Chapter 86
He wants to become the true King Arthur, the King Arthur with the power of the Red Dragon!
In the future, history will only remember King Arthur's name, but no one will ever know what King Arthur real name was.
King Arthur could be Artoria, and he could also be Vortigern!
"King Arthur!" Mordred woke up with a start. She tried to rush forward to grab Artoria, but Agravain held her tightly, preventing her from moving.
His eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for a way to break through the encirclement and escape.
Alderan has fallen... We must get this news back to the capital no matter what.
Just then, Vortigern suddenly raised his hand and made a grabbing motion in the air.
"Rise!"
As his voice faded, the Holy Lance from Artoria's hand and then pierced through the barrier, quietly falling into Vortigern's grasp.
"Now I can finally relax completely." Vortigern smiled with satisfaction.
His only worry was this Holy Lance.
The power of this Holy Lance is enough to shake the stars, and even Vortigern is extremely afraid of it.
But now, even that sole variable no longer exists.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded behind him. Vortigern turned his head slightly and saw the army that Artoria had brought yesterday. They had noticed the changes here and had come to investigate, only to witness this shocking scene.
And the man at the head of the group was the fearsome Vile King, Vortigern!
Looking at the army, Vortigern revealed a hypocritical smile, "If you lay down your weapons now, I can guarantee that no one will be harmed."
"But if even one person rebels, everyone will be executed along with him."
The troops outside the palace gates fell silent. Then, starting with someone throwing down the first weapon, others followed suit.
Vortigern smiled with satisfaction and nodded approvingly, "Very good, you are all intelligent people."
"It's most comfortable to deal with smart people."
"However... there seem to be some people who aren't very bright!"
Vortigern stomped his foot on the ground and leaped into the air, grabbing Agravain, who was about to jump out of the palace with Mordred. He then pressed Agraven's head down and slammed him into the floor.
Agravain spat out a mouthful of blood, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him.
Vortigern stepped on Agravain's chest and turned to look at the little girl who fearlessly rushed towards him.
"Release Master!" she shouted, and with a dragon-like charge, her petite body crashed into Vortigern, but she didn't even manage to budge Vortigern before landing hard on her backside.
But the little girl didn't give up. She grabbed the sword from the ground and suddenly raised her head. "Let go of Father King!"
She raised her sword and swung it fiercely at Vortigern.
On the battlefield strewn with corpses, all the soldiers watched this scene in silence.
The surrendered Britain soldiers lowered their heads in shame, and Vortigern's soldiers watched this scene with a hint of pity.
A little girl kept swinging her sword at Vortigern, but she couldn't even pierce his armor.
Swing the sword with all your might, swing the sword with all your might, and then--
"Snort!"
Vortigern seemed to have grown tired of the fight, grabbed Mordred's sword as it swung down, and squeezed it hard!
As the crisp, pleasant sound of the blade shattering rang out, he coldly swept his gaze over Mordred, lingering for a moment on her stubborn eyes, a hint of amusement appearing on his face.
"The Britain soldiers seem to have less courage than a little girl."
"What's your name?" Vortigern asked gently.
"Her name is Mordred, and she must be the illegitimate child of Morgan le Fay and King Arthur," the attendant whispered.
"Mordred?" Vortigern's lips twitched slightly, revealing an approving smile. "Would you like to be my daughter? Britain is about to be reshuffled. From now on, I will be King Arthur, and if you are willing, you will become the next King Arthur."
Mordred remained unyielding, staring Vortigern's eyes. "My Father King will defeat you!"
He's a hundred times better than you!
"Your Father King?" Vortigern glanced indifferently at Artoria, who was trapped within the Magic Barrier and staring intently at them.
"Can she save you?"
Stop daydreaming!
His voice suddenly paused, and he felt a slight stinging sensation in his wrist.
Mordred failed to break through his defenses, but she managed to forcefully remove his armor and bite down on Vortigern's wrist.
Vortigern's pupils constricted sharply, and he raised his foot to kick Mordred's petite body.
The delicate little girl was sent flying backward, crashing into the main gate outside the palace.
"You bastard... you bastard!!"
Agguwen's eyes widened in fury as he roared. For the first time, his usually sinister gaze burned with the flames of rage. Despite being trampled under Vortigern's feet, he seemed to have used all his strength to break free from Vortigern's Agravain and stand up from the ground.
But Vortigern ignored him, turning his head to look at the Britain soldiers outside the city gate as if they were invisible.
"Britain soldiers, heed my command!"
Vortigern said in a deep voice, "Cooperate with the alien army to wipe out all the people in the city."
Almost the instant the voice fell, the army outside fell into a deathly silence.
"What's wrong?"
Vortigern's gaze swept over the soldiers one by one, his expression stern and authoritative. "Didn't you hear my command?"
Agravain stared at the man who exuded immense pressure at that moment, and quietly tightened his grip on his sword.
He turned his head slightly and noticed Lancelot, who was known as the strongest knight, on the other side.
The two exchanged a single glance, nodded slightly, gripped their weapons, and lunged at Vortigern.
"A futile struggle." Vortigern merely sneered, gripping the Holy Lance tightly, catching Agravain's incoming sword blade, while the Holy Lance thrust towards Lancelot.
In his eyes, only Lancelot was worthy of any serious attention in this place.
"Aren't you underestimating me?!"
Agravain's cold eyes flashed with fury. He released his weapon and slammed his head into Vortigern's forehead. As he felt dizzy, he threw a punch, and the Holy Lance fell from Vortigern's hand.
Amidst the pile of bones, accompanied by a buzzing sound, the Holy Lance pierced the bones, its vibrations seeming to utter a mournful cry, lamenting the tragic fate of this city.
"Although they have some skills, they're not good enough to cause me any trouble."
Vortigern stepped on Lancelot's head, twisted his neck, and sneered under Agravain's gaze, "You probably don't know, but the Holy Lance isn't only for King Arthur; any king can wield it."
"Whether it's King Arthur, or... the Vile King!"
"Rise!"
Vortigern abruptly raised his right hand, and as he channeled his magic, the Holy Lance embedded in the bones trembled violently, as if it were about to break free from the earth's shackles and return to Vortigern's hand.
But for some reason, after its violent struggle, the Holy Lance quietly returned to calm, remaining completely still no matter how Vortigern tried to urge it on.
Vortigern's gaze froze slightly, his eyes growing even colder.
Did this Holy Lance refuse to let him become its master?
It's just a weapon, but it has quite a temper...
Vortigern strode toward the Holy Lance, but as he approached, the Holy Lance, which had been standing quietly atop the many corpses, suddenly trembled violently.
Vortigern's expression changed, and he abruptly turned his head, shouting, "Who's there?!"
The Holy Lance suddenly detached from the ground and, with a piercing buzzing sound, crashed into the outside of the palace gate.
Vortigern's gaze was filled with suspicion and uncertainty. He subconsciously glanced at Artoria beside him, then his gaze quickly fell on the figure standing in the doorway, and he sneered:
"Playing tricks! In this world, besides King Arthur, only I, and only I, can pull out the Holy Lance!"
The man didn't speak, but slowly pulled out the Holy Lance as Vortigern's pupils widened, while his other hand tightly embraced the unconscious Mordred.
He looked up at Vortigern, a smile, for reasons unknown, appearing on his usually gentle face.
"It seems that Merlin was right."
"King Arthur... there really wasn't just one."
Before the silent palace, rows of neatly arranged troops stood guard.
Countless eyes were fixed on the boy standing at the gate.
On one side were tens of thousands of troops, while on the other was only one person, yet they were completely plunged into a deathly silence.
Lead-colored clouds silently obscured the entire sky, the wind so fierce it seemed it would blow down even the magnificent Alderan architecture.
At some point, raindrops began to fall from the sky, landing on Vortigern's face.
Vortigern squinted, making out the other person's appearance through the rain, and their clothing, which didn't seem to belong to Britain.
This person is not from Britain... Vortigern came to this conclusion instantly.
But how was he able to pull out the Holy Lance?
Was some special Magecraft used, or... is there a secret within the Holy Lance that he is unaware of?
He was an extremely cautious man, and when he saw the third person pull out the Holy Lance, he felt a sudden fear and wariness, and dared not approach easily.
The rain began to fall heavily, Lan Ze looked up through the rain at the tall, upright man in the palace.
The visibility was extremely low, but he was no ordinary person. Even in complete darkness, he could still see the man's face, as well as the Magic Barrier not far behind him.
Artoria watched him from within the Magic Barrier, breathing slightly. Although the Magic Barrier hadn't harmed her, it was constantly draining her magic power, leaving her in an extremely weak state.
Not far from Artoria lay the unconscious Lancelot and Agravain. No one would have imagined that Vortigern had already breached Oudegrun City and was lying in wait here, first ambushing Lancelot, and then defeating Agravain and even Artoria one by one.
Judging from the looks of it, they're still alive, just seriously injured... Lan Ze quietly tightened his grip on the Holy Lance.
Those people all deserve to die.
He didn't know if the royal city of Camelot had noticed anything amiss, nor did he know if he would be able to reappear in the Underworld if he died this time... Everything was uncertain, and the risk was immense.
But he has no other choice now.
Either save Artoria and Mordred, or you both perish here.
It's not that this is the only option, but it's the only option he wants to choose.
Standing opposite Lan Ze, the Vile King narrowed his eyes slightly. Various thoughts flashed through his mind, until finally, all those thoughts were erased, leaving only one decisive decision in his heart. He spoke:
"Take care of him!"
Just as Vortigern's voice fell, he suddenly heard footsteps.
It wasn't his army, but the man standing at the door who made the first move.
Vortigern slowly opened his eyes, his pupils contracting slightly, reflecting the image of the boy who was slowly walking forward, until finally quickening his pace and rushing towards the alien army.
He actually wants to take on the entire army by himself?!
An indescribable rage burned in Vortigern's eyes.
This is an insult, a blatant insult!
This guy didn't take him or his army seriously at all. So what if the other side had the Holy Lance?
Only the King, the Vile King, and King Arthur are capable of wielding the Holy Lance!
Now that King Arthur is imprisoned, he is the only one left who can hold the Anchor of Stars and carry out the Mandate of Heaven!
"You merely drew the Holy Lance? You greatly underestimate my army!" Vortigern roared. "Deal with him!"
As he finished speaking, he suddenly felt an extremely dazzling light flash before his eyes. The dazzling light made Vortigern look up. Under the dark sky behind him, countless golden halos had appeared at some unknown time. These halos rippled with golden light in the rain, and countless Noble Phantasm sprang out from the golden ripples.
Gate of Babylon!