Although the young King Arthur's decision this time was wise, it was also decidedly bold.
Young people were bound to be a little reckless.
Anno wasn't surprised in the slightest. After all, King Arthur was something of a student to him, even though their relationship had since become that of king and subject.
War meant casualties. It would consume more provisions and place an even heavier tax burden on the people. But it was still the best choice Britain had at the moment. King Arthur was gambling with Britain's future, betting that Anno could lead a force of five hundred knights and fewer than three thousand infantry to defeat the surrounding minor nations and the rebels who had declared themselves kings—to make them submit or kill them.
Anno knew just how heavy the burden on his shoulders was.
Of the five hundred knights, only a dozen or so could truly be considered skilled in martial arts. The rest were merely a little better than the infantry and knew some horsemanship.
Once the horses had been distributed, Anno organized the hastily assembled knights for several charge drills, then set out with the army of three thousand five hundred.
He understood that on a conventional battlefield, aside from the initial charge, this unit of knights might be less useful than ordinary infantry.
There had been too little time, their equipment was mediocre, and their coordination and cohesion were a complete mess.
When it came down to it, the individual combat skills of the few actual knights in the ranks might matter more than a charge.
Sitting astride his horse, Anno looked back at the small, somewhat lax and disorganized force behind him and sighed.
Perhaps when the crucial moment came, he would have to use what he'd been hiding.
He rubbed his thumb against the Sword of Chalk hanging at his waist. His eyes flickered, and he smiled faintly.
After two or three days of marching, Anno arrived at an unknown country.
Britain's army might have been lax, but against a tiny nation with a name no one could remember and only four or five cities, they could still crush the opposition.
The country's knight stood atop the five-meter-high city wall, preparing to shout down at Anno and his men.
But Anno didn't even give him a chance to speak. His gaze was icy. "Don't bother making threats. I have no interest in learning about your country. I have only one question: will you swear allegiance to Britain and open the gates?"
The knight on the wall was momentarily speechless, but still managed a few token retorts.
Anno's expression remained cold. Without a word, he drew the Sword of Chalk.
Dismounting, Anno said, "So you refuse to submit to Britain. Whether we go to war is irrelevant. My only task is to clear the way for the Pendragon bloodline. Nothing more."
The knights and three thousand infantry behind him were silent as the grave.
The Holy Sword called Chalk was held before him, reflecting the sunlight.
"This is the sword that cuts off all evil, willing to be layered with the blood of its foes."
"The silver-white end of inhuman things and those who stand against me!"
The Holy Sword—Chalk—in his hand blazed with dazzling light. Everyone on the city wall and in the British army behind Anno felt a crushing pressure.
A fierce wind whipped Anno's silver cloak, and his long black hair danced like writhing serpents.
A flash of light passed through his eyes.
"This is—the Sword of Chalk!"
The long sword tilted slightly, then swung forward with an almost casual motion.
A dazzling pillar of light erupted from the Sword of Chalk in an instant.
The sky plunged into darkness as if night had fallen, and only the beam of light from the Sword of Chalk shone between heaven and earth, swallowing the city wall and everything upon it.
Before you continue