By the most conservative estimates, the Roman forces led by Lucius Tiberius numbered no fewer than fifty thousand—and likely far more.
Conversely, our numbers totaled a mere ten thousand. Ha. Truly, we were consigned to ruin. The disparity was nothing short of overwhelming.
We had once overcome thirty thousand of Vortigern's thralls with only ten thousand, but that was a miracle wrought by the presence of Artoria and Gawain. Here, in their absence, the scales were tipped far against us.
Though we held ten thousand men and the strength of high white walls, such fortifications were practically non-existent when one considered Lucius, the wielder of Florent. My only hope lay with Artoria's main army. I had dispatched messengers to inform her of the Roman landing, and even before the sun had fully breached the horizon, I summoned Mordred.
Mordred entered the council chamber with a wide yawn, crossing her arms with an air of profound annoyance.
"What is it? Why have you summoned me at such an ungodly hour, quill-pusher?"
The vein in my temple throbbed.
"I summoned you because a crisis has emerged... Bastard."
"...How do you know of that?"
Mordred's voice turned low and frigid. A wave of bloodlust emanated from her, cold and biting. I met her gaze with a look of pure exasperation.
Mistaking my silence, Mordred snapped sharply.
"Speak quickly, before I slaughter you where you stand."
"I was reporting to the King when you saw fit to burst into the chambers and declare yourself her progeny. You, of all people, should know that I was a witness to your folly."
"....."
At the time, I had been utterly speechless. To charge in, rip off her helmet, drop to one knee, and proclaim herself the King's child—how else could one describe it? She was like a chariot barrelling downhill at full tilt with no reins to guide her. Even though I possessed knowledge of the original history and knew of Mordred's birth, I never expected her to be quite so... reckless.
At my reminder, the killing intent surrounding her vanished instantly. I stared at her, my expression thick with disdain.
Mordred, seemingly trembling from sheer embarrassment, raised her voice in a defensive shout.
"Enough! Fine! Why did you call me here?!"
"Rome has invaded."
"...What?"
Mordred's voice rose in genuine shock. I nodded grimly, meeting her disbelieving stare.
"The forces our King went to intercept were merely their vanguard. The main host has made landfall on the coast near Camelot. Lucius Tiberius is confirmed to be among them."
"...Then we simply have to take Lucius's head, don't we?"
If it were that simple, Rome would have collapsed centuries ago, you fool... I massaged my throbbing temples.
"It is impossible. We have ten thousand; they have fifty thousand. Moreover, their ranks are likely bolstered by mages of the Empire. Our duty is to hold this fortress until the King returns. We shall defend Camelot, the city entrusted to us, even if it costs our lives. Tell me, Mordred. Are you prepared to offer your life for the King?"
Mordred fell silent for a moment before she clutched her stomach and let out a bright, jubilant laugh.
"Hahaha! Offering my life for the King? I quite like the sound of that. Fine, I shall assist you. Just ensure you don't fall behind. If you do, I'll kill you myself."
I looked at the laughing Mordred with a deadpan stare.
"Bold words for someone who couldn't even best Lancelot. Go sharpen your swordsmanship, boy."
"...Shut your mouth, quill-pusher!"
***
"This is madness."
"...For once, I agree."
Mordred and I looked out across the vast plains, which were now completely submerged under a sea of Roman soldiers. They had begun the investment of Camelot. Even as they encircled the city, their formations remained perfectly tight—a testament to the fact that these were the Empire's finest elites.
However, we were not lacking in that department. The knights and soldiers defending Camelot were the pinnacle of Britain's martial prowess. We were outnumbered, certainly, but in terms of quality, we yielded to no one. Furthermore, assuming Lucius did not take the field immediately, the white walls of Camelot stood as a stout bastion in our favor.
Massive siege towers and mobile ladders punctuated the enemy ranks. I never dreamed in this life that Camelot would be subjected to such an assault by a foreign power. Then again, when has life ever followed my expectations?
Despite the caliber of our soldiers, morale was plummeting due to the enemy's sheer numerical weight. To fight them on equal footing, I needed to bolster our spirits. And I knew the perfect method.
A True Name Release of a Noble Phantasm. A single, overwhelming strike that incinerates the enemy brings hope to allies and despair to foes. It was a tactic Artoria employed often; I hoped she wouldn't mind if I borrowed it for a moment. I drew my beloved blade from my hip: Excalibur Twilight.
The sword glittered as it caught the rising sun. I leveled the blade toward the Roman host. As I poured prana into the steel, it began to radiate light. By the time I reached the capacity of the blade's circuits, the radiance was so intense it was difficult to even keep one's eyes open.
The prana consumption was monstrous. Had I not possessed a Dragon's Factor, a single strike like this would have left me in a state of magical exhaustion. Yet, my core felt no such burden. A smile tugged at my lips.
Very well... This is your first battle, Twilight. Show them your might.
"This blade is the light of protection that guards our home. The final fragment of the waning Mystery. The Holy Sword of the Planet that defends the ideal! [Excalibur Twilight]!"
A torrential beam of light erupted from the sword, sweeping through the enemy's vanguard and consuming everything it touched. When the light finally faded, nothing remained in its wake—only a scorched, molten path of earth left behind by the sheer thermal energy.
The cheers of my soldiers confirmed that the gambit had worked; their morale surged. However, the effect on the enemy seemed negligible. If anything, they seemed emboldened, rushing forward with renewed aggression.
I realized then: my strike had not ended the battle. It had merely signaled its beginning.
***
A grueling struggle broke out atop the walls—Rome fought to ascend, and we fought to cast them back down. I lost track of how many I had cut down. My armor was already slick with blood. I struck down another soldier as he vaulted over the battlements.
*Slash!*
"Fire the ballistae at the approaching siege towers the moment they are loaded! Do not let them reach the walls!"
*Boom!*
As I barked orders to the artillery crews, a deafening explosion rocked the earth. The very walls trembled. The source of the blast was the main gate. Even as I processed the sound, the dire news reached me.
"The—the gate! The main gate has been breached! The enemy is flooding through!"
"Curse it! Mordred! I am heading to the gate. I leave the command of the wall to you!"
*Slash!*
"Consider it—done! Push back those ladders!"
Leaving Mordred to her commands, I sprinted toward the gatehouse. A breach had been blown open, wide enough for five men to pass abreast. It was a manageable gap. Due to the architecture of Camelot, the gate was recessed, creating a natural choke point. The number of soldiers who could engage at once was limited; I could hold this line myself.
I flooded my blade with prana once more and leveled it at the charging Romans.
"[Excalibur Twilight]!"
The burst of light obliterated the lead units instantly. Those few who weren't caught in the blast lunged at me, only to be systematically put to the sword. I buried my blade in the chest of the last man, yanked it free, and flicked the blood from the steel with a sharp motion.
In the silence that followed, the sound of clapping echoed through the breach.
*Clap. Clap. Clap.*
"Hahaha! Exquisite! Simply marvelous. I confess, I held little expectation for this campaign, yet I find a man capable of setting the heart of Rome aflame!"
I lifted my head. Standing at the source of the voice was a beautiful woman with hair as crimson as a raging hearth. She exuded a terrifying amount of prana and battle-spirit, yet she laughed and clapped as if she were at a theater. Her gaze met mine, and her clapping ceased. She gave me a wide, predatory smirk.
"This Rome's name is Lucius Tiberius. I am the proud Emperor of the Romans."
She possessed the crushing pressure of one who commanded both massive magical energy and a warrior's spirit—the unmistakable aura of a natural ruler. Looking at the woman who introduced herself as Lucius Tiberius, only one thought occupied my mind.
...Why are you a woman?!
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