Sunlight poured down, spilling across the training grounds within the fortress.
Yet, no one knew when it began, but that sunlight had grown unbearably harsh compared to before, so much so that everyone present could not help but feel as though they were standing in a desert.
And under this blazing sun, the clash of steel still echoed on.
Bathed in the blessing of the sun, Gawain's eyes seemed to burn with searing fire as he struck first. The holy sword, Galatine, carried with it the might of solar flames, unleashing a flurry of rapid strikes. The surging waves of heat pressed forward, and the raging fire looked as though it would devour everything.
Against such ferocity, Guinevere's movements appeared far more composed. Azure mana surged forth, clinging to the knightly blade in his hand. With the lightest of touches, he nudged aside the trajectory of Gawain's swing. Then, with just a subtle turn of his body, King Lot easily slipped past the violent strike.
——Strange.
The longer the fight went on, the more perplexed Gawain became.
It was true, the other man seemed to be possessed by another world's version of his father, and his strength had grown. That much he could accept—if another Servant was empowering him, an increase in strength was natural…
But was it just his imagination? Why did it feel like his opponent's growth in strength wasn't simply from possession, but from something else… something like a "blessing"?
Gawain lifted his gaze, staring at the blazing sun above.
He was certain of it now—the sunlight shining down was far stronger than before… too strong. His own blessing was never meant to reach this level.
When the sunlight reached intensity 3, he could already receive the strongest triple boost. But now, it felt like the sun's strength was at 6. That was impossible. The King's blessing would never make the sun itself burn brighter—that was meaningless. And yet…
"Oh? Seems you've started to notice, have you?"
Lot chuckled lightly at that moment.
"Normally, I don't make a habit of revealing my hand… but since my opponent is my own son, I suppose I can explain a little."
"After all, I earned my fame through undefeated records in the arena. So naturally, my abilities are tied to the arena itself. And what is the most important thing in an arena match?"
He raised a single finger, wagging it lazily.
"I believe it's fairness."
"So, within my domain, our duel must be fair—at least fair to me."
"That means, naturally, every blessing, boon, and protection you enjoy, I will enjoy as well. Whether it's your triple boost under the sun, or your protection against nightfall."
"Understand now, my child?"
"Tch." Gawain clicked his tongue. Even with this knowledge, his actions did not change.
So what if Lot shared in his triple boost? It didn't matter. In pure fundamentals, he was still stronger!
The flames carved dazzling arcs in the air as Gawain once more swung Galatine, unleashing a fierce storm of blows. Lot, however, continued to parry with flawless technique, his precise use of mana disrupting Gawain's rhythm.
Each stroke of Lot's blade landed with uncanny precision, clashing against Galatine's fire, scattering sparks of light. Though Gawain's overwhelming strength often pushed through, Lot's interference kept him off-balance, creating a strange sense of frustration.
At the same time, Lot's control of distance was immaculate. Every swing of Gawain's blade missed by mere inches, his measured steps keeping him just beyond reach. Flames licked at his hair, heat buffeted his form, but the fire never once touched him.
"Your swings leave too many openings, Gawain."
Lot's tone was calm, almost instructional.
"I should have taught you—strength alone does not make a strike."
"Lies," Gawain shot back instinctively. "You never taught me. I honed my swordplay on my own."
"Oh? Is that so? In this worldline, I never had the chance to teach you? Died young, just like me… or perhaps even earlier?"
Lot raised a brow, then sighed.
"No matter. Consider this a belated lesson from your father."
Even as he spoke, Gawain's attacks did not slow. Galatine ripped through the air, a blazing fan of fire sweeping toward Lot.
"Your offense is weak."
This time, Lot did not evade. Instead, he advanced. His knightly sword, glowing with azure mana, shot forward like a falling star, piercing through the fiery curtain and striking at the weak point of Gawain's swing. In an instant, Galatine was forced back.
"Your defense is poor."
Before Gawain could recover, Lot's spear, held in his other hand, lunged like a phantom, driving straight toward his chest.
Gawain considered taking the blow to counterattack—but as that crimson lightning-tipped spear neared his chest, a chill ran down his spine.
"Unsteady footing… wait—you're not dodging?"
Seeing this, Lot clicked his tongue, his lecture faltering for a beat.
Then, making a split-second choice, he shifted the spearhead away from Gawain's chest, striking his shoulder instead. Even so, the blow was met by Gawain's unnaturally strong defense, resisting the force.
But Gawain was already raising Galatine again, about to strike down on Lot's head.
"You really… just rely on that thick skull."
Lot sighed, then tightened his grip on Vik's spear.
In the next instant, golden flames burst forth from the spearhead. The cursed fire exploded, tearing through Gawain's defenses and shattering half his shoulder.
"Ghh—!"
Gawain groaned, his swing breaking off as Galatine slipped from his grasp. Lot tilted his head, letting the holy sword whistle past, embedding itself in the ground with a shattering crash.
"Damn it—"
Gawain gritted his teeth, instinctively moving to clutch his shoulder—but Lot's spear blocked his hand.
"Don't. Touch it, and I'll have to cut off your hand too."
With that, Lot's other sword pierced into Gawain's shoulder, slicing away the corrupted flesh before flicking it aside.
"Too reckless. Do you think you're indestructible? That being the Sun's son makes you immune to flame?"
After his curt reprimand, Lot stepped back, lifted Vik's spear, and with a casual flick, hooked Galatine off the ground, kicking it back toward Gawain.
"How disappointing. Without your triple blessing, this is all your swordplay amounts to?"
Seeing Gawain still eager to fight, Lot only shook his head, disappointment plain, then turned his back.
"You're unqualified. Train again. When we meet next, I'll test you properly."
"For now, take your sword and return to Camelot."
"You—"
Gawain's eyes fixed on the half-familiar back, his teeth gritted.
"Don't belittle me. I'm a knight of the Lion King now! I am your enemy, and deserve to be treated as such—"
But Lot cut him off mid-sentence.
"And what of it?"
He glanced back, eyes steady.
"Even as the Lion King's knight, does that stop you from being my son?"
Gawain froze, then dropped his gaze.
"No… I didn't mean it that way. It's just… as her vassal, my loyalty won't allow me to simply—"
"To simply what?" Lot interrupted again. "To simply accept a gift from your enemy?"
"I…"
The words struck true, but looking at that familiar face, Gawain found it hard to speak.
"Hmph."
Seeing his son's conflicted expression, Lot chuckled softly and shook his head.
"You've grown. You have your own will now. You've chosen a lord worth dying for. Even if that means raising your blade against your father, I accept it."
"But no matter what, I am still your father. And to a parent, loving their child is a duty written in stone."
He waved a hand lightly.
"Come, Agravain. Take your brother away. I don't care to watch him squirm like some poor bride caught between two families."
"..."
At that, Agravain—silent at the battlefield's edge all this time—hesitated, then finally stepped forward to support the kneeling Gawain.
And just then, not far from where they fought, the earth shifted. A hand burst from the dirt, bricks toppling aside as Bagest crawled out, dusty and disheveled. Shaking her head, she shouted:
"I'm back! Guinevere! Gareth! Are you safe? What's happening up there?"
The sight was almost comical.
"Looks like your little burial plan failed, Agravain. You misjudged our strength." Lot turned his head, smirking.
"..." Agravain stayed silent.
"Oh, right," Lot suddenly added, "you despise Lancelot, don't you?"
He pointed to the ground.
"Want me to kill him for you later? Call it father's gift of vengeance?"
"Do not, King Lot." Agravain's voice was cold.
"Lancelot is trusted by the Lion King. Do not use my name as an excuse to strike him."
"Ohhh, I see." Lot immediately made an "OK" gesture, nodding quickly. "I won't mention your name when I do it. I'll just say it's because we're enemies, nothing more. Got it, got it."
Hearing that, even stoic Agravain nearly lost his composure.
Truthfully, he had no desire to accept this bizarre young man as his father. Even if they were the same person, this was a different worldline's Lot. Denying him would've been easy… but standing here, face-to-face, he couldn't bring himself to say it.
Especially when he spouted such absurd words—it stirred faint, half-forgotten memories.
Memories of a father who, despite everything, had once carried himself in just this way. No wonder even their twisted mother, for all her madness, had shown fleeting glimpses of softness around him.
If only he hadn't died so young. Perhaps things might not have gone so wrong.
The thought flickered briefly, but Agravain pushed it aside.
"With respect," he said at last, "you have little time to linger here, do you?"
"When we planned this ambush, I already sent Mordred and Tristan to strike at your base. If you care for those refugees, you would do well to hurry back to save them, instead of wasting time waiting for Lancelot."
"Even if you defeat or capture us here, it means nothing. Should I invoke Madness Enhancement upon myself and Gawain, we could easily drag this battle on for hours… but those refugees don't have hours to spare."
At those words, everyone's expression darkened—including Lot's once-calm face.
"So even if you let us go now and retreat, it won't be mercy. It will be necessity."
Catching the weight of his words on their faces, Agravain added:
"Well? This match isn't lost just yet."
"——Father."