The battle at the center of the battlefield continued between Vortigern, Artoria, and Galahad.
Sword energy surged wildly.
The surrounding soldiers couldn't even get close.
Any soldier even an ordinary knight who ventured within ten meters risked being grievously wounded by the flying slashes.
Galahad and Artoria swung their swords from the left and right, pressing Vortigern from both sides.
Vortigern's face was slightly pale.
His wounds had yet to heal.
Against the onslaught of these two, he was clearly outmatched.
His strength had diminished considerably compared to before.
Meanwhile, Artoria and Galahad had grown much stronger since their last battle.
After all, they were still in their growth phase.
With each increase in combat experience, their power continued to rise.
If, in their previous battle, Artoria and the others had barely managed to withstand Vortigern's attacks, now the tables had completely turned.
Vortigern was thoroughly suppressed by Artoria and Galahad.
In just a few exchanges,
Vortigern found himself surrounded by imminent danger.
Then
In a single moment of carelessness,
Galahad's blade struck the wound Scáthach had pierced through Vortigern the day before.
Vortigern's face turned deathly white.
At that moment, Lot charged forward on horseback.
His grip on his sword was firm.
Even as he galloped into battle, he did not yet draw it.
"Vortigern, prepare yourself for my strike of vengeance!"
Lot shouted at Vortigern.
Had his opponent been anyone else, Lot might have chosen to attack stealthily, delivering a surprise blow.
But this was Vortigern.
His strength would never allow Lot to land a sneak attack.
Even while locked in combat with Artoria, Vortigern had noticed Lot's approach. His eyes showed no trace of panic as he watched him charge forward.
After all, from their previous battle,
Vortigern already knew that Lot's strength was far inferior to his own.
"Daring to come to your death this time?"
Perhaps.
"This might be my only chance at victory."
Vortigern understood clearly.
In the current state of the battle, his chances of winning were already slim.
Thus, to turn the tide, he had to seize every opportunity.
Lot's assault was the best chance he had.
Vortigern knew that no matter how skilled Galahad was, no matter how overwhelming the charge of the Round Table Knights under Artoria's leadership might be
The true soul of Camelot's army was Lot alone.
If he could defeat, capture, or even kill Lot, the entire battle would reverse in his favor.
With this in mind, Vortigern adjusted his stance, shifting to a more defensive posture.
He was conserving his strength.
Waiting for the moment Lot would reach him.
To deliver a single, decisive strike.
And thus, snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
Vortigern gathered his power.
Lot, too, was accumulating his strength as he charged.
Both sides reserved their full might for the final clash.
Awaiting the decisive moment.
Finally
Lot reached Vortigern.
At the same time, Vortigern swung his sword energy outward, forcing Artoria and Galahad back.
Now, only the two of them remained, facing each other.
Vortigern gripped his greatsword with both hands, raising it high. Under the blazing sun, the blade radiated a dazzling light.
The overwhelming sword's pressure stung the eyes, making it hard to even keep them open.
Artoria and Galahad shut their eyes.
But Lot
He truly felt as if a white dragon loomed before him.
This force
Was even more intense than when Vortigern had faced Scáthach the day before.
"Afraid?"
Lot felt no such thing.
Because
He knew that no matter how strong his opponent was,
The final victor would still be him.
"Die!"
Vortigern's voice rang out.
At the same time, his sword descended.
The white dragon lunged toward Lot.
"You're the one who should die!"
Lot retorted.
The white dragon was formidable.
But the weapon in his hand was Joyeuse.
A blade that surpassed Vortigern's in both power and rank the sword of Charlemagne.
And its blade
Was forged from the Lance of Longinus, the very spear that had pierced Christ.
Lot had been nurturing this sword for a long time. Now, at last, it was time for it to shine.
The longer a sword was tempered, the greater the power it unleashed when finally drawn.
This blade had never been used even during Charlemagne's lifetime. And in Lot's hands, it had been further honed.
Now, unsheathed, its radiance was overwhelming.
A brilliant, multicolored light erupted from the blade in an instant, transforming into luminous rings that coiled around the sword before surging toward Vortigern's own radiance.
The dazzling brilliance pierced through Vortigern in a flash.
Vortigern desperately dodged, twisting to the side.
"Aaaaaaah!"
A scream of agony tore from his throat.
Then
The light faded.
An arm fell to the ground.
Lot raised his sword, staring at Vortigern.
"What is this sword called?"
Vortigern clutched his severed arm.
"Joyeuse."
Lot spoke its name.
"And its blade?"
Vortigern pressed further.
"Longinus. The blade is the shaft of Longinus' spear."
Lot answered.
"I see."
Vortigern exhaled.
Then, his gaze swept across the battlefield.
"There is still one final battle left. I will await your arrival in Wales. I shall swallow the bitterness of this defeat, regroup, and then crush you."
Vortigern declared.
"You think you can escape? Your strength is less than a fifth of what it was. Even so, you believe you can flee?"
Lot would never allow Vortigern to leave.
Yet, as soon as he spoke, Vortigern's lips twisted into an eerie smile.
"Of course. This body can no longer wield the power it once could. So I shall discard it."
With those words, he clutched his wounded arm.
Then
Before everyone's eyes
The sky seemed to tear open.
Vortigern underwent a tremendous transformation.
"Human strength... truly has its limits."
His voice echoed toward Lot and the others.
He
No, from this moment on, it was the only fitting term.
The Vortigern before them had become a true dragon.
"Now, let us see whether you shall become dragon-slaying heroes... or whether this island shall become my paradise."
With those final words, it turned and left.
As for its subordinates
Now that it had cast aside its humanity, they had lost all value.
A single flick of its wings, and the soldiers who had once followed it were instantly slaughtered.