore only Vortigern's knowledge—and his body.

Having gathered the very concepts of disaster and death until reaching the divine realm, the king was less a living being than a phenomenon unfolding in time. As such, from the instant it emerged, it was destined to dissipate—not die, but fade away.

There was no cost, no hesitation from the start.

The Humble King had only one purpose: to kill King Arthur and restore the true order.

No need to deliberate. No concern for the ignorant ants below.

Arthur was the prey—the target—the mission.

The colossal, cold vertical pupils fixed unwaveringly on him.

Roar—

The dragon's roar shattered the heavens and shook the earth in response.

White light coalesced anew. The spiritual veins of the British Isles bled magic relentlessly into the king's power. As lord of the island, his authority was absolute—no force could breach the dynasty's barriers, let alone the root's interference.

At this moment, the Humble King was strongest.

His insatiable hunger for magic echoed a feeling Arthur knew well—that bittersweet love from Morgan.

With endless magic flowing, consumption was no concern.

Every strike could be unleashed at full force—if the body could endure.

But what of ants?

Then, suddenly, a storm of arrows streaked upstream against the brutal winds—spiritual light blazing from each shaft.

This strange energy, unlike pure magic, dissolved the disasters and death breaths, and to the Humble King's shock, it was magnified infinitely before piercing his pupil.

"Ahhh!!!"

A scream unlike any before ripped through the chaos.

The dragon's vast form churned the already turbulent clouds overhead.

The Fifth Seat of the Round Table.

That damn witch.

Dismissed in earlier battles due to weakness, the king had ignored Kikyo's existence.

Who could have guessed that the witch—once peripheral—would shoot arrows capable of penetrating multiple layers of natural defense? Until now, her attacks had aimed only to contain, never to truly harm.

But these arrows were forged to destroy demons.

No matter how godlike the Humble King seemed, so long as he brought disaster and chaos to mortals, to Kikyo he was a demon.

Demons could be pierced.

But damage to a phenomenon is fleeting. Like a typhoon weakened for a moment but fed by fresh energy, he would recover.

The vision blockade lasted mere seconds.

When the dragon's sight returned, Arthur was gone.

Not just Arthur—most of the British soldiers had vanished into the scorched earth, blending into the charred ground.

Only the heroic witch with bow drawn, and the death-tainted Lancelot, remained visible.

"Your Majesty, I told you—no matter how many times I fall, I will rise again! Are you ready to face the wrath of the Round Table?" Lancelot roared, wounded but gallant, urging his battered body forward.

Kikyo loosed another magic-shattering arrow.

The king had felt the arrows' power—wherever they passed, death's aura was instantly purified.

He dared not underestimate them.

With Arthur gone, his best option was to eliminate these two threats—the last of the Round Table standing.

He had to admit, those knights were no mere pawns.

Then, the dragon's wings curled.

A tornado of death energy spiraled upward, twisting toward the arrow like a drill.

Power was restrained, but only partially.

If he could summon energy ten or a hundred times greater, such restraints would mean nothing.

And magic?

As lord of the island, he wielded its entire magical energy supply—more than anyone else.

His eyes fell on Lancelot.

Wings spread, the king dove.

Fierce claws slashed the air, sending a gale tearing at the earth—enough to annihilate ten thousand men.

If the injured Lancelot were struck head-on, the Knight of the Lake might never rise again.

What a pity—

"Finally decided to come down?" Lancelot laughed bitterly.

Consider: Lancelot was gravely wounded, infused with death energy, barely carried by his comrades. To face the dragon directly was madness, not courage.

Could any Knight of the Round Table be so foolish?

No.

Even Gawain, the Sun Knight renowned for his valor, was not that reckless.

Bait. Trap.

The Humble King abandoned the attack, flapping his wings to soar again.

But now that he had descended, it would be rude for Britain to retreat so hastily.

Boom!

A colossal shield, hundreds of meters long, slammed down from the sky, smashing into the dragon's head.

The brutal impact threw the beast off balance, pressing it to the ground.

From all directions, siege arrows pierced the dragon's scales, chains rattled taut, and cavalry charged.

These were no ordinary horsemen.

Their lances gleamed with radiant light, their mounts quick and powerful—infused with dragon's blood.

Even the Humble King knew: after this charge, he would be swarmed by a hornet's nest.

The cavalry aimed with precision—the dragon's tail, the key to its balance and flight.

Without its tail, even with wings intact, the beast could not dominate the skies.

Roar! Roar! Roar!

The dragon howled in fury, sweeping hind legs at the charging riders.

Yet the death aura could not sway the cavalry's courage.

Despite taking the brunt of the dragon's breath, their charge did not falter.

Their lances, shining bright, formed a piercing spear that severed the dragon's limbs.

The Humble King sacrificed his legs—but saved his tail and his power of flight.

These ants think they can cut off my wings.

He admitted his mistake.

If he'd remained airborne, the British lacked anti-air power aside from the Round Table's five seats.

Had he not ignored Kikyo's magic-breaking arrow, these ants would have been crushed.

The king planned to take flight immediately.

But what awaited him was the brilliance of a light cannon array.

-End Chapter-

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