"Priest Little Andrew, didn't you say the Lord would watch over us?"
"Sir Limio, there is no 'Little' in my name!"
A man in full plate armor and a priest in a black uniform stood firm on the warship's deck, facing the rain and waves, gazing at the seemingly endless dark storm clouds on the horizon.
When they first entered the storm, everyone assumed it was a natural phenomenon. But as the clouds gathered unnaturally and lightning struck the fleet with uncanny precision, most of the priests aboard realized magecraft was involved.
With solemn expressions and clenched fists, they scattered pages from their holy texts, casting barriers over all the warships. These protective shells hardened against the relentless rain, lightning, and waves.
"Bishop Edward, it's your turn to act!"
Five years after the Camelot Disaster, all pretenses between Camelot and the Holy Church were dropped. This was a Holy War against the Heretic Nation, involving the "God-Blessed" from various Secular Churches and the cornered conservatives within the Holy Church itself.
Coincidentally, this Bishop Edward was the very one who had initially extended an invitation to Guinevere.
Five years had been long enough for him to mature considerably, his face now covered by a full beard.
During those five years, he had been scapegoated by some of the Church's dregs for his failed invitation, who blamed him for everything that followed.
"Lord, may You protect us."
He held a book bearing the Lord's Holy Seal, but after speaking these words, Bishop Edward drew a shining Holy Sword from within its pages.
Yes, in these five years, he had become a Knight—a formidable one, wielding an Anti-City Holy Sword.
No longer did he need to pray to the Lord. No longer did he need to use what were called "Miracles" but were, in truth, a form of Church-style magecraft.
Stepping back with his right foot, he raised the sword high above his head with both hands. In an instant, golden mana gathered on his Holy Sword, gradually forming a golden blade of light over ten meters long.
As he unleashed this liberated strike, Bishop Edward cried out, "Lord, forgive me!"
The sword swung out. The golden light-sword suddenly expanded, shattering the protective barrier before piercing through the clouds. As he pressed the sword forward, the thick, pitch-black rainclouds were cleaved apart, the rift extending to the horizon.
Through the gap torn in the dark clouds, the cold moonlight spilled down, revealing to the fleet that it was the night of the new moon.
"Lord, grant us Your blessing."
Having unleashed his single, devastating strike, Bishop Edward had to rest. This Holy Sword, one of many in the Church's collection, could not be easily liberated.
Thus, this chant came from Priest Andrew. After casting the barriers, he now performed a "Miracle" to summon the wind.
It was unrealistic for him to blow away the dozens of miles of pursuing, pitch-black rainclouds with his power alone. A more practical approach was to propel the entire fleet forward, allowing them to escape the cloud cover before it closed again.
The wind howled. The sailors, already alerted, immediately raised the sails. The Knights and priests standing on deck prepared for an enemy interception.
Yet, even after another Holy Sword split the heavens and the wind roared anew, the fleet still failed to escape the range of the pitch-black rainclouds.
"The Mages controlling the rainclouds... are they trying to wear us down with just the clouds alone?"
After three repetitions with the same result, even a fool could grasp the enemy's general strategy.
If the full might of the Holy Church were pitted against all known Mages, victory would be certain.
But with only a hundred or so priests in this fleet against an unknown number of Mages...
"Bishop Edward, can you determine our position from the night sky through the gaps in the dark clouds?"
"What if I told you we're heading in the right direction, but we're only halfway there...?"
"Then..."
"A reminder: Camelot already knows our position. Our painstaking efforts to dismantle their intelligence network for the element of surprise have failed.
"Having lost that advantage, even if we reach Great Britain, we'll only be trading one grave for another.
"If you ask me, we should turn back. If Camelot sees us trying to flee, they might abandon this attrition tactic and reveal themselves to intercept us directly."
Educated among the elite and heir to his predecessor's legacy, Little Andrew was radical, but not foolish.
After the reminder from the conservative Bishop—his rival—he understood that without the element of surprise, it was pure fantasy to think their small force could land in Great Britain and hold out for any length of time.
A moment later, the wind carried his command. Sir Limio, the Vanguard's actual commander, stood nearby and remained silent, able only to watch.
In this era where divine authority superseded royal power, the two priests beside him held higher actual status than he did.
Even within the Secular Church, they were high-ranking figures.
As the wind shifted and the fleet feigned retreat, the rain intensified, the thunder cracked more fiercely, and the waves surged higher. Even the previously mild winds began to clash with those summoned by the priests.
Now, everyone in the fleet understood: the one controlling the dark clouds in the sky intended to annihilate them all.
"Those heretical bastards of Camelot! How did they know we had launched our attack and pinpoint our location in this vast sea?"
Priest Little Andrew himself didn't know their precise location, yet the "heretical bastards" he cursed had found them.
"Tsk. You clearly learned nothing from your father's fate. Cardinal Noy warned us long ago: against Camelot, forget surprise attacks. We must face them head-on with our full strength.
"To launch a surprise attack on Camelot, you'd have to hope Merlin knows everything but chooses not to act.
"And now, it seems Merlin has acted once again."
Yes, Merlin had acted again. He had provided the Vanguard's precise departure time and their real-time location on the sea, allowing the mages controlling the dark clouds to pinpoint a specific location to gather them.
"Master Merlin, you truly are incredible when you decide to be reliable."
Beyond the dark clouds, a far larger fleet sailed under a calm, moonlit sky.
As the fully armored King of Knights spoke, Guinevere, also in splendid attire, nodded in agreement. The others praised the Mage of Flowers, who was present only as a projection.
Merlin had helped again, but he was unwilling to travel outside Great Britain. His reliability in this battle would be limited to this single act.
Still, it was enough. With his warning and guidance, the Camelot Kingdom, which would have lost the initiative, had reclaimed it. They would now entomb the entire Roman Vanguard—a force by no means weak—at the bottom of the sea.
"Guinevere, I'm moving out."
Clad in silver armor, wielding the Holy Lance, her face concealed by a lion-shaped helmet, the King of Knights spoke these words before mounting her warhorse, Dun Stallion. The steed then carried her into the sky.
This horse likely possessed the bloodline of a Mythical Pegasus.
Next came the strike from the Holy Lance, its restraints now released by the King of Knights.
"Holy Lance, weigh anchor..."
"...the Storm Anchor that tears the sky and binds the earth!"
In the moonlit sky, the King soared like a goddess. The release of her Holy Lance summoned a storm, and its spiral shaft gathered a brilliant glow of mana.
Following her, Guinevere—empowered by the mages with Water-Walking Magecraft—and her Tristan and Berserker Knight Orders descended to the sea, forming ranks on the water's surface.