Pain. Pain that had nearly reached the limits of what the human body could endure.
Every bone and every inch of muscle screamed with tearing agony. His overburdened nerves had already begun converting those unbearable sensations into numbness, reducing the strain on his body so that its suffering host would not simply lose consciousness.
Even so, Gawain remained sprawled on the floor. No matter how many times he struggled, he could not properly control his numb limbs.
At that moment, clear footsteps approached, and a pale hand reached down before the Knight of the Sun.
"How are you? Still holding up?"
Gawain looked up at Samael, then turned his head away in frustration. Using the broken sword in his hand for support, he forced himself onto one knee and faced the second floor.
Though the supposedly invincible Knight of the Sun was deeply unwilling to accept it, he eventually managed to force the words through his lips.
"I lost. My King, please punish me..."
"Samael is the victor."
The King of Knights, who had watched the entire duel, announced the result in her usual cold, even voice, without the slightest fluctuation.
Then she turned toward Gawain, her gaze perfectly calm.
"Sir Gawain, this was merely a fair contest. There is neither reward for victory nor punishment for defeat. Withdraw and rest."
Although he had not been punished, Gawain still looked deeply ashamed as he limped back toward the Knights of the Round Table.
Only then did Gareth and Gahoris dare step forward and support their elder brother.
Gawain did not reject their help, but there was something lonely about his retreating figure.
At the Battle of Mount Badon, he had lost to Vortigern on the battlefield.
Now, after returning triumphantly to Camelot, he had been defeated again by a man whose name no one had even heard before.
Those two consecutive defeats had clearly struck Gawain hard.
They made him seriously question his own ability, and whether he was truly worthy of standing beside his King as a member of the Round Table.
"Your Strength is exceptional. There are very few people here who can surpass you in that regard. But you also rely too heavily on that Strength and neglect the refinement of your technique."
"Don't let your greatest advantage become your greatest weakness."
The calm voice came from behind him.
Gawain stopped.
He turned back toward Samael. Although his expression still showed some frustration, he struck his right fist against his chest, lowered his head, and answered in a muffled voice.
"Thank you for the lesson..."
At least he knows how to accept defeat.
Watching the aggrieved Knight of the Sun, Samael's lips curved upward.
He stretched lazily and began strolling back toward his seat.
"Wait..."
Just then, a low, hoarse voice came from a shadowed corner among the Round Table.
A man clad entirely in black armor stepped out of the darkness.
His black hair fell across his shoulders, and his thin, severe face carried a gloomy air. He casually took a spear from an Enforcement Knight and walked into the light of the hall.
"I would like to learn from your swordsmanship."
The spearpoint leveled forward.
His sharp eyes fixed on Samael with an unpleasant chill, like a hawk locking onto its prey.
The Ancient Serpent stopped and looked at the newcomer with interest.
Agravain.
The King of Knights' trusted secretary, primarily responsible for the kingdom's internal affairs.
Camelot's chief enforcer.
He took the blame for Artoria, handled the dirty work, and carried out the sort of tasks that could never be allowed into the light.
Cold and grim, he behaved almost like an emotionless machine.
He was exceptionally skilled at interrogation and torture, to the point that people joked he could make even a hippopotamus beg for mercy in human speech.
As a subordinate, Agravain would execute the King's decisions without hesitation.
He could send soldiers into battles where death was certain, order villages massacred, or execute defenseless prisoners of war without so much as changing expression.
His ruthless methods and refusal to leave any room for compromise naturally made him unpopular among the Knights of the Round Table, who lived openly beneath the sun.
So despite his absolute loyalty to King Arthur, Agravain remained one of the most isolated figures within the Round Table.
Something like a solitary minister.
There was another detail as well.
According to legend, Morgan had personally taught him, and he had once been the child she trusted most.
Because of that, he had originally been sent into the Round Table as a hidden piece, intended to undermine King Arthur's authority and pave the way for Morgan to seize power.
But Agravain placed Britannia's survival above everything else.
In the end, he betrayed Morgan and chose to support Artoria, whom he considered the person most suited to the throne.
After sorting through the information in his mind, Samael shook his head and sighed.
Tsk, tsk.
Another unfilial son.
As Agravain drew closer, the Ancient Serpent returned his attention to the present.
He casually took a greatsword from an Enforcement Knight, flicked the flat of the blade with one finger, then smiled at the gloomy man before him.
"Since you came specifically to ask for instruction in swordsmanship, simply overwhelming you with Strength would be rather unfair."
"Don't worry. This time, I'll go easy on you..."
"..."
Agravain said nothing.
A flash of menace crossed his face as he swung the spear directly toward Samael's centerline.
Very well.
Class is in session.
A faint gleam passed through the Ancient Serpent's eyes.
He slid forward and avoided the spearpoint by the narrowest possible margin.
At the same time, Samael turned his wrist and carried the sword upward with the motion, striking precisely at the spear's weakest load-bearing point.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A piercing series of metallic impacts rang out.
Agravain was forced back three steps before finally stopping.
The web between his thumb and forefinger had gone numb, and his blood churned violently in his chest.
Yet from the feedback of that exchange, the amount of Strength his opponent was using was indeed roughly equal to his own.
There was only one explanation for their current situation.
The man before him possessed extraordinary combat experience and technique.
So defeating Gawain in a single strike had not merely been the result of superior Strength.
His experience had been overwhelming too.
Agravain's thoughts raced, and he reached the conclusion almost instantly.
"Pay attention in class. Don't let your mind wander."
Samael advanced as casually as though he were strolling through a garden, bringing the sword down with one hand while smiling.
Agravain had no time to think further and instinctively raised his spear to block.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Black and white figures crossed repeatedly.
One increasingly heavy clash after another echoed through the hall, rattling cups and plates across the surrounding tables and making the candle flames tremble.
The longer Agravain fought, the more alarmed he became.
No matter how he changed his technique, the man opposite him always seemed capable of identifying a weakness in the spear's momentum the instant he attacked.
Every effortless swing of that sword landed precisely on the spear's weakest point of leverage.
Agravain could not exploit the wide, sweeping advantages of a long weapon at all.
Instead, Samael's blade kept him locked at medium and close range, suppressing him so thoroughly that he was forced backward again and again.
Before long, he had been driven to the edge of the field.
At the critical moment, Agravain grabbed the cumbersome cloak behind him with one hand and hurled it at his opponent.
Rip!
The sword tore through the cloak, shredding it into countless scraps that fluttered through the air.
Buzz!
As the torn cloth descended, the air trembled.
Agravain seized the opening, stamped forward, and launched a fierce counterattack.
The spearpoint gleamed with icy light, like a venomous dragon flicking out its tongue.
Thrust, sweep, jab, pierce.
One attack after another aimed for Samael's throat, eyes, abdomen, knees, and every other vital point.
Whoosh!
The sword swept horizontally toward Agravain's chest, intending to interrupt the spear's momentum.
Agravain's gaze remained cold.
He continued thrusting while shifting half a body-width aside.
Slash!
The notched blade cut across Agravain's chest, tearing through flesh and sending crimson blood splashing onto the floor between them.
Yet Agravain acted as though he felt nothing.
He accelerated his offensive.
At close range, the spear became even more vicious, forcing Samael to retreat.
Ten steps!
Agravain glanced toward the boundary behind his opponent.
His gaze sharpened.
He slipped past the incoming sword and brought the spear crashing down again with tremendous force.
Slash!
A wound appeared across Agravain's left arm.
The Ancient Serpent retreated another step to avoid the attack.
Nine!
Agravain counted silently.
He swung his spear again and poured Strength through his arms, ignoring the torn flesh being twisted and compressed by the motion.
Blood sprayed from the wound on his left arm.
His expression did not change at all.
Samael watched Agravain force his way forward several steps, his entire body soaked in blood until he resembled a demon crawling out of hell.
He sighed inwardly.
[Agravain of Iron].
[Agravain Who Knows No Pain].
He was not merely cruel to his enemies.
He was even crueler to himself.
So that was how it worked...
Still, this desperate style of trading wounds for an advantage, combined with an unbroken storm of attacks, was genuinely effective.
Little by little, Agravain was recovering the initiative.
Samael was forced backward again and again.
Drip. Drip.
But as the dull sound of falling blood continued, those watching finally noticed something else.
The webbing between Agravain's thumbs and forefingers had already split open from gripping the spear.
More and more wounds were appearing across his body with every clash.
Each injury had been deliberately calculated, yet after only a handful of exchanges, hardly a patch of intact skin remained on him.
But for a simple competition...
Was this really worth it?
The spectators watched the blood-drenched figure fighting like a madman and felt chills crawl down their backs.
At the same time, the same question rose in many minds.
He's adapting to this rhythm.
Faster.
I need to be even faster!
Agravain saw that his opponent had begun finding ways to counter his approach, constantly altering his sword technique and repeatedly striking the spear to stop his advance.
Blood ran into Agravain's eyes, but he did not even bother wiping it away.
Instead, he squeezed every last bit of potential from his body.
Then he leapt forward.
The spear was tucked beneath his arm and thrust from the right.
Faced with the incoming sweeping sword, Agravain expressionlessly extended his left arm...
The Knights of the Round Table watching from the sidelines instinctively rose from their seats.
They stared at Agravain, who seemed just moments away from forcing his opponent out of bounds.
Even Lancelot, regarded as the strongest knight of the Round Table, felt a chill at the thought of facing such an assault.
They did not particularly like Agravain.
The man was gloomy, harsh, and unpleasant to be around.
But in this fight, he had proven himself worthy of the name "Iron Wall."
His will was as hard as steel, and the ruthlessness he could show toward his own body on the battlefield made him, without question, a first-rate warrior.
The Knights of the Round Table unconsciously clenched their fists.
The same thought passed through their minds.
Retreat.
One last step!
"Crack!"
A piercing metallic sound rang through the hall.
Agravain stood frozen in place.
The spear in his hands, already covered in countless notches, suddenly crumbled like weathered stone.
At the same moment, the armor covering his upper body shattered along with it.
"Well? Still want to continue?"
"No. I lost..."
Agravain looked down at the broken chest armor on the floor.
Then he looked at Samael, who stood opposite him completely unharmed.
His lips tightened.
He discarded what remained of the spear.
The spear had been repeatedly cut and weakened until its internal structure had completely failed.
And at some point, his armor had likewise become a target and been gradually broken apart.
Those two pieces of evidence made the truth painfully clear.
During their exchange, Samael had possessed more than one opportunity to kill him.
So whether the distance had been ten steps or one...
The possibility of victory had never been real.
It had only been an illusion his opponent deliberately allowed him to see.
"At least I managed to protect my new clothes."
"If we'd fought normally, I wouldn't have been nearly so confident about that. Thanks for lowering the difficulty for me."
Samael brushed nonexistent dust from the hem of his clothes and sighed with a smile.
Agravain's brow tightened slightly.
What?
Was he planning to humiliate him again after defeating him?
"Do you know why?"
Samael walked closer and asked casually.
Agravain did not understand.
He shook his head slightly.
"You've shut off your perception of pain."
"On the surface, that seems to give you a body like armor, one that doesn't fear bleeding or injury."
"But once you lose pain, you also lose your ability to sense danger. That affects your judgment and makes you overlook even more potentially fatal details."
"Pain isn't a burden. It's a rare gift."
"Treasure it."
As Samael spoke, he casually tossed him a bottle of restorative potion.
Then he gave the marble-like man, whose expression still barely changed, a meaningful look.
"Feelings are the same."
Agravain remained silent for a moment.
Then he thoughtfully accepted the potion and slowly bowed his head according to knightly etiquette.
"Thank you for your guidance..."
That man was harder than stone, and he actually bowed to him?
Impossible!
The Knights of the Round Table stared in disbelief as Agravain solemnly thanked Samael.
"So, who's next? Want to give it a try?"
As several black-armored Enforcement Knights helped Agravain out of the hall, Samael slowly turned toward the Knights of the Round Table.
His gaze settled on the two smaller figures, Gareth and Gahoris, who were supporting Gawain.
Then he grinned.
Not me!
I didn't do anything!
The siblings shuddered at that terrifying smile.
Their faces turned pale as they instinctively shook their heads.
Both of their elder brothers had already been beaten.
Even together, the two of them would not survive a single round against this monster.
"If you don't mind, I would like to be your opponent next."
Just as the two youngsters who thought they had been targeted felt their hearts pounding wildly, Tristan slowly opened his eyes and spoke.
Samael stretched his loosened muscles and nodded happily.
Tristan stepped solemnly forward.
He faced Samael, placed one hand over his chest, lowered his head in a knightly bow, and spoke sincerely.
"Then please instruct me."
The next instant, a piercing note rang out.
Blades of compressed air transformed into invisible arrows and shot across the field toward Samael.
The duel began again.
Ten minutes later, a sharp sword pierced through the sound barrier.
Just as its point was about to enter Tristan's throat, Samael changed the thrust into a flat strike and swept the blade across the chest of the Son of Sorrow.
"You've got plenty of tricks, but your rate of fire is too slow."
"And distance is a marksman's lifeline. If you just stand there without moving even a few steps, aren't you practically asking to get beaten?"
"Mm. Thank you for the instruction. I'll work on that weakness. May I ask if there are any other problems?"
Watching the exchange on the field, with Samael speaking like an elder instructing a junior, the audience could hardly believe their eyes.
"Percival, Second Seat of the Round Table, requests a duel!"
"Bors, Eleventh Seat of the Next Generation. Please instruct me."
"Count me in. Teach me how to beat these monsters, and I'll buy you a drink afterward..."
An unspoken understanding spread through the Round Table.
One knight after another began volunteering.
Some burned with fighting spirit.
Some were irritated and eager to challenge him.
Some remained calm.
Others were simply amused and curious.
One after another, they stepped forward to challenge Samael.
The Ancient Serpent refused no one.
He called them out one by one and defeated more than ten Knights of the Round Table in succession.
After each fight, he bluntly pointed out their weaknesses, leaving every defeated knight with no choice but to accept the lesson and withdraw.
Eventually, Samael had nearly soloed two-thirds of the Knights of the Round Table present using nothing but a single greatsword.
At last, Lancelot, regarded as their strongest knight and collectively pushed forward by his comrades, entered the field.
The two exchanged nearly a hundred fierce rounds.
Their figures flashed back and forth, sword light filling the hall so quickly that the spectators could barely follow.
Samael's combat experience had accumulated to an almost absurd degree.
He could reasonably be called proficient in nearly everything.
Unfortunately, experience was excellent for bullying youngsters who also relied on experience.
Against a true genius, however, that advantage began to disappear.
And Lancelot happened to be a swordsman of astonishing natural talent.
His A+ [Eternal Arms Mastery] meant that no matter whose hands such skill belonged to, they would qualify as a weapon master within that field.
Worse still, Lancelot possessed the blessing known as "A Knight Does Not Die with Empty Hands."
Anything he picked up could become a weapon perfectly suited to him.
On top of that, the previous battles had allowed the Knights of the Round Table, working together, to uncover a good portion of Samael's techniques and habits.
Lancelot had entered the fight prepared.
He could not exactly deal with Samael effortlessly, but he could at least trade blows with him evenly.
As a result, the two fought back and forth for nearly two hundred rounds without either side gaining a decisive advantage.
In the end, Kay, whose heart was bleeding over the cost of repairing the banquet hall, stepped in and called a halt before things went any further.
Only then did the spectacular duel finally end.
This is exactly why I hate naturally gifted fighters.
A certain snake who had nearly soloed the entire Round Table shot Lancelot a resentful glare.
***
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