The field was cleared, and Lancelot was given ample time to rest.
Under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands, Guinevere, wielding her Replica Holy Sword, and Lancelot, holding Arondight, exchanged the knight's salute.
Mana surged as both summoned their armor. At the King of Knights' command, a thunderous clash erupted, so violent that more than half the spectators flinched and covered their ears.
Compared to before, Guinevere's mana signature was much gentler. Her swordsmanship had also undergone a complete transformation; she no longer wasted time on probing attacks.
She relentlessly pressed the offensive, seeking and creating openings amidst the clash of blades, seemingly able to anticipate her opponent's next move.
Indeed, through frequent sparring with the King of Knights and daily duels against various knights on the training grounds, Guinevere had learned to effortlessly predict her opponents' next actions based on their subtle movements.
So-called "Instinct" was a passive, reflexive response. Guinevere's prediction, however, was an active skill born of experience—a form of "Future Sight" limited solely to swordsmanship.
"Queen, you have indeed grown stronger."
"Sir Lancelot, it is you who have grown complacent these past years. You've barely improved since we last fought over a decade ago."
They primarily used their mana for defense, reserving little for offense. If both unleashed their full power, not only would this hundred-square-meter arena be obliterated, but the entire plain outside Camelot City would be leveled.
In essence, their duel was almost purely a contest of sword skill.
"Queen, it's not that I don't wish to improve, but that I have reached my limit. Your swordsmanship is honed to defeat opponents; mine is primarily forged to temper myself."
"If your opponent is skilled, your swordsmanship is even more devastating. If they're weak... well, you hardly need swordsmanship at all."
Guinevere had grown stronger, yet in a duel of pure sword skill, Lancelot remained impenetrable. She could neither find nor create an opening. When she attacked a vital point he had to defend, Lancelot would instantly change his form, turning the tables to strike a point she was forced to protect.
After three minutes of intense, focused combat, Guinevere heard Lancelot's words and silently agreed with his assessment. He truly hadn't improved much, but he had also long since reached the pinnacle of his skill.
There was still only one way to defeat Lancelot: either wear him down with superior stamina and mana, or overwhelm him with force he couldn't withstand.
The former was impossible as long as Lancelot drew breath. He was the man who could fight Gawain for an entire day and then defeat him at night.
If only Lancelot had a competent Master during the Fourth Holy Grail War in Fuyuki City, or if the Old Worm had entered the fray himself...
Amidst their standoff, Guinevere's mind wandered for less than a second. Lancelot seized that instant, relentlessly pressing her until she was forced to unleash a burst of mana to drive him back.
Thanks to the Holy Grail, Guinevere's mana capacity had been greatly enhanced. While she couldn't match Lancelot's flawless technique, she could certainly overwhelm him with raw power!
Every strike was heavy and powerful, each blow making Lancelot's hands tremble. Realizing he might lose, Lancelot became even more focused, drawing Guinevere's gaze until only his sword existed in her eyes.
Unconsciously, they both poured more and more mana into their clashes. The escalating power forced the mages attending the banquet—particularly Merlin and Morgan, who had appeared at some point—to erect a protective barrier together.
Once they realized they no longer had to fear their sword-force tearing through the surroundings, both fighters unleashed their full strength.
Guinevere had dueled Lancelot for an hour, even managing to suppress him at one point. But that was only a brief moment. In her battles against Mordred, it was usually Guinevere who held the upper hand.
"The Queen... she's truly formidable."
Ten years had passed. Gareth, who had once barely scraped into the Round Table and worked in the kitchens, had grown into a knight of the Top Twelve Seats. His insight now surpassed that of an ordinary knight.
Mordred's swordsmanship, taught by Guinevere, was characterized by wide, sweeping strikes and reckless aggression. This allowed Guinevere to quickly suppress her by exploiting openings.
But Lancelot's swordsmanship was too perfect; winning quickly was impossible. To suppress him for most of the fight and, after just ten minutes of clashing, tear open the webbing of his hand—that was something Gareth couldn't even dream of.
Lancelot lacked a certain degree of raw attack power, which allowed Gareth to unleash her "three-axe combo" before being defeated. But against a serious Guinevere...
"Your Majesty! May I request a lesson?"
Gareth was an impulsive child, always regretting her rashness later. But seeing Guinevere overpower Lancelot through sheer force, she raised her hand high and retrieved her lance—which had just been used as a skewer for grilled meat.
"Come!"
Having broken a light sweat and feeling fully invigorated, Guinevere readily accepted Gareth's challenge.
Besides, she was planning to sneak away soon under the guise of retreating to a convent, intending to travel and have fun. Before she left, she wanted to "plow through" the entire Round Table one last time.
And so, throughout the night, Guinevere did just that. Every knight who dared to challenge her was thoroughly defeated—except for the King of Knights, who, already knowing the outcome, chose not to risk her authority in front of everyone.
Mordred, whose wounds had been rapidly healed by the 'Scabbard' within her while Morgan merely pretended to treat her, now challenged Guinevere as well.
This time, it wasn't a surprise attack. Mordred wasn't taken down in just a few moves. Under Guinevere's deliberate guidance—where she intentionally fed Mordred openings—she managed to fight even longer than Lancelot had.
"Mordred, don't be upset," Guinevere said after their match concluded. "Remember, you're still young. At your age, I was nowhere near as skilled as you are now!"
These words earned Mordred even more admiration and anticipation from the knights.
Yes, they thought. Guinevere may look young, but she's already...
But Mordred looks young because she truly is that young!
And so, more praise was heaped upon Mordred.
"Queen Mother, are you truly stepping back from your duties?" Mordred asked.
"Not just me. Your father will also gradually entrust the kingdom's affairs to you. Mordred, the plan is to open Camlann Hill in three years. We hope that within that time, you will grow strong enough to completely satisfy your father."
"Queen Mother, I will do my best."
Mordred was a sensible child who no longer needed Guinevere's lengthy admonitions. After ruffling her hair, Guinevere personally roasted two skewers of meat over the nearby campfire. She handed one to the King of Knights, then took the other and walked toward Lady Morgan.
Guinevere and the King of Knights were preparing to leave on their journey, and Mordred was striving to earn the approval of the father she so admired. Only Morgan felt an emptiness in her heart, unwilling to return to the "empty-nester" life she had endured over a decade ago.
"Sister, have some..."
Dawn had broken. Only the knights, who had spent the night either sparring or spectating, still had the energy for a barbecue. Most of the common folk and even the mages had already returned home.
"You and my foolish sister can go travel alone. Why bother with me?" Morgan snapped.
"I wanted to ask if you'd be free in three years, Sister. Perhaps you'd like to travel with us for a while? Hmm, that is, if you don't mind being a third wheel."
Beneath her veil, Morgan's lips twitched. She desperately wanted to blast Guinevere with an offensive spell.
"I! Am! Not! Going! I'll! Stay! With! Mordred!"
Despite Morgan's fierce, deliberate enunciation, Guinevere couldn't help but laugh. Morgan's temper softened in response.