"You should know who the opponent you are about to face will be, shouldn't you, Sir Lancelot?"
The black-armored knight gripped the hilt of the longsword at his waist, fixing the man before him with a grave, chilling gaze.
This knight wore purple armor, and his face bore an expression of deep anguish, along with a trace of something complex that was impossible to make out.
"Ah, of course I know, Sir Agravain."
His name was Lancelot.
He was a Knight of the Round Table, a vassal of King Arthur, and now a vassal of the Lion King.
And also—
The son of the White Knight Anno, and Galahad's father.
And now, his objective was—
"Sir Anno, did you sense something?"
Pindo walked at Anno's side. Seeing the grave look on Anno's face, he could not help asking.
"No. I was merely thinking about some things." Anno shook his head and looked toward the people walking ahead.
There were many refugees, and hunger had slowed their pace considerably. Even though Anno and the others had hunted some Demonic Beasts for food, it could not resolve the problem. Meat could not replace carbohydrates as a staple, and even if they had enough to eat, their condition could not recover in just a day or two.
The Chaldea party and the four Knights of the Round Table guarded the perimeter of the refugee column, remaining alert for any potential danger.
"It's the Dragon, isn't it?" Pindo let out a soft sigh.
As a fellow Knight of the Round Table—and Anno's student besides—he could naturally see the sorrow in Anno's heart.
Anno did not answer. He merely stared at the faint shadows flying on the horizon.
Those dragons.
The Round Table's greatest enemy had always been dragons, but on the Lion King's side—