After returning to the city, Gawain looked at his brother in astonishment.
"Agravain, why would you—?"
"Shut up, you idiot. Do you have any idea how much trouble you nearly caused His Majesty this time?" Agravain snapped, a rare note of irritation in his voice.
This was unusual. Agravain was famously cold throughout Britain. Even when Gawain and Lancelot discussed him in their spare time, they often joked that nothing—not even an earthquake—could move his expression.
That rumor was eventually quelled when Arthur himself said, "If a mountain collapses in front of you and you remain calm, it's because you have facial paralysis. Don't make wild guesses." That led to a long-running debate: Did Agravain really have facial paralysis?
Perhaps that's why his reputation in Britain hadn't become too bizarre... probably.
In any case, this incident made one thing clear: Agravain was cold.
But now, Gawain could feel his brother's emotion crackling like lightning beneath the surface. That alone showed just how serious the situation was.
"I... I'm sorry," Gawain said at last, lowering his head. He had no way to refute it.
He and Gareth had been led by Kay in a wide detour to escape the pursuing Roman army. Along the way, they counted the casualties: of the 3,000 soldiers they led, 2,300 had died. These were elite troops of Britain—buried just like that.
His guilt was beyond argument.
"Sorry? You think knowing what you did and saying sorry is enough?" Agravain grew even angrier.
Clearly, the Black Knight wasn't only concerned with the loss of 2,300 elite soldiers.
"Do you even know why I'm here? Or why Lord Kay came to rescue you?!"
His rebuke echoed through the hall. Gawain's face burned with shame—until another voice suddenly sounded from the head of the conference table.
"Enough, Lord Agravain. Don't blame him too harshly. Lord Gawain was seriously injured, and under the circumstances, there wasn't much he could do. I'm the one who assigned him to guard the city. I didn't anticipate this either. The fault lies with me."
"...Your Majesty?" Gawain looked up, stunned.
"You don't need to take the blame for this fool, Your Majesty!" Agravain snapped. "And how could any of this be your fault? It's completely—"
"Enough, Agravain," Arthur sighed. "Let Lord Gawain explain."
"Yes—"
As Gawain recounted the details, Arthur's expression darkened. When the tale concluded, the king nodded grimly.
"I see. It's just as I feared... no, it's worse than I imagined."
"My king?"
"Don't worry about it," Arthur said. "From the moment you left the city, our scouts reported movements from the Roman army. Strictly speaking, this wasn't your fault. The Romans know us well—they predicted your reaction and set traps accordingly."
Arthur remained calm as always. He had long earned his reputation for tolerance when it came to the Round Table.
Seeing that Arthur had no intention of blaming him, Gawain hesitated, then glanced at Agravain.
It had troubled him that a civilian like Agravain had suddenly appeared on the battlefield.
Then Arthur continued—and Gawain's eyes widened in disbelief.
It turned out the ambush that caught Gawain involved only a small portion of the Roman forces. The true main army had already advanced toward the now-vulnerable city, executing their strategy with uncanny precision.
Using tactical deception, the Romans split into smaller groups to bypass detection, then regrouped beneath the city walls. The city's defenses were massive, and the dispersed British soldiers failed to detect them in time.
By the time the alarm was raised, the enemy had reached the foot of the wall and were already climbing with ladders.
Had they succeeded in breaching the city, the Romans would've seized British equipment, gained a fortified stronghold, and secured leverage in future negotiations.
This wasn't just any city—it was a newly constructed stronghold. Unlike the two crumbling cities in the north, this one couldn't be abandoned.
Fortunately, Arthur had foreseen the possibility and dispatched Agravain to stabilize the front line. He arrived just in time to repel the Roman offensive.
And that had only been the beginning.
When night fell, Lucius—the Sword Emperor—led the true Roman main force around the city and attacked from the north. They used fire tactics from an inland position, dousing the city walls with kerosene. While the fire didn't destroy the magical wards, the smoke drove away the defenders, making it impossible to approach the walls to activate the artillery.
It was a tactic far ahead of its time.
But the Roman army executed it flawlessly.
Arthur was eventually forced to demolish a 500-meter stretch of the wall, collapsing it to bury the invading Romans under rubble. He then redeployed magic turrets from elsewhere, forming a defensive array and unleashing a simultaneous bombardment to suppress the assault.
Meanwhile, Lucius received word that the Roman coastal positions were under attack by troops led by Kay and Jeanne d'Arc Alter. Faced with a sudden two-front threat, Lucius withdrew without engaging Arthur directly.
Had that not happened, today's outcome would have been far more uncertain.
"The Roman commander is formidable. He must not be underestimated," Arthur said, brows furrowed.
Rome had struck hard, catching Arthur off guard.
But he had not lost confidence.
Now that the defenses were secure, it would be much harder for Rome to break through again.
Still, judging by today's tactics, Arthur concluded that Lucius wasn't the mind behind them.
Whoever orchestrated this strategy wasn't from this era—and their methods were anything but simple.
"As for that nonsense about the destruction of Britain—Lord Gawain, forget it. Rome will never destroy this island. They need it more than we do." Arthur waved his hand dismissively.
Like the Celts, the Romans were peculiar in nature.
But the uniqueness of Rome didn't lie in its people—it lay in the very form of the empire.
Every Roman emperor was worshiped as a god. That divine status gave birth to god-like beings. Naturally, human civilization had no place for gods, so Rome—like Britain—was being expelled by the times.
That's why Lucius, the Sword Emperor, was so desperate to expand. He sought to stretch Rome's territory to its limits and claim this final island of mystery.
This island, unlike any other, offered a chance for the Roman Empire to survive.
Strictly speaking, Lucius—who knew the truth—loved the British Isles as deeply as the Britons themselves.
But for Gawain, these words only deepened his shame.
"My king... please punish me. I am no longer worthy to serve the Round Table. This honor and this responsibility—"
"What nonsense are you spouting?" Arthur cut him off. "Can we afford to lose you now? You're better than me in military affairs. What would you have me do—go out there myself and bark orders until we suffer even greater losses?"
His voice rose, ending the topic with finality.
He was not wrong.
Though Arthur's strengths lay elsewhere, he lacked the strategic acumen needed for modern warfare.
Besides… neither Arthur nor Agravain mentioned the real potential cost of this failure.
If the city or soldiers were lost, it would've been tragic.
But Gawain—blessed with divine power—was a one-of-a-kind treasure.
And Britain could not afford to lose him.
-End Chapter-
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