The cavern trembled like a beast in its death throes.
Symbols burned themselves into the rock, twisting into patterns no shinobi could recognize. The chanting of the summoner grew ragged, words scraping out of his throat like knives. His hands shook as he pressed bloodied palms against the floor, feeding the ritual.
"This… will make me great…" he rasped, his eyes wild with hunger. "Not even the Hokage… not even the Akatsuki… will stand before me…"
The air thickened. Shadows rippled unnaturally, stretching too far across the cavern walls. Green fire licked at the black candles placed around the circle, guttering as though the air itself resisted the summoner's desperation.
And then—light.
It came without warning, blinding, holy. Golden brilliance erupted from the summoning circle, scorching the stone beneath it. The summoner screamed, his voice breaking into agony. The light swallowed him, tearing his body apart until not even ash remained.
And from that light, a figure stepped forward.
A knight.
Her boots struck the ground with quiet finality. Blue cloth trailed her armored frame, torn yet regal. Golden hair shimmered faintly in the glow, though strands were dulled by dust and war. Her hand gripped the hilt of a blade wrapped in invisible power, its edge veiled but unmistakably absolute.
Excalibur.
The sword's name pulsed in the air like a memory the world itself could not forget.
The woman's eyes opened. Emerald. Sharp. Heavy with battles long past and burdens that could crush empires. Her gaze swept the cavern once, unhurried, measuring, before resting on the blackened smear where the summoner had stood.
"…Another summoning."
Her voice was calm, but the edge of weariness cut through. Her gauntleted hand brushed her blade's hilt as though to reassure herself it was still there. She closed her eyes briefly, then sighed, her breath misting in the cavern's unnatural chill.
"So it seems my rest was not yet meant to be."
Silence answered her. The runes cracked and withered, their energy spent. Outside, the world waited.
Artoria Pendragon, the Once and Future King, stepped beyond the ruined circle.
---
The night was still.
Pine trees stretched high, their dark needles whispering against one another in the wind. The moonlight filtered through, silver shafts piercing the forest gloom. The air smelled of damp earth, smoke… and blood.
Artoria paused at the cavern's threshold. Her instincts, sharpened by endless campaigns, tightened within her chest. Somewhere nearby, people cried out. Screams, faint but distinct, carried on the wind.
A village.
Her fingers tightened around Excalibur's hilt. Duty stirred within her like an echo from another life. She had sworn to protect Britain. Her people. The innocent. And though this land was strange, though its banners were unknown, the cries of the helpless had always sounded the same.
"…So war endures, even here."
Her voice was soft, but carried a gravity that made the forest itself seem to listen.
---
A branch snapped.
Artoria's head turned sharply, eyes narrowing. From the shadows, a figure emerged—a shinobi, his headband scratched and his clothes ragged, a rogue castaway from his village. His eyes widened at the sight of her, disbelieving.
"What… the hell are you?" he whispered. His kunai slid into his hand reflexively, though it trembled. "Armor? A sword? Some kind of summoning beast?"
Artoria's gaze lingered on him, calm yet unyielding. She made no move to draw her blade, though her posture was perfect, ready.
"I seek no quarrel," she said evenly. Her words carried the weight of command, archaic yet unmistakable.
The rogue shinobi sneered, masking fear with bravado. "You think I'll just let some wandering freak walk through my territory? You reek of chakra… I'll gut you and take whatever scroll spat you out!"
He lunged.
Kunai gleamed as he slashed at her throat. Artoria moved with a swiftness that mocked his effort. Her armored arm deflected the strike effortlessly, sending him stumbling past her.
The man spun back, panting. "Fast… too fast…"
Her emerald eyes narrowed. "You endanger innocents nearby, do you not?"
The rogue froze. His silence was answer enough.
Artoria's hand closed around Excalibur's hilt. The blade slid free with a sound like light cutting air. For a heartbeat, the forest brightened—not from moonlight, but from the faint golden aura that clung to the sword.
The shinobi stumbled back, panic flashing in his eyes. "W-what kind of weapon is—?!"
Artoria stepped forward. One swing. That was all.
The air split.
Her blade cleaved through the earth before him, carving a glowing scar into the dirt. The rogue's kunai shattered in his hand. He fell back with a cry, clutching his wrist, terror rooting him to the ground.
She lowered her sword slightly. "Leave. Now."
Something in her tone—calm, absolute, merciless—struck deeper than any wound could. The shinobi scrambled to his feet and fled, crashing through the underbrush like a frightened animal. His fear carried on the wind long after he was gone.
Artoria exhaled, steadying herself. She looked down at Excalibur, its glow dimming once more, returning to silence.
"…Even here, men prey upon their own."
Her eyes rose to the distant glow beyond the trees. Fire. The village burned.
Without hesitation, the King of Knights set her path toward it.
---
The villagers' cries grew clearer as she approached. Roofs collapsed under flames, sparks rising into the night. Children wailed. Women screamed for husbands and brothers who no longer answered. Bandits—or shinobi—moved through the chaos, blades glinting as they dragged spoils from the fire.
Artoria stepped from the treeline.
For a moment, the attackers froze at the sight of her. The golden knight, face shadowed, sword glinting faintly under the moon. She looked like a figure out of legend, walking through smoke and flame.
One bandit laughed nervously. "The hell is this? Some actor in armor?"
Another spat. "Doesn't matter. Kill her and take the blade!"
They charged.
Artoria raised Excalibur.
The first man's sword never touched her. With one swing, she cut through steel and sent him flying into the dirt, unconscious before he hit the ground. The second lunged, kunai flashing—only to find his weapon broken, his arm numbed by a strike that never even drew blood.
One by one, they fell. Not killed—only struck down with precision, her blade guided by purpose rather than malice. To her, they were not warriors. They were vermin threatening innocents. And she would not stain Excalibur with needless slaughter.
Still, her presence was undeniable. Golden light flared faintly with every swing, burning itself into the memory of those who witnessed it.
The last bandit dropped his weapon and ran, shrieking. The others followed, scattering like leaves before the wind.
Artoria lowered her blade. The glow faded once more.
Villagers peered out from shattered homes, their eyes wide, their voices hushed. A child peeked from behind her mother, pointing with trembling fingers.
"An… angel…" the boy whispered.
Artoria turned her gaze to them, unreadable. Her eyes lingered for a moment, then she sheathed Excalibur with deliberate care.
"No angel," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Only a knight, wandering where she no longer belongs."
Without another word, she turned and walked back into the night.
The villagers never forgot her.
By dawn, whispers spread like fire.
Of a golden knight who came from nowhere, who fought like a storm, and whose blade glowed with the light of gods.
The shinobi world had gained a new rumor.
And the Once and Future King walked alone beneath the foreign stars.