The forest was quiet again.
Artoria walked beneath the canopy, her armored boots crunching softly against the dirt path. She moved without hesitation, yet her emerald eyes were alert, scanning the trees as if each shadow might rise against her. Her body remembered war too well.
The cries of the villagers still lingered in her ears, though the smoke of their burning homes had faded behind her. She had done what she could… and yet it was not enough. It never was.
Duty. The word echoed hollow in her chest. She had lived her life by it, died by it, and even now, in this strange world, it shackled her steps.
"Even here… I cannot turn away," she murmured, her voice low but firm.
The leaves rustled. She stopped, one hand resting on Excalibur's hilt.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then she felt it—chakra, though she had no word for it yet. A pressure in the air, heavy, suffocating, sharp as fangs poised to strike. It wasn't the clumsy malice of bandits or rogues. No. This was something greater.
A presence moved within the forest. Watching. Measuring.
"…You noticed me quicker than expected."
The voice slithered from the darkness, smooth and mocking. From between the trees stepped a man draped in pale robes, his skin pallid, his eyes golden like a serpent's. His smile was cruel, thin lips twisting into delight at the sight of her.
Orochimaru.
Artoria regarded him with the same calm she had shown the bandits, though her stance shifted subtly—firmer, sharper, as if her very posture formed a shield.
"And what manner of creature are you?" she asked.
Orochimaru chuckled, tilting his head. "Creature? Hm… perhaps. But you… you are no ordinary summon. No chakra signature like yours should exist in this world. Your form… your weapon…" His eyes gleamed hungrily. "Fascinating."
Artoria's hand tightened on her blade. "If you seek conflict, you will regret it."
The Sannin's laugh was soft, amused, almost condescending. "Conflict? No, no, my dear knight. I seek understanding. Knowledge. Power. And you radiate all three."
He took a step forward, and the air itself seemed to grow heavier.
Artoria felt the pressure, the killing intent coiled within him like venom in a serpent's fang. But she did not flinch. She had stood before kings, demons, and dragons. This man—whatever he was—would not bend her resolve.
Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills.
Then, movement—fast. Too fast.
Orochimaru's tongue lashed out, long and inhuman, striking toward her throat. Excalibur sang free of its scabbard, its invisible blade flashing. The tongue recoiled, sliced cleanly at the tip, blood hissing as it hit the ground.
Orochimaru drew back, laughter bubbling from his throat, though his eyes glittered with sharp interest rather than pain.
"Ohhh… marvelous. That blade… it cuts even without showing itself. What are you, knight?"
Artoria stood firm, Excalibur held low but ready. "I am no curiosity for you to dissect, serpent. Turn away, lest this ends in ruin."
The forest trembled as his chakra flared, snakes bursting from his sleeves, hissing, slithering toward her. Artoria did not move until they were upon her—then her blade swept, golden arcs severing them in flashes of light.
Each strike was precise, measured. No wasted movement. Yet the snakes were endless, writhing from the trees, the ground, the very shadows.
And still, she did not falter.
Orochimaru's smile widened. "Yes… fight, little knight. Show me more of this power. Show me until I can take it for myself."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then you will see… and despair."
Excalibur's glow brightened, faint but undeniable, golden radiance spilling into the dark forest.
Orochimaru's laughter echoed, twisted, hungry.
But before the clash could deepen, the ground shook.
A new presence surged into the clearing—two, in fact. Dark cloaks marked with red clouds. Their chakra was oppressive, vast, cruel.
Akatsuki.
Orochimaru's laughter cut off. His smile thinned, his eyes flickering with distaste. "Tch… scavengers."
Artoria's gaze snapped to the newcomers. One's silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, his eyes manic, a scythe dripping blood resting across his shoulder. The other's stitched body moved with grim purpose, green eyes cold, counting, already weighing her worth in coin.
Hidan and Kakuzu.
"Oi, oi," Hidan cackled, pointing his scythe at Artoria. "What the hell's this? Some cosplay broad in armor? Heh, boss'll love her head on a spike."
Kakuzu's voice was low, rasping. "Not cosplay. That sword… that presence… she's no ordinary shinobi. Could be worth quite a fortune."
Artoria exhaled slowly, her grip on Excalibur steady. Orochimaru shifted, his serpentine gaze flicking between her and the Akatsuki with irritation.
For the first time since she arrived, Artoria felt the tension of true battle coiling around her.
A three-way confrontation.
Predators circling.
And she, a knight lost in a foreign world, standing alone.
"…So be it," she murmured.
The forest held its breath.
And the clash began.