The Death of Lancelot

Under the scorching desert sun, the crazed Lancelot launched his final charge across the battlefield.

Spears stabbed, swords pierced, blades slashed—countless wounds covered his body.

The armor he wore was no Noble Phantasm. It had long since shattered under countless impacts, leaving only a few fragments hanging from his body, swaying in the wind with faint metallic clinks.

Blood streamed over Lancelot's body. It belonged not only to him, but also to the soldiers who had tried to stop him.

The blood congealed over the fragments of his armor, forming grotesque patterns that recorded each of his killings.

Not far away, countless powerful warriors waited behind the ranks, staring greedily at Lancelot's head.

Everyone wanted to take it with their own hands and offer it to their king.

Just then, a powerful surge of mana erupted from Lancelot's body. Like a storm, it swept up the surrounding sand and formed a small sandstorm that whirled around him.

His movements were lightning-fast. In almost an instant, he charged toward the formation with a deafening sonic boom.

The soldiers stood ready, staring intently at Lancelot like he was a feral beast, their weapons clutched tightly as they prepared for the coming impact.

Yet Lancelot did not charge directly into their ranks. At the instant before impact, he abruptly leaped up, his body tracing an arc through the air as he lunged straight for the King of Conquerors in the rear.

Even having lost his reason, when faced with danger, he still relied on instinct to find his only chance at victory.

The King of Conquerors was the core of the entire Reality Marble. Once he died, the Reality Marble would collapse, and the summoned legion would turn to nothingness, just as his Empire had in life.

"Good timing, but you're already too