"See, Artorius? You merely waved your arms, and even the giants retreated. That look of awe—they felt it in their souls. After committing such a deed with your own hands, can you still insist on calling yourself human? Come, liberate yourself. We were meant to be gods, rulers of the earth. You're the only one in this world worthy of standing at my side."
Lucius swung his magic sword with full strength, unleashing a flurry of high-speed slashes while issuing yet another invitation.
Even in such a bizarre atmosphere, Arthur stared coldly at the emperor and remained silent for a long moment.
"What's wrong? Still hesitating? Or do you still not understand? Then let me prove it to you—again and again, if I must."
"No, that's enough. I understand everything now," Arthur replied at last, his voice colder than ever. "Let me ask you, Lucius—what does Rome mean to you?"
What is an empire?
A mere country?
Territory? Property? A thing to be protected, or a duty to uphold?
There are many possible answers—but for Lucius, the conclusion comes instantly, without need for thought.
"Ah, of course. It's part of me," Lucius replied without hesitation.
Because it was part of him, it was indivisible. Free will and betrayal had no place within it. No matter how it was used, it was his alone to decide. To Lucius, Rome was the emperor—and the emperor was Rome.
A pure answer.
As an emperor, he was qualified.
And for Arthur, that answer once again confirmed the correctness of his own beliefs.
Indeed, there was a decisive difference between them.
"I see. That's the answer I expected. So let me declare this solemnly—Sword Emperor Lucius Hiberius, you and I will never coexist."
Arthur smiled—a smile of deep relief, as if something within him had finally been released. Yet even with that smile, his tone became more serious than ever.
He lifted his head, and golden flames burned within his eyes.
Behind him, the illusory red dragon let out a roar and attached itself to Arthur. His aura changed dramatically.
This was not the useless special effect Morgan had once imposed on Arthur. It was the true manifestation of the soul of the British dynasty. At this moment, the people's collective longing for "King Arthur" took shape as the red dragon crest, emblazoned upon his back.
Yet this alone was not enough to defeat the Sword Emperor.
Arthur understood this better than anyone.
Lucius's strength came not only from his swordsmanship—worthy of the title "Sword Emperor"—but also from his mastery of magic, his refined combat techniques, and his control over spiritual veins. Most of all, it was his madness—his genuine love for war—that pushed him beyond the reach of brute force alone.
No—Arthur's current martial skill was not enough to win.
Though he was strong, he had never truly thought of himself as a warrior.
Rather than engage in barbaric swordplay with a holy weapon, Arthur preferred to act as a commander—or a mage—striking down enemies with skill and elegance from afar. That was both safer and more refined—befitting a king.
Strictly speaking, this was Arthur's first fight to the death, where his own life was truly at stake.
Even his battle against Vortigern had been a calculated move—unleashing the Holy Sword to create an opening to destroy the dragon. There had been no real risk, no direct confrontation.
How could one call it a battle when victory was assured from the start?
Thus, Arthur—who had never fought like a true warrior—found himself overwhelmed in this life-and-death clash, even with the Shield of Radiance, a piece of equipment that offered immense support with no need for activation.
But that did not mean Arthur lacked the power to kill Lucius.
"Ah… I will destroy you—and wipe out both you and your Rome. Although I didn't want to use this method at first... I only hope I won't become too calm," Arthur muttered softly.
"What are you talking about? In your current state, there's no way you could—"
"No. It's possible. I will show you my strength—the strength of the one called Britain's mightiest. I am the strongest, and therefore unrivaled. I remain calm—as King Arthur. I will never retreat—as the King of all Knights. So I declare once again: I will slay you."
A word spirit activated.
Not directed at Lucius—but at himself.
In battle, Arthur had lost his composure. He couldn't bring out his full strength. Subconsciously, he rejected the idea of fighting like a warrior. And because it was subconscious, he couldn't change it through willpower alone. But with mental interference, he could force himself to become one.
How to fight. How to swing a sword. How to use skills.
Arthur had always known these things—but had never fully embodied them.
But in a perfectly calm state, the instincts etched into his body could be fully unleashed.
In the next moment, Arthur's entire aura shifted.
If he had still been a living man moments ago—his expression would have shown fear, resolve, or unease, revealing his courage.
Now, his presence became colder than ever—like an inanimate, lifeless machine that moved only to execute its purpose.
"Artorius, what did you do?" Lucius frowned. Sensing immense danger, he halted his attack and leapt backward to gain distance.
"There's no point in talking anymore."
Arthur's voice was cold—as if the emotional taint of the Holy Grail had been erased.
In the next second, his figure vanished.
Clang clang clang clang—
There was a noise in the air, like metal chains grinding against one another. Even Lucius could only vaguely perceive the space twisting into solid forms—locks and spears wrought from thin air.
Invisible. Intangible.
Was this—wind?
"You underestimate me! Do you think something like this could bind me?" Lucius laughed defiantly.
If you can sense it, you can interfere with it.
His magic sword sliced through the invisible restraints.
But wind—true wind—cannot be cut so easily.
Wind is flowing air. Even when severed a thousand times, it can reform instantly—unless blown away by something stronger.
Clang clang clang—
In a flash, Lucius's limbs were bound—suspended in midair in a spread-eagle position.
"Damn it—mere magic!" Lucius roared, straining against the unseen chains. They groaned under the force. They wouldn't last much longer. Against the brute strength of a beast, even the wind could be torn apart.
"Lucius. Give up," Arthur warned.
"Varied—!"
But in the next instant, Lucius found he could barely open his mouth.
Damn it—these are... serious binding forces. Magic or not, everything is relative. The stronger the target, the stronger the restraint—but the cost and time limit also rise.
Lucius fought with all his might, desperate to shorten the duration.
And he was right.
Even though Arthur had trained the [Word Spirit] to a high level, the quality of the spirit itself was still lacking.
But would Arthur waste this chance?
In the next moment, a cold voice whispered beside Lucius's ear.
"Inch force—open the skull."
-End Chapter-
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