The ever-increasing need for extreme actions and decisions was also what finally brought about the most extreme methods.
They were all aware that Charles, one of their own, had crossed the line and fired a nuclear weapon to clear out a large number of Sentinels in the war's first hours.
While it was wrong, while it would cause no small amount of fear and hatred toward mutants, they didn't blame him for it.
They all understood his reasoning, and the pain such a decision must have caused him.
After all, the target had been his very own home.
Yet, despite all that, it remained the opening of Pandora's Box.
And once opened, it wouldn't be so simple to close it again.
Now, the use of nuclear weapons was on the table, and they, after a long discussion, decided to make use of them.
Their target was the secret production plant, the place that kept creating more Sentinels faster than they could kill them.
If they could destroy the factory, the flow of new machines would cease, and then they could focus their efforts on mopping up the ones that remained.
This was the best decision.
They all knew it.
So they had done it, using Jarvis, an AI, to forcibly take control of enough nuclear weapons to finish the job.
The price for this? It was great, but despite knowing this, far too many members of the Illuminati had, at this point, reached the stage where they no longer considered such things.
The constant pushback they received as they tried to save the world, the ungratefulness shown once the direct danger seemed gone, the complete disregard for their work and the risks they took.
It wore down their patience; even a saint had their limits, and one couldn't claim that the members of the Illuminati were all saints.
So the world watched as a massive fireball tried to rival the sun, and a mountain was reduced to a hole in the ground. The factory was destroyed.
It was a victory, but a thankless one.
The fighting continued, but it also evolved.
For the first time since their appearance, the Sentinels turned their attention toward Albion.
Almost as if to declare their revenge, they said that since the humans dared to attack their base, they, too, would leave no place untouched.
-----
In Camelot, Sir Agravain looked grimmer than usual as he heard the news.
While he had expected this to happen, he had at least hoped they would have more time.
Every day that passed without Albion being attacked was another day they had to wait for their King to return with her army.
Albion was weak, not defenseless, but also in no true state to fight a war.
He had been forced to make new Enforcement Knights nearly constantly, trying to make up the numbers.
But without the Grail, which remained in his King's hands, there was a limit to what he could do.
And while he remained confident in the strength of the knights, the area they had to protect was simply too vast, more so since they lacked the ability to fly.
This was indeed what caused him the biggest headache.
When his King left for Hell, she left behind only the knights she could spare, and those like Sir Agravain, who were more important here than on the battlefield.
There had been the assumption that cults and demons might appear, so those left behind were those best equipped to handle these situations.
Sir Dagonet and Sir Gareth were chosen to stay behind to help dispel the fear that demons feasted on.
And Sir Lancelot to handle those who dared cause problems.
Tasks all three of them had performed beautifully.
But they had never anticipated an army of flying robots.
One could say that flying opponents were the greatest weakness of Albion.
The Enforcement Knights did have bows and mana arrows; they could shoot down both planes and missiles, but that was mostly because such things had little durability.
At least not when compared to the offensive power of the Enforcement Knights.
The problem was that the Sentinels had far higher durability.
And whether a few arrows could shoot them down was unknown.
And if they couldn't... well, the remaining Round Table Knights were not particularly skilled in long-range assaults.
Lancelot was a Saber-class knight, and he wasn't like their King or even Sir Mordred, true Sabers with sword beams, as Mordred always went on about.
He was not someone of overwhelming power, but of skill.
And against the Sentinels, skill mattered far less.
Sir Gareth was a Lancer, also someone who preferred close combat.
Sir Dagonet was the outlier among the knights, as he had been given the Caster class.
But despite this, his skill set was far more geared toward support than long-range firepower.
He was no magus of war; he couldn't unleash massive beams of destructive power like their King's sister, Morgan.
So while Albion had powerful knights, they were not the right kind of power for this specific enemy.
He had faith that an invasion was still impossible, that he could still stop that with the cards he held in his hands, but this wasn't an invasion.
These machines wouldn't care about battle lines; they might send a few Sentinels to serve as sacrifices, while the rest circled around them and attacked cities.
Burned villages.
They cared not for conquest, nor a true fight; they cared only for killing, for slaughter.
And that was not a battle Agravain was willing to fight, not until the King returned.
For now, he had to find a way to hold the line.
"Ria," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, pulling his squire from her reverie. She had been staring at the screen, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists.
"Yes, Sir Agravain?" she replied, her voice a little shaky, but her posture straight, her gaze focused. She was a soldier. She would not falter.
"Get me the Minister of Defense," he ordered. "And get me the leaders of the Veiled Hand. We need a strategy. And we need it now."
He then paused, his mind already working, calculating, planning. "And get me a map. A large one. I want to see every single inch of our coastline, every major city, every potential target."
"Yes, Sir," Ria said, her movements swift and efficient, her training taking over. She knew the stakes. She knew the weight of the responsibility that rested on their shoulders.
She turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence, a stark reminder of the urgency of the situation.
Agravain stood up, his movements stiff and deliberate, and walked over to the large window that overlooked the castle grounds. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, ominous shadows across the landscape.
He looked out at the kingdom he had sworn to protect, a kingdom now on the brink of war, a kingdom whose fate rested on his shoulders.
He was a man of logic and order, a man who believed in strategy, in careful planning, in the power of a well-executed plan.
But this... this was different.
This was a war against an enemy that was not human, an enemy that did not reason, an enemy that did not fear.
And he was not sure if logic and order would be enough.
-----
Lancelot finally returned to Camelot just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of fiery orange and deep, bruised purple.
The last few weeks had been trying; the situation outside the borders of Albion wasn't something he was ignorant of, nor something he could ignore.
He had been tempted many times to set out and take the fight to these machines, but in the end, he always held himself back.
Reminding himself that he was still needed here, that this was where his duty lay.
And indeed, he hadn't been idle; the fear caused by the Sentinels' attacks around the world was fodder for demons; those who had barely been resisting corruption fell.
Every day, there was more for him to do, as countless dark beings and their human minions tried to take advantage of the situation.
Something that didn't help was the fact that the King's absence was becoming impossible to hide.
Under normal circumstances, it might not be unusual not to see the King make a public appearance for a while, but these weren't normal circumstances.
The world was in chaos, the realm gripped by fear, and yet the King still remained silent?
Yes, people were catching on, and that made those scheming in the dark grow bolder by the day.
And so, he hadn't been back since his banishment when the King left. Only now, when the realm itself was about to face an attack, was he finally able to return to his home.
He snuck through the city, using secret passageways to remain unseen as he finally entered the castle itself.
The majestic castle of Camelot remained as calm and orderly as ever, as if it were entirely disconnected from the world outside.
However, after spending so much time living out there, seeing the sights and meeting so many people, he noticed the castle felt... dead.
The Enforcement Knights who stood guard didn't move; they didn't breathe, merely silent statues who knew only their eternal duty.
Yes, this majestic castle was empty of true life; so few people called this place home, and with the Knights of the Round Table all gone, it was even quieter than normal.
He found the Royal Office with ease, a place he had visited more times than he could count, and found Agravain already waiting for him.
"I have returned, Sir Agravain," Lancelot announced as he entered the room.
Agravain didn't look up from the map he was studying, his brow furrowed in concentration. "So you are," he said, his tone flat, devoid of any emotion. "I trust I don't need to explain to you why I called you back?"
Lancelot's expression remained impassive. "I am aware of the general situation, yes," he said, not adding that the demons were getting far more active. He knew Agravain would already have a report of that from the Veiled Hand.
"The general situation?" Agravain finally looked up, a wry, humorless smile touching his lips. "Lancelot, the general situation is that the world is burning. The general situation is that an army of killer robots is about to turn its attention to us. The general situation is that we are, to put it mildly, in deep, deep shit."
He gestured to the map, a vast, detailed representation of Albion, its coastline, its cities, its strategic points. A series of red dots were scattered across it, each one a potential target, a point of vulnerability.
"They will be here soon," Agravain said, his voice a low, serious rumble. "The latest reports from the Veiled Hand predict the first wave will hit within the next forty-eight hours. We are not prepared. We are not equipped. And we are severely outnumbered."
Lancelot studied the map, his sharp eyes taking in every detail, his mind working, analyzing, strategizing. He could see the truth in Agravain's words. The kingdom was a vast, sprawling expanse, a coastline that stretched for thousands of miles, a multitude of cities and towns, each one a potential target.
They were a small force, a handful of knights, against a seemingly endless army. It was a battle of attrition, and they were on the wrong side of the equation.
"What are our orders?" Lancelot asked, his voice calm, a stark contrast to the grimness of the situation. He was a knight, a soldier. He had sworn an oath. He would follow his orders, no matter the cost.
Agravain's expression hardened. "We hold the line. We protect the people. We do not let them set foot on this soil. Not a single one."
He then paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "However, I am not a fool. I know our limitations. We cannot be everywhere at once. We cannot defend every city, every town, every village. We need to be smart. We need to be efficient."
He pointed to the map, his finger tracing a line along the southern coast. "Our primary objective is to prevent them from getting inland. I will assign the vast majority of the Enforcement Knights to defend the coast, to create a wall of steel and magic that they cannot breach."
He then pointed to a few inland locations, each one marked with a special symbol. "These are our major population centers. London, York, Manchester... places that, if lost, would be a catastrophic blow to the kingdom's morale and infrastructure. We cannot afford to lose them."
He then looked at Lancelot, a glint of something new in his eyes. "Which is where you come in. You, Lancelot, are our ace in the hole. You are mobile, you are powerful, and you are adaptable. I want you to be our fire brigade, our rapid response team. You will go where the fighting is thickest, where the defense is weakest, where you are needed most. You will plug the gaps, you will reinforce the line, you will turn the tide."
Lancelot nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the monumental task before him. He understood the strategy. He understood the risks. He also understood the trust that Agravain was placing in him, a trust that he was not entirely sure he deserved.
"And the others?" Lancelot asked. "Sir Gareth? Sir Dagonet?"
"Same assignment; they will move around. Sir Dagonet will focus on the North," he said, pointing at what had once been Scotland. "And Sir Gareth will handle the old lands." He tapped his finger against Wales. "I will remain here. And the few Enforcement Knights I hold in reserve will defend this place. I also have a surprise for any Sentinel that tries to attack this place directly."
(End of chapter)
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