Boom boom—
The earth turned over, and the attacked British cavalry immediately felt dizzy.
However, they were all cavalry—and among all British military branches, none were as well-equipped. They rode warhorses and carried spears, lances, longswords, round shields, and more. The cavalry could be considered the most luxuriously outfitted force in the British army, with each soldier even assigned an expensive individual flying device. The warhorses, too, were equipped with specialized gear.
Even members of the elite Holy Sword unit might not wield weapons as valuable as the equipment of a single cavalryman.
Thus, anyone qualified to join the cavalry and ride into battle alongside Gawain was undoubtedly among the elite of the elite.
Even when faced with this sudden upheaval in the terrain, they reacted swiftly. With the aid of their flying devices, they evacuated the danger zone without suffering a single casualty.
Gawain and Gareth had anticipated something like this. They immediately pulled at their reins with force—so hard the goblin horse snorted in distress—then guided their mounts to leap clear, resolving the crisis with ease.
Only after the soldiers had stabilized did they get a good look at the enemy.
"Is that... a giant?" Gareth stared in astonishment at the dozens of massive figures before them.
As the most mysterious land of this age, Britain was home to many giants. Encountering one was hardly shocking. Even controlling giants through magical means wasn't unheard of, provided one had the necessary methods.
After Britain had exterminated the native giants, many of their corpses were transported to Camelot, where the Magus Corps conducted research on them deep within their laboratories.
But those were pure-blooded giants—docile as kittens compared to the brutes standing before them now.
In Gareth's memory, giants stood tall and regal, their five-to-six-meter frames already awe-inspiring.
But the shortest of these Roman monsters was at least fifteen meters tall. The tallest towered at eighteen. Their forms were grotesque: twisted, scorched dark red flesh, bone spurs protruding from joints, and natural exoskeletal armor crusted across their limbs.
The oppressive aura they radiated swept across the entire battlefield.
"Brother Gawain, those are—"
"Be careful, Gareth. Those are fiends—Rome's specially modified giants." Gawain stared solemnly at the monsters standing like a living wall.
Information on Rome was hard to come by in Britain. But some things were too infamous to require spies.
These giants had marched alongside Lucius, slaughtering without mercy on many battlefields. Their appearance and behavior were demonic. Accounts of them had reached Britain long ago, striking fear even into former kings.
Calling them "giants" no longer seemed accurate. Demon was a better fit.
And that wasn't the end.
The Roman ambush had more layers.
Another tremor shook the earth. A hundred meters behind the British cavalry, dozens of low hills erupted from the ground. From within, massive hands tore through soil and stone alike. More monstrous figures emerged.
An ambush from both sides—cutting off all hope of retreat.
"It's really a trap! Brother Gawain, let's break through now!"
"Gareth, you go first. I'll hold them off." Gawain shouted without hesitation. Before Gareth could protest, he charged toward the giants alone.
Gritting her teeth, Gareth knew there was no other way.
With the giants blocking the path, even the cavalry's flying devices wouldn't guarantee escape. Only she and Gawain could buy time for the rest.
So she drew her sword and lance, leading the cavalry to retreat along their original path.
She rode at the front, swift as an arrow, instantly slaying the two closest giants.
But it was a trap—meticulously planned and executed. Could the enemy truly rely only on giants?
The answer came with a volley of massive siege arrows launched from deep within the forest.
The trajectory, speed, and timing of the attack were perfectly calculated. Gareth could dodge—but continuing the charge was impossible.
There was no time to think. Her body moved instinctively.
Clamping her legs around the horse's sides, she yanked the reins and dodged the first arrow. Then she leaned left, shifting her weight to turn the horse on a dime—evading the second arrow by a hair's breadth.
Her horsemanship was dazzling.
But the arrows halted her advance, and that hesitation allowed the giants to surround her.
"Damn it! Fall back and regroup around me!" Gareth barked the order, even as she herself was restrained.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, Gawain faced the towering giants head-on.
He unleashed his holy sword without hesitation.
"Excalibur Galatine—Sword of Victory!"
Flames erupted outward from Gawain's body.
The scorching heat immediately seared the giants' flesh.
The energy ignited the earth beneath their feet, a bright radiance flashing from the blast zone. In the next instant, a torrent of flames surged forth like a volcanic eruption.
Of course, this wasn't Gawain's full strength.
The sunlight had been blocked, limiting his power. The flames that burst out couldn't disperse the dark clouds.
But it should have been enough to incinerate a few giants.
At least, that's what Gawain believed.
Then, a pair of massive hands burst through the flame pillar and ripped it apart.
The giants reappeared—bodies charred and blistered. Several had fallen, but the rest had clearly used their fallen comrades as shields to endure the holy flames.
"Hmph. Is this really your strategy? Sacrificing your own just to survive?" Gawain scoffed, disgusted by their cruelty.
As if in response to his words, the giants collapsed one after another.
But—
The warhorses neighed in alarm as three knights leapt over the smoldering corpses and charged toward Gawain.
"I am Epistrophus, King of Greece!"
"I am Mustensar, King of Africa!"
"I am Peritites, King of Bithynia!"
The three kings led a host of soldiers and formed ranks with remarkable speed, completely encircling Gawain.
Then, under the leadership of the three kings, they launched a relentless assault.
At first, Gawain wasn't concerned.
He had heard of these kings—they were vassals of Rome and Lucius's trusted generals, with military accomplishments that earned them great renown. Within Rome, their status rivaled that of Britain's own Knights of the Round Table.
At the same time, the sunlight was gone.
Still, Gawain didn't believe these kings and their troops were worthy opponents.
Yes, he had been momentarily stunned by the giants' appearance and missed the optimal moment to unleash his holy sword again. But was that truly necessary?
'Gawain, don't underestimate the enemy.'
Arthur's voice echoed in his mind—and Gawain quickly came to regret his arrogance.
The three kings, working in concert with their troops' harassment, dragged him into a brutal melee. He couldn't advance. He couldn't retreat.
He was being drowned in a quagmire of blades.
-End Chapter-
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