Tristan's sightless eyes seemed to mock him. Unable to bear seeing comrades kill each other, he had blinded himself — yet his hands still moved.
He plucked his bowstrings like a musician, the sound echoing as deadly attacks rained upon the enemy. Militiamen on the front lines fell, clutching their necks.
Despite his blindness, Tristan fought fiercely. Hearing Gareth's battle cry, Tristan frowned. "You used your Noble Phantasm immediately? Not wise."
Gareth faced overwhelming enemies and poor conditions. Without his Noble Phantasm, he would fall quickly. But this time, he unleashed his full power.
Tristan gripped his bow. Gareth was a Knight of the Round Table — respect demanded he too use his Noble Phantasm.
"Let us begin the sad music. My bow plays the sorrow and pain, the phantom melody of weeping... This is my arrow."
He plucked the string. The bowstring turned into an arrow and flew toward Gareth.
Feeling the magic swelling in his spear, Tristan smiled, "Sorry, Gareth, but please stop. You can't come closer."
A mass of silk-thread-like magic bound Gareth's body. Though armored, blood stained the exposed flesh.
Her legs were especially targeted — if she pressed forward, they would be severed before reaching Tristan.
"Please stand and move only the tip of your spear."
Gareth was undoubtedly the best spear-user among the Knights of the Round Table.
She still wished to serve the king — having left early when he was alive, she bore regrets but no hesitation now.
"The voice of pain, the song of sighs — know the sorrow engraved in my flesh and blood! — If cut off, this is all that remains. [Illusion of Pain]!!"
No!
Bound tightly, Gareth struggled to raise her shield, trying to survive against her former companion's assault.
"Goodbye, Gareth, my friend—!"
An arrow charged with magic flew, but a shield suddenly smashed into the fray. Tristan's Noble Phantasm shattered it but lost power. The remaining force damaged Gareth's armor but not her body.
"Who's there?"
Tristan spun, sensing the shield's origin.
Could another heroic spirit be here? They had just begun preparing for the Holy Selection, unsure what other forces lurked beyond the demon camp.
If a heroic spirit had arrived, that could complicate matters.
Just then, Tristan sensed danger and raised his bow to defend.
Then a powerful force surged through his bow, as if a dragon struck — but to him, it seemed a little girl.
Gareth braced for death but saw a white-haired girl in shining armor wielding two swords charging at Tristan.
She was familiar — though they never met, Gareth had heard of her from her brother.
Melusine.
If Melusine was here, so too must be the one rumored to accompany her — the blacksmith.
Gareth glanced toward the shield's origin. A young man clad in silver-white armor with golden hair approached steadily. Aslan.
After escaping the desert's storm circle, Aslan spotted the plains and the town. Seeing soldiers moving about, he understood where he'd been sent — a fitting stage for his first appearance as a servant.
So many old friends here.
Tristan, sensing threat and danger, already considered retreat. His fall would be a loss for the king and jeopardize the Holy Selection.
"It seems there's no way to get rid of the traitor today, Sir Gareth. Struggle while you can."
-End Chapter-
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