The sky was bright, and flowers bloomed everywhere in the gardens of Britannia. A beautiful young lady in a flowing blue gown moved happily among the blossoms, her face glowing with excitement as she picked flowers.
Standing beside her was her knight—fully equipped in armor, always on guard.
She turned to him with a smile.
"Red primrose, yellow primrose, or white primrose," she asked. "Which flower do you think suits me best?"
The knight answered without hesitation.
"All of them suit you."
She laughed softly. "No, no. I want you to choose only one."
He paused, then spoke calmly.
"If I were asked to name all the beautiful things in this world, you would be the first. Your beauty shines like the moon, while the flowers are merely stars—gentle accents meant to complement your light."
Her cheeks flushed red.
"Ha… ha… ha…" she laughed, covering her face. "Such sweet words make my heart race. At this rate, I might end up falling for you, Lancelot—the mighty knight of Britannia."
Suddenly, a knight clad in white armor burst into the garden at full speed. A red cross marked her chestplate, signaling her low rank in Britannia's army.
"Sir Lancelot! There's a big problem!" she shouted.
Princess Emilia turned to her, frowning. "What is it? Why did you barge in here like that? State your business and leave—don't ruin our mood."
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. "What's the problem?"
The knight drew a deep breath, steadying herself. "Wyverns were spotted in Lionmere, a village not far from Pride Estate. They're attacking and destroying the village as we speak. Civilians… are dying."
The laughter and warmth of the garden vanished, replaced by the cold weight of urgency.
"I'll take care of the wyverns in Lionmere. I want you to stay here and guard the princess—her safety comes first."
The soldier replied, "Understood. I'll bring reinforcements to protect the princess."
Princess Emilia's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and determination. "I'm coming with you," she declared, stepping forward.
Lancelot's brow furrowed. "Your Highness… it's too dangerous. You can't—"
"I don't care!" she interrupted, her voice firm. "If civilians are dying, I can't just stay here in the garden! I have to help!"
Lancelot shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You have duties here. You're not a soldier—this isn't your fight."
She met his gaze, unwavering. "I don't care about duty right now. Lives are at stake. I refuse to stand by while people die!"
Lancelot's jaw tightened. He could see the fire in her eyes—the same fire that had made him swear to protect her from the very beginning.
He stepped back, electricity crackling faintly along his armor. Sparks grew, coursing through his veins as he focused his spirit core.
"Then come with me," he said, his voice low but steady. "Hold on tight."
Before she could protest, Lancelot leapt into the air. Electricity surged around him, amplifying his strength and speed. The ground below blurred as he propelled himself upward, the raw power of his magic allowing him to fly.
Princess Emilia gasped, clutching his arm as the wind rushed past them. Her hair streamed behind her, and her gown flapped wildly.
"I… I'm scared!" she shouted over the roar of the wind.
"I know," Lancelot replied, his focus unwavering. "But I won't let anything happen to you. I'll get us there safely."
The world below shrank as he soared through the sky, carrying her toward the chaos in Lionmere. Lightning danced along his armor, illuminating the determination etched across his face.
From above, Lionmere looked small, almost peaceful—yet the chaos was undeniable. Flames flickered along rooftops, black smoke curling into the sky. Tiny figures ran through the streets, villagers screaming in terror as wyverns tore through homes and fields.
Lancelot tightened his grip on Princess Emilia as they approached. Hold on, he muttered. We're almost there.
She clutched his arm, her knuckles white. "It… it's worse than I imagined," she whispered, her voice trembling. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she pointed toward the center of the village, where a wyvern swooped low, scattering terrified people.
Electric sparks danced along Lancelot's armor, illuminating his determined expression. "I know," he said. "You don't have to worry. Your knight is here with you, and I will always protect you."
Her fear vanished in an instant, as if a torrent of water had been poured over a blazing rooftop.
The wind roared past them, whipping Emilia's gown and hair around like banners. Every moment brought them closer to the heart of the destruction. From this height, they could see the full scale of the attack—smoke rising, fires spreading, and wyverns circling the village like predators hunting prey.
Emilia gripped him tighter. "Please… be careful, Lancelot," she said softly.
He gave her a small nod, lightning crackling brighter along his arms. "I always am," Lancelot replied.
They descended toward Lionmere.
On the ground, Lancelot called out to the soldiers. "Defend the princess and protect the citizens. I will handle the wyverns alone."
These were low-ranking soldiers, clad in dark brown armor. One of them whispered nervously, "What is he saying? One person can't kill two wyverns—that's suicide."
The captain scoffed, his lips curling into a mocking grin.
"Kid, stop playing knight," he said. "Leave this to the adults. Where's your mummy?"
Lancelot stepped forward.
Without a word, he unclasped the insignia at his chest and let it catch the light. The engraved words were unmistakable:
Elite Knight of Britannia
Lancelot Loid
Three stars on the bottom of Lancelot Loid
Silence fell.
"I am Lancelot," he said calmly, his voice carrying quiet authority.
"The Knight of Britannia."
Instantly, the soldiers bowed. The captain node. "We will do as you command."
Lancelot arrived at the heart of the battlefield.
Wyverns circled above Lionmere, their massive wings blotting out the sun. From their maws poured streams of corrosive acid, splashing across rooftops and stone walls alike. Buildings hissed and melted, collapsing as terrified screams echoed through the streets.
Lancelot stepped forward, his gaze steady.
"Hey, wyverns," he said calmly. "Why do monsters revel in destruction? Is there something you gain from slaughtering the unarmed?"
Electricity crackled faintly around his armor.
"If you seek blood," he continued, voice cold, "then come. Face me."
The wyverns screeched in response.
South of Lionmere.
Princess Emilia stood among the stationed soldiers, her hands clasped tightly before her. Smoke rose in the distance, staining the once-clear sky.
A soldier hesitated before speaking. "Your Highness… with all due respect, why did Sir Lancelot bring you to the battlefield? This place is no ground for women. Please, allow me to escort you home."
Princess Emilia shook her head gently.
"There's no need," she replied. "My knight will return soon."
Her voice was calm, yet her eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
Minutes passed.
Ten.
Then twenty.
Still, there was no sign of him.
Her heartbeat began to quicken.
It's been twenty minutes, she thought. Why hasn't he returned yet?
She clenched her fingers tighter, unaware of the tension creeping into her posture.
Why… am I worried?
The thought startled her.
Lancelot was strong. Stronger than anyone she knew. He had never failed her before. And yet, unease settled in her chest like a weight she couldn't cast aside.
Her heart raced—not from fear of the battlefield, but from fear for him.
Princess Emilia lifted her gaze toward the smoke-filled sky, silently praying.
Come back safely… Lancelot.
The ground suddenly split open.
Before anyone could react, thirty stationed soldiers were swallowed whole by a collapsing pit. Their screams were cut short as the earth sealed itself, leaving behind smooth soil as if nothing had happened.
Silence followed—heavy and suffocating.
The officer in command froze for a split second before shouting in terror, "It's an assassin! Protect the princess with your lives!"
Without hesitation, the remaining twenty-two soldiers formed a defensive formation around Princess Emilia, shields raised and weapons drawn.
Her voice rang out, sharp and demanding.
"Who are you? Show yourself!"
The ground trembled again.
Dark soil parted, and a man emerged from the earth as if stepping out of a shadow. He wore unfamiliar clothes—black baggy jeans, black jacket and a white singlet he didn't button the jacket so everyone could see the white singlet, unlike any armor the soldiers had ever seen. His presence alone felt wrong, as though he did not belong to this world.
"I am a soldier," the man said calmly. "From Nigeria. And I've come to take you home."
Princess Emilia stared at him in shock.
"Nigeria? I've never heard of such a place. And those clothes—what are you wearing?"
He did not answer.
In the next instant, he vanished.
The man reappeared directly in front of the formation.
Sprint—step—impact.
A soldier was struck before anyone could react. As the man fell, the stranger grabbed his wrist and leapt backward, landing several steps away while still holding him. The movement was clean, precise, terrifyingly efficient.
He used his fist to beat the soldiers to death.
The assassin picked up the fallen man's sword without emotion.
Another soldier screamed, "You bastard! You killed my brother!"
He charged forward in rage.
The result was the same.
He never landed a single blow.
Panic spread instantly. The remaining soldiers tried to retreat—but the ground opened once more, swallowing them whole. One by one, they vanished beneath the earth.
Only Princess Emilia remained.
The man turned to her slowly.
"Please do not resist," he said evenly. "I would rather not use force. Come with me."
She lifted her chin, defiant despite the fear in her eyes.
"Why would I fear a kidnapper like you? Just wait—my knight will—"
She never finished the sentence.
The man struck once.
Princess Emilia vision went dark.
He caught her before she hit the ground.
The earth shifted again, reshaping itself into a strange, solid structure—smooth, metallic, and utterly alien. It resembled a carriage without horses… a machine.