When Leon led his army to Camelot, the first thing that caught his eye was a massive structure that clearly didn't belong to this era.
Camelot's walls were lofty and imposing, their surfaces so spotless and white they seemed untouched by dust. Not a single seam could be seen in the stonework. The whole thing looked like a work of art, carefully sculpted by a master.
It was Leon's first time at the royal capital, but the city's architecture, far beyond what medieval technology should have allowed, didn't surprise him at all.
That was Type-Moon for you.
If Leon remembered correctly, the island of Britain was still in the twilight of the Age of Gods. The Mysteries had yet to fade completely.
Magecraft and other Mysteries had likely played a part in building the Camelot before him.
What surprised Leon was the army waiting in formation before the city walls, fully armed and ready for battle. They were lying in wait for him and his men.
Leon stood atop a specially made war chariot, gazing at the hostile army in the distance. Beside him, Luther took one look and estimated their numbers.
"Over two thousand, roughly. Seven or eight hundred of them are proper knights."
Leon's side had sixty-three knights and 183 retainers. Even with the farmers handling the supply train, they had only a little over six hundred men in all.
Compared with the enemy, they were at a slight disadvantage.
A knight rode over from the other side, waving a scroll of parchment. It was passed from hand to hand until it reached Leon.
Leon opened it and found a declaration of war. It was full of nonsense about how he had wrongfully proclaimed himself king, how lowborn he was, and how he ought to surrender. They had even set a time and rules for the battle.
"They're rather polite, at least. Tell them I accept."
Leon casually handed the letter to Luther, then walked to the front of the chariot.
"Is this the surprise you had in store for me?"
A richly dressed, middle-aged man was dragged in front of Leon's chariot. Looking down at him from above, Leon saw him sprawled on the ground.
The man had been sent from Camelot to tell Leon that the royal capital and court recognized his claim to the throne, and to invite him into the city.
"I-I don't know! When I left, everyone in the city had already accepted your claim to the throne. This must be a rebellion—someone trying to seize power and overthrow the country. I... I truly don't know what's going on! Spare me! Please, spare me!"
The man's tears and snot stained his fine clothes, but he didn't seem to care. He only begged for mercy.
In truth, Merlin had told Camelot's nobles that Leon had pulled the sword from the stone. After arguing for a long time, they had finally decided to make contact with Leon and see whether he had the bearing of a king, and whether his accession would serve everyone's interests.
This man represented the nobles of the royal capital. He had been sent to meet with Leon.
But when he arrived outside Camelot with the army and saw the elite troops arrayed before the city, he knew he was finished. Something must have changed in the city again. Someone had decided to overturn the agreement they'd reached, and had started a war without caring whether he lived or died.
Leon had no patience for the man's wailing. He waved to the guard at his side.
"Cut off his head and raise it as our battle standard."
The guards dragged the man aside. After a scream, one of them returned with his head. Once Leon had looked it over, they mounted it on a lance for all to see.
Leon carried his greatsword to the front of his formation and studied his soldiers. Most looked terrified, though they were doing their best to hide it and steel themselves.
The difference in numbers between the two sides was too obvious to ignore. No one was blind; a glance at the mass of dark and silver ranks in the distance told them all they needed to know.
Fortunately, the men at the front were all proper knights, trained in warfare since childhood and blessed with strong nerves. That was the only reason they hadn't panicked en masse.
If the farmers from the supply train had been up front, they would probably have mutinied on the spot.
Their morale's about to collapse. I need to pull off something big to save it.
The enemy's only advantage was their numbers. Leon had to show his soldiers that, no matter how many men stood across from them, they were nothing but chickens and stray dogs—utterly worthless.
He had to take action himself!
Leon drew his greatsword and gauged the distance between himself and the enemy formation.
About four hundred meters. Within range.
He gave the sword a test swing. Its tip quivered like a sheet of tin, clearly a shoddy piece of work.
Too soft.
The greatsword was over two meters long. The fact that they'd managed to forge it in one piece was already impressive. Leon couldn't ask for much more. He'd just have to ease up when swinging it and be careful not to break the blade.
"I don't like a soft sword."
Clang!
He swung once, and the world fell silent.
A silvery-white slash burst from the blade with a piercing whistle. It streaked forward, transforming into a bird a thousand meters across, its beak sharp and wings keen enough to tear the sky apart. Gusts of fierce wind surged in its wake as it swept toward the enemy ranks.
"What... is that?"
The enemy commander, clad in armor and armed for battle, sat astride a white horse at the front of the formation. He had seen Leon step forward, his huge frame impossible to miss. Thinking Leon was about to launch a surprise attack, he had quickly warned his soldiers to be ready.
When he saw Leon draw his sword and swing at empty air, he couldn't make sense of it.
What was the other side trying to do, swing at nothing? How could he hit anyone from that far away?
But when a streak of white sword energy flew from Leon's blade, the commander was just as baffled.
"What is that thing?"
The white streak was moving so fast that it was already upon him in the blink of an eye. Before he could warn the men behind him to dodge, his body suddenly felt light, as though he were flying.
It wasn't just him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the upper bodies of the knights beside him take flight, along with all manner of severed limbs, human heads, and horses' heads.
After he hit the ground, he saw his beloved horse lying there without its head, his own lower body still on its back.
He tried to push himself up with his one intact arm, only to realize that everything below his chest was gone.
"Heh... Wh-what is that?"
No one could answer him. In an instant, the battlefield filled with groans, screams, and shrieks. It was like hell on earth.
I held back. It shouldn't have cut through the whole formation—at most, it took out the first three ranks.
Leon looked at his handiwork with satisfaction. From a distance, he saw that most of the silver ranks had fallen. In their place, tendrils of crimson spread through the formation. The dark mass behind the front lines was also beginning to scatter. They must have been terrified by that single blow.
He looked back at his own soldiers. Every one of them stood frozen in shock, throats bobbing as they swallowed. Their eyes were full of reverence, but also fear and trepidation. That one strike had left them just as stunned.
"Soldiers! The enemy's lost their nerve. Charge with me!"
At his command, Leon raced over the freshly churned brown earth. Knights and guards rode after him, with Leon at the tip of their charge, driving into the enemy's shattered formation like an awl.
"Ahhh! We've lost! We've lost!"
With their commander and a host of knights wiped out by Leon's single strike, the more than two thousand soldiers had no command structure and couldn't mount an effective counterattack. The occasional man who resisted couldn't withstand even a single exchange with Leon before he was cut down in a few strokes.
Leon led his army through the enemy ranks, then charged back and forth, dividing the battlefield into smaller pockets. Luther led the farmers from the supply train in to encircle the enemy.
At that point, Leon's victory was assured.
The people atop Camelot's walls could plainly see the brutal battle raging below, though it was hardly a contest.
Their faces went pale, and fear filled their eyes. A chill spread through them until it seemed they could no longer move.
"This isn't a battle. It's a one-sided slaughter."
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