Whoosh—
"Urgh—" Tristan dodged Pindo's swift thrust, gritting his teeth as a faint cut appeared on his face.
Pindo did not stop after missing Tristan. Tristan's reflexes were far beyond ordinary, and Pindo had never expected to take him out so easily. He streaked through the dust-filled sky, piercing a flying dragon through the chest, then stopped far away. As he naturally descended, he watched Tristan with calm eyes.
Tristan. He naturally knew this colleague well, but now, battle was inevitable.
With comrades as mortal enemies.
Pindo clenched his slightly trembling jaw, tightened his grip on his sword, closed his eyes, and opened them again.
"We can catch up when we return to the Throne!"
Whoosh—!
Clang!
The sound of blade and arrow colliding rang through the air, drawing a flicker of Anno's attention.
Flying dragons continued to fall from the sky. What Artoria, Bedivere, Percival, and the others had fought with all their might to achieve was working—the ranks of dragon riders had been broken, and the pressure on Mash's side had lessened as well.
Then—
It was time to end this fight.
With Tristan held back by Pindo, Anno waited for an opening and pulled away from Lancelot, sheathing Sighing Chalk.
Watching Anno free up both hands, Lancelot felt his gums begin to ache.
Damn, Father was going to beat me seriously now.
He had never thought—at least, not now—of defeating Anno. His wish to quickly defeat Anno and become Britain's strongest had long since become impossible. From the moment Anno's back had begun to bend, it had already been impossible.
Now that he had become a Servant, his martial skill might have improved slightly due to a change in mindset, but his magical energy was vastly inferior to what it had been in life. In his current