Lancelot

"You're the challenger, Knight of the Lake."

Leon looked down at the Knight of the Lake, who stood ready for battle.

The referee outside the arena brought one hand down, and the two officially began their fight.

But more than ten seconds passed, and neither of them moved. They neither attacked nor tested the waters, instead holding their stances and staying where they were.

"What's the matter? Aren't you going to attack?"

Leon beckoned provocatively at the Knight of the Lake. In Leon's eyes, the knight's stance was flawless, ready to handle either a block or a dodge with ease. A rash attack would only put him at a disadvantage.

But his taunt had no effect. It only made the knight's expression grow more grave. Fine beads of sweat formed across his fair, smooth forehead.

Looking at the towering opponent before him, the knight felt that the man's stance was riddled with openings. At a glance, he could see more than a dozen ways to break through it. Yet his boundless combat experience told him that this man was dangerous!

The opponent's killing intent was so intense, and his fighting spirit so high, that the knight broke out in goosebumps. Just imagining the fight in his mind was enough to see himself cut in half and defeated.

The two stared each other down, fully focused. Neither dared make a careless move.

The spectators below had no such patience. The atmosphere had gone from intense to stifling silence in an instant. They had been staring at the two fighters standing motionless for so long that they were already fed up, and began urging them on.

"Knight of the Lake, use your superb skills and take him down!"

"Why aren't they fighting yet? If they don't start soon, I'm going home to eat."

"Boring! I want to see blood flowing like a river!"

The crowd longed to see a fierce battle.

They hoped to see the two knights on the arena clash brutally—either the knight easily dispatching his opponent in just a few moves as he had before, or Leon, the newcomer, giving the foreign knight a thorough beating.

But no matter how loudly the spectators shouted and jeered, to the two men on the arena, it was no more than a breeze brushing their faces. They ignored it, not caring in the least.

At that moment, each saw only the other.

"If you won't come to me, then I'll attack."

As soon as he spoke, Leon drove off the ground, cracking the arena beneath his feet. In an instant, he appeared before the Knight of the Lake and thrust out the iron sword in his hand with tremendous force.

The Knight of the Lake reacted swiftly. The experience and wisdom he had gained from countless battles let him make the right counter in an instant.

He stepped to one side, evading the sword by a hair's breadth. The fierce wind from its piercing tip rushed past his face and tousled his hair.

At the same time, he swung his own sword at Leon's chest.

Leon had expected this. He brought his sword around to block, and the two blades met with a crisp clang. He tried to attack again, only for the Knight of the Lake to easily dodge once more and attempt a counterattack.

They traded blows for several rounds, the sharp clang of metal ringing out without pause. Anyone with a discerning eye could see that the knight's counters were quick and fluid, while Leon struggled to keep up.

The Knight of the Lake found an opening and disengaged, panting as he kept his eyes fixed on Leon.

Strange. This is too strange.

The moment he crossed swords with Leon, he could tell that the man's swordsmanship was mediocre and he had little experience in battle—not even as much as the knights he had just defeated in an instant.

But the man's strength was overwhelming. A touch would kill, a brush would wound. Even with his skill, the knight couldn't block the attacks. He could only dodge and rely on his own technique and experience to draw out the fight.

At the same time, the opponent gave him a sense of frustration, as if a grown man were pretending to be a child while swinging a sword. Whether attacking or defending, he moved as though he were wearing clothes made of paste, afraid to tear them and unable to stretch his limbs.

The knight had been raised by the Lady of the Lake since childhood, so he could tell that someone had used Magecraft to alter his opponent's appearance.

Looking at the man's two-meter-tall frame, he wondered how someone so enormous could make him feel this frustrated... Could his opponent be a Giant?

Thinking of the strange rumors he had heard about this country's king, a thought crossed his mind.

Could it really be him?

Well, this was...

An unexpected stroke of luck!

He came from France, and his reason for coming to this country was to fight the Lion King he had heard so much about.

The thought of his opponent's identity only made the knight's fighting spirit burn brighter.

"What incredible skill!"

As the Knight of the Lake guessed Leon's identity, Leon too praised the knight's swordsmanship from the bottom of his heart.

When it came to swordsmanship alone, no one Leon knew could match him.

Not even Leon himself came close. He couldn't help but feel that the knight was a talent worth winning over.

Leon glanced down at his abdomen. A sharp weapon had cut a slit in his clothes, exposing the skin beneath.

Ordinary attacks were useless against Leon. Even the Knight of the Lake's strength had only left a white mark on his skin. His blood surged, and the thin, pale line soon vanished, leaving his skin as good as new.

Seeing this, Leon, who had already taken an interest in the knight, wanted him even more.

"Knight, what's your name?"

The Knight of the Lake's fighting spirit and aura poured out uncontrollably. "Lancelot."

Just as he thought.

Leon had recognized him at first glance. Now that he had confirmation, the possessiveness he felt grew even stronger.

Lancelot, the strongest of the many Knights of the Round Table. Even Gawain at high noon could stand against him through sheer mastery of arms, and his love affair with Queen Guinevere was widely known.

"Lancelot, you're not bad!"

Leon's figure shimmered, his outline twisting like water vapor.

Or rather, he was returning to his original appearance.

Oh no, Leon's true form is about to be exposed.

Morgan, watching from below the arena, sensed trouble. The Magecraft she had used on Leon was crude and could easily be broken.

Now that the Knight of the Lake had struck him, he had already pierced through the spell.

Leon also noticed what was happening, and decided to attack at once.

It didn't matter if he revealed his identity in front of everyone, but he couldn't afford to look incompetent before them! Even facing an evenly matched opponent would lessen the awe people felt toward him!

Time to get serious!

Boom!

Leon put his strength into the ground, and his stomp collapsed half the sturdy arena.

His phantom form, wreathed in magical radiance, appeared before Lancelot in an instant. The notched, blunted iron sword in his hand broke through successive sound barriers and slashed diagonally down at Lancelot.

Leon was moving so fast that even Lancelot, fully focused, couldn't see him clearly. He could only rely on his extensive experience and instinctively raise his sword to block.

But the instant he did, Lancelot realized something was wrong. His opponent was too strong for him to block, but too fast for him to dodge. He had no choice but to take the blow.

I'm going to lose!

The instant he raised his sword, Lancelot already knew how the fight would end.

He felt the immense force coming through the blade and poured all his strength into resisting it, but it was like an insect trying to stop a chariot. He was crushed with ease.

Thud!

As if a mountain had come crashing down on him, Lancelot was crushed beneath the force. His whole body was driven into the earth, leaving a deep pit in the half-collapsed arena. Cracks spread outward, and the entire platform teetered on the verge of collapse.

Crack—crash!

The iron sword snapped with a sharp metallic ring, its fragments scattering across the ground.

Looking at the broken sword in his hand, now no more than a hilt, Leon felt a little surprised.

The sword's material and craftsmanship had been poor to begin with. After being subjected to Leon's tremendous force, the fact that the hilt remained was thanks to his restraint. Otherwise, even that would have been destroyed.

Still, it was a good thing the blade had broken. If it had held together and struck Lancelot cleanly, it might have killed him outright. Leon would have had nowhere to cry then.

Looking at Lancelot, temporarily unable to move in the pit, Leon was quite satisfied—with Lancelot, and with his own decisiveness.

In the end, he had won this fight!