One Sword Breaks the Army

When Leon led his army to Camelot, the first thing that caught his eye was a massive structure that clearly did not belong to this era.

The walls of Camelot were towering and majestic, their surfaces a pristine, spotless white. Not a single seam was visible, making the entire city look like a work of art meticulously carved by a master.

Though it was Leon's first time at the royal capital, he felt not a shred of surprise at the sight of a city that defied the productive capabilities of the Middle Ages.

Well, it was Type-Moon, after all.

If Leon remembered correctly, the island of Britain was currently experiencing the echoes of the Age of Gods, a time when mystery had yet to fully fade.

The construction of this Camelot must have involved magic and other such mysteries.

What did surprise Leon was that in front of the city walls, a fully armed army stood in strict formation, waiting for him and his men with the advantage of having rested while they marched.

Leon stood on his specially crafted chariot, watching the hostile army in the distance. Luther, standing beside him, took one look and estimated their numbers.

"About two thousand men, with seven or eight hundred regular knights."

His own side had 63 knights and 183 squires; even counting the logistics farmers, they totaled only about six hundred.

By comparison, his side was indeed at a slight disadvantage.

A knight rode over from the opposite side, waving a roll of parchment. It was passed through several hands before reaching Leon.

Leon opened it to find a formal declaration of war. It contained nothing but the usual drivel—insulting him for claiming kingship without authorization, mocking his low birth, and urging him to surrender—even going so far as to set the time and rules for the battle.

"Quite courteous. Tell them I accept."

After handing it to Luther, Leon walked to the front of the chariot.

"Is this the surprise you have for me?"

A middle-aged man in luxurious clothing was dragged before Leon's chariot. Leon looked down at the man, who was slumped on the ground.

This man was an envoy sent from Camelot to inform Leon that the royal capital and the court recognized the legitimacy of his kingship and to invite him into the city.

"I—I don't know! When I left, everyone in the city had clearly recognized your kingship! This situation must be... someone is rebelling, trying to seize power and overthrow the state! I... I truly don't know! Spare me! Spare me!"

The man wept and snotted as he explained, not even caring that his tears and mucus were staining his fine robes; he simply begged for his life.

In truth, after Merlin told the nobles of Camelot that Leon had pulled the sword, they had argued for a long time before deciding to make contact with him to see if he possessed the bearing of a king and whether his ascension served their interests.

This man was the representative of the royal nobles, tasked with making contact with Leon.

But when he arrived with the army and saw the elite forces arrayed before the city, he knew he was finished. Something must have changed within the walls; someone had overturned the previous consensus, going so far as to incite a military conflict without regard for his life.

Leon had no patience for his squawking and waved to his personal guards.

"Behead him and use his blood to consecrate the banner."

As the man was dragged away by the guards, a scream rang out. Moments later, a guard brought over his head, and after Leon inspected it, it was mounted on a cavalry lance for all to see.

Leon drew his greatsword and walked to the front of the line, observing the expressions of his soldiers. Most looked terrified, yet they were suppressing it, trying hard not to show their fear.

The disparity in numbers was too obvious; they weren't blind. The sea of black and silver in the distance was clear at a glance.

It was fortunate that the front ranks consisted of regular knights who had undergone military training since childhood; their mental fortitude was the only thing preventing a mass panic.

Had it been the logistics farmers, they likely would have mutinied on the spot.

Morale is about to break. I need to pull off something big to save it.

The enemy's only advantage was their numbers. Leon needed his soldiers to realize that no matter how many there were, they were nothing but clay chickens and pottery dogs—utterly fragile.

He had to act himself!

Leon drew his greatsword and gauged the distance to the enemy formation.

About four hundred meters. Within range.

He hefted the sword, watching the tip tremble like sheet metal. It was clearly of poor quality.

Too soft.

Still, for a greatsword over two meters long, it was impressive enough that it had been forged at all. Leon didn't ask for much; he would just have to temper his strength so he didn't snap the blade.

"This Lonely One does not like soft swords."

Clang!

With a single swing, the world fell silent.

A silver-white slash erupted from the blade, emitting a sharp, piercing whistle. It transformed into a thousand-meter-long bird, its beak sharp and its wings keen, as if it would tear the sky asunder. It whipped up a gale of wind as it swept toward the enemy formation.

"What... is that?"

The enemy commander, clad in heavy armor and mounted on a white horse, had spotted Leon the moment he appeared. Leon's stature was too conspicuous. Thinking the enemy was attempting a sneak attack, he had hurriedly ordered his men to prepare.

When he saw Leon swing his sword at empty air, he couldn't comprehend the action.

What was the enemy doing, swinging at the air? How could he hit anyone from that distance?

But when he saw a white blade-light fly from Leon's sword, his mind failed to grasp it.

"What on earth is this?"

The white light moved with blinding speed. Before he could even warn his men to dodge, he felt his body grow light, as if he were taking flight.

It wasn't just him; in his peripheral vision, he saw the upper bodies of the knights beside him flying into the air, accompanied by all manner of severed limbs, arms, and the heads of men and horses alike.

After crashing to the ground, he saw his beloved horse had lost its head and collapsed, with his own lower body still resting upon its back.

When he tried to push himself up with his only remaining arm, he realized his torso below the chest was gone.

"Heh... heh... what, what is this?"

No one could answer him. For a moment, the battlefield was filled with endless wailing, crying, and screaming, like a living hell on earth.

"I held back; it shouldn't have pierced the entire formation, at most cutting through the first three rows."

Leon looked at his masterpiece with satisfaction, watching from afar as more than half of the silver mass opposite him fell, replaced by a spreading crimson mist. The dark swarm behind the silver seemed to be scattering as well, likely terrified by that single strike.

He glanced at his own soldiers and found them equally stunned and speechless. The sound of gulping throats rose all around, and the looks they cast toward Leon were filled with a mix of reverence, terror, and dread—they, too, had been frightened by his sword.

"Soldiers, the enemy has lost their nerve! Charge with me!"

At Leon's command, he stepped onto the churned-up brown earth and charged forward first. The knights and personal guards followed on horseback, with Leon acting as the spearhead, driving into the enemy's crumbling formation like a wedge.

"Ahhh! Our army is defeated! Our army is defeated!"

With their commander and a host of knights wiped out by Leon's single strike, these two thousand men had lost their command structure and could not form an effective counterattack. Any sporadic resistance lasted less than a single move against Leon, who cut them down in a few quick strokes.

The enemy formation was pierced through by Leon's charge, and then carved up as he slashed left and right, segmenting the battlefield into isolated pockets while Luther led the logistics farmers to flank and surround them.

With this, Leon's victory was sealed.

The people on the walls of Camelot naturally witnessed the cruel yet one-sided battle unfolding below.

Their faces turned pale, their expressions filled with horror, and a chill spread through their entire bodies, leaving them as if frozen in place.

"This is not a battle; it is a one-sided slaughter."