Tristan was taken aback. "Lord Anno, you... actually know my name?"
Anno, already looking somewhat aged, nodded calmly. "I usually remember the officials of the countries around Britain. I recall that I destroyed the kingdom of Mark, didn't I? So, Lord Tristan, you've come to the heart of Britain..."
As he spoke, he placed a hand on the hilt of Chalk.
Tristan motioned for Iseult to step back and swallowed. "I have no intention of making an enemy of Britain..."
Anno tossed the drunken Lancelot onto the horse's back and patted its neck.
The horse carried Lancelot away, and Anno's gaze returned to the wary Tristan.
"That doesn't matter, but you're still a potential threat... I won't let Britain face even the slightest danger, so..." Anno glanced at Iseult. "But first, let the lady leave."
Iseult stepped back of her own accord, looking at the man she loved with hope and confidence.
But Tristan wasn't so confident. He had been thinking of ambushing Anno or simply fleeing with Iseult, but Anno had been watching him closely the whole time, leaving him unable to move.
Chalk slid from its scabbard, and a bead of cold sweat trickled down Tristan's temple.
"Then I'm coming for you," Anno said in a low voice.
Tristan saw a shadow rush toward him and hurriedly raised his sword to parry.
Clang!
The two swords met and separated in an instant. Anno remained where he stood, but Tristan was forced several steps backward.
Tristan wielded a rapier, relying on his speed to defeat his opponents.
But now he faced Anno, who was just as fast and wielded a practical, broad-bladed sword. Tristan was immediately at a disadvantage.
Anno pressed his advantage, unleashing one powerful slash after another. Tristan could keep up with his speed, but his strength