To underestimate the enemy and grow careless—
From the very beginning, Gawain made the very mistake Arthur had warned him not to make. And now, it had led to this dire situation.
Gawain gritted his teeth. Regret churned in his chest, and he silently apologized over and over. Even so, he mustered his strength and continued to fight, grim and resolute.
But even if he had remained vigilant from the start, even if he had been fully alert, it would have made no difference. His wounded body had diminished his fighting strength, and now battle relied more on instinct than intellect. Worse still, the enemy had fed his instincts false information.
As a result, though Gawain's mind sent the correct commands, facing the Roman army's coordinated assaults from all directions, his body responded with mistake after mistake, each one adding a new scar.
"Give up your struggle, Sun Knight. Victory is beyond your grasp. Britain cannot defeat His Majesty Lucius—or anyone else."
The Greek king, the only one of the three monarchs who still held some respect for Gawain, spoke up to persuade him.
This was the twilight of a hero—a tragic and sorrowful moment.
Such a mighty champion, brought low by mortal hands.
Perhaps it was the inevitable march of history. How many heroes had met such ends? Even as an enemy, the Greek king believed that, in the far future, history would remember this knight as a true hero.
Strong and loyal. Resolute and unyielding.
But alas, this knight was too loyal. Too stubborn.
And tragically, he had not been born in Greece or Rome.
"Hah, that's right—just surrender," said the King of Bithynia with a mocking grin. "You've fulfilled your duty, leading the elite British cavalry straight into our trap. Now, I shall take your life with your own sword. Perhaps it will leave behind a romantic legend."
The implication was clear: he was advising Gawain to commit suicide.
Even now, Gawain retained a degree of fighting ability. And the closer he came to death, the more dangerous he became. The King of Bithynia didn't want to face a berserker's final charge, nor did he wish for needless Roman casualties in a battle already won.
In truth, his heart was more craven than the Greek king's.
When this tactic had first been proposed, he had thought it absurd.
How could a warrior who had survived countless battles be killed by someone weaker?
And yet—it had worked.
Given the right circumstances, even the improbable could become inevitable.
He had experienced it firsthand. Being defeated by the very soldiers he usually looked down upon, all in the span of two or three hours—those hours had been a nightmare for the King of Bithynia. That experience had left him more aware than anyone of just how terrifying this tactic was. The fact that Gawain had survived from noon until now, into the night, was terrifying in itself.
And the more terrifying it became, the less willing he was to face Gawain directly.
Killing a godlike warrior would be a glorious feat—but you had to survive the feat to enjoy the glory.
"Now, look at your British soldiers."
Following the King of Bithynia's gesture, Gawain turned toward Gareth.
The 3,000 cavalrymen they had brought were no longer packed as densely as before. At a conservative estimate, more than half had perished, and the remainder bore varying degrees of injury. They were clearly nearing their limit. Even Gareth, though visibly uninjured, wore a mask of exhaustion he could no longer conceal.
All of it—the casualties, the despair—was the result of Gawain's reckless pride and his fatal misjudgment.
"Ah… yes. I was the one who ignored my king's warning. I caused this outcome. Perhaps I do deserve to die. My comrades must hate me... But if I don't take your heads with me, how can I face them in death?! If we must die, then you will be buried with us!"
With a sudden burst of will, Gawain leapt up, his decision made. He ignored the oncoming boulders and siege arrows and charged straight at the King of Bithynia.
At the very least, let him take one of them down!
If he didn't have even that resolve, how could he dare sit at the second seat of the Round Table?
My king, forgive me. I will prove my loyalty here!
"What—" The King of Bithynia flinched. A flicker of fear flashed across his face, though he quickly buried it beneath a sneer. "Come, then—if you can."
The Romans had rehearsed this very moment countless times.
There were many ways to stop the charge of a knight. Even if it cost them everything, they could use human lives to slow him down.
The next instant, dozens of Roman soldiers with heavy shields appeared in Gawain's path. They pulled up thick chains from the ground, forming a barricade.
Unless Gawain's fairy steed could take flight, he would be trapped.
Above, soldiers readied iron nets as well.
Though they knew little of Britain's individual flight systems, the Romans spared no effort against a godlike foe. No preparation was too much.
Yet in the very next moment, the unexpected occurred.
From the shadows, black daggers—devouring all light—struck silently. A large hand clamped over each Roman soldier's mouth, and a blade slashed across the throat. Not a sound escaped. In the trees and brush, the Romans hiding in ambush died en masse.
Catapults. Ballistae. Aerial interceptors—every Roman operator was killed in an instant.
With those traps gone, nothing remained to block Gawain's charge.
The compartments on either side of his fairy horse opened. Magical light flared, unfolding into wings of luminous energy. In a flash, Gawain soared into the air and slashed down with his sword. Magic coated the holy blade in fire, engulfing the King of Bithynia in a roaring inferno.
He died with a sneer still frozen on his face, never realizing what had happened.
With one king slain, Gawain turned to charge the other two—
—but at that moment, a voice echoed across the battlefield.
"Sir Gawain, well said! How could we of the Round Table die so passively? If we're to fall, then we'll take the enemy with us!"
"Sir Kay?!"
Gawain stared, stunned, as Kay suddenly burst forth—wielding sword and lance, scattering Roman soldiers in every direction.
It took Gawain two full seconds to gather himself. Then he roared, "Let's annihilate them together!"
Even now, that fool still wanted to counterattack.
"Hah! As much as I'd like that, we have to retreat! That Roman emperor's still after me!" Kay showed no sign of stopping. After breaking the Roman ranks, he galloped past Gawain without pause. "All British troops, activate flight gear! No mistakes!"
At his command, the British cavalry transformed into a legion of Pegasus Knights and soared into the skies.
Gawain, who had always led from the front, now found himself at the rear due to his momentary daze. It was a bitter irony when he was suddenly struck by a magic energy blast from nowhere—but instinct saved him, and he raised his holy sword just in time to deflect it.
Thus, Gawain narrowly escaped danger.
-End Chapter-
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