King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

A golden beam of light pierced the heavy clouds.

On this battlefield, shrouded in darkness and deathly silence, all eyes—mortal and divine—were drawn to it, including the Humble King's.

To the dragon, it was merely an attack to be countered.

But to the British soldiers, and even the Saxon captives, that golden radiance was the very embodiment of hope.

In that cold, merciless warzone, life was reborn through this light.

And now, that sacred power was wielded by Arthur.

"Sword of Promised Victory—[EXCALIBUR]!"

Vast magic compressed into a beam of blinding light erupted from the Holy Sword of the Star.

Yet, this cataclysmic force was met head-on by a beam of equal size.

A white shaft of light descended from the skies, colliding violently with Arthur's beam. The two forces locked, mingling and expanding in midair as if perfectly balanced.

If this stalemate persisted, the impending explosion could obliterate every living thing in the vicinity.

But the Humble King had no intention of letting that happen.

Using the tremendous energy of their clash as a springboard, the dragon vanished swiftly into the clouds, rising beyond human reach.

Even Kikyo's arrows could no longer threaten him.

Now, only the Holy Sword of the Star remained a credible danger.

From this moment forward, the war was distilled into a pure contest of offense and defense between Arthur and the dragon.

Arthur could only repeatedly condense the Sword of the Star's light; the dragon would likewise condense its dreadful breath.

Their attacks would collide and cancel in an endless cycle until one's magic was depleted.

But the difference was stark.

Even if the Humble King erred, he had infinite chances to recover.

The Holy Sword's incomplete charge could never fully destroy him.

Meanwhile, Arthur's magic, stamina, and will would gradually wane amid the relentless battle.

"You lose, King Arthur."

The dragon's voice echoed ominously across the battlefield.

"No—I win, Uncle."

Arthur's expression remained unshaken.

Magic surged within him, funneled again into the Sword of the Star, stabilizing its beam as he pressed the dragon ever higher, ready to annihilate with a single strike.

Anyone watching knew it was futile.

"My king, if this continues—"

Lancelot, leaning heavily on the Holy Sword as a crutch, limped to Arthur's side, worry etched deep in his voice.

He wanted to urge the king's retreat, promising to hold the line alone—there must be another way to defeat the dragon.

But looking at Arthur's resolute profile, Lancelot could not utter those words.

My king will win. He must.

Just a dragon—how could it force the glorious King Arthur to retreat?

"What's wrong, Sir Lancelot? Do you doubt my resolve? Or did your courage falter before the dragon just now?"

"I apologize, my king." Lancelot smiled wryly. "It's not doubt—only the foolishness of my hope. You will surely bring us victory. Not because of fate or prophecy, but because you are my monarch, King Arthur."

"Well said. That's the Sir Lancelot I know." Arthur nodded.

Lancelot was no reckless hero.

He feared death deeply and never risked himself without certainty or necessity.

For a king, risking one's life foolishly was the gravest mistake.

Arthur stood here now because victory was already written in the stars.

"Heavy Armor Team, move out. In the name of King Arthur, I guarantee your sacrifice will be immortalized in our dynasty's glory! May your heroic spirits live forever!"

"For King Arthur! For our homeland! Long live Britain!"

A resolute cheer seemed to reverberate through the sky.

Through the clouds, figures emerged—soldiers armored heavily, wielding shields.

Each soldier carried a set of magical flying devices on their backs, granting them the power to soar.

Arthur's face betrayed a rare flicker of surprise.

The British Army had flight capability all along?

He remembered now: every soldier, even cavalry horses, were equipped with such devices.

In other words, all British forces had the ability to fight in the air—employing tactics far more flexible than on the ground.

So why had they pretended otherwise?

Was the supposed air supremacy and secure zone merely an illusion?

Why had he climbed so high?

Because Arthur and the British had shaped the battlefield to lure him upward—exactly as planned.

Only by rising to that height could he be defeated.

The Humble King realized this instantly.

But it was too late.

The airborne shield bearers released their shields simultaneously.

The shields shattered, fragments flying like iron shards.

Those pieces swiftly reassembled into a massive iron sphere—spacious enough for a two-meter-tall man to exit, but with an intense gravity field centered within.

Invisible pressure crushed the space inward, pinning the Humble King immobile.

Far away, Camelot Castle trembled violently.

The great fortress split down the middle as a colossal cannon barrel, etched with glowing runes, rose with a thunderous bang.

It locked its aim on the distant battlefield—where dark clouds roiled and the holy sword's light shone bright.

The Star Destroyer Weapon—Star Arrow.

Created out of Arthur's paranoia, fearing a meteor crashing down to annihilate Britain, this weapon was a manifestation of Manaka's indulgence—born from her love and careful pampering of her prince.

Since its forging, it had never seen battle.

Stored deep beneath Camelot, facing downward into Earth's core—to avoid dust and ease upkeep, not as a threat.

But now, finally, this arrow of planet destruction had been unleashed.

In the next instant, an endless torrent of light surged into the sky.

The serene blue sky and gentle white clouds were violently torn asunder.

-End Chapter-

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