Sir Galahad waved his hand downward.
The signal was given. The battle between Sir Bors and King Arthur had commenced.
Galahad watched the two men face each other across the snake-shaped lake, and in the privacy of his own mind, he began to speak.
This battle is both a mistake and the right thing.
The thought was strange, contradictory. He couldn't resolve it.
How can such a thing exist? How can something be wrong and right at the same time?
He looked at Arthur—at the hollow-eyed king who stood on the left side of the lake. Even without Excalibur in his hand, even broken and lost as he was, Arthur was still Arthur.
Arthur, King Arthur, is said to be the strongest king. Even with Excalibur stripped from him, this battle is still going to be a one-way battle. There's only one way this will end, if you see it from the surface.
He looked at Bors brave, loyal, foolish Bors, who had challenged his king to restore him.
Sir Bors is strong. But there's no way he will win. In all of the world, I can say Sir Bors will lose.
Galahad's jaw tightened.
Because Arthur is the strongest. Even in his days without any holy weapon, Arthur's strength was always unmatched. It's almost as if you could call him a demon.
The word hung in his mind. Demon. A being of impossible power, of unmatched might.
ARTHUR IS THE STRONGEST.
Galahad's eyes found Bors already moving, already charging across the battlefield.
Bors. I wish you luck. Please defeat Arthur. We need our king. We need the king of Camelot back.
Bors ran.
His long sword was raised, his dagger attached and ready. He closed the distance between himself and Arthur in seconds, his strategy simple and direct.
Hit hard. Hit fast.
There was no need for underhanded methods in this battle. No need for tricks or traps or cleverness. This was a matter of will. Of strength. Of proving who was worthy to lead.
He struck.
Straight forward. A clean, powerful attack aimed at Arthur's center.
Arthur moved not to block, but to avoid. His foot kicked up a rock from the ground, sending it spinning toward Bors's face. The rock blocked the attack for just a moment, just long enough for Arthur to step inside Bors's guard.
Then Arthur's fist connected.
WHAM!
The punch landed on Bors's cheek. But
Galahad's eyes widened.
That punch... could you even describe that as a punch?
Arthur's form was wrong. His balance was off. His power that demonic strength Galahad had spoken of was nowhere to be seen.
His lack of ideal balance has weakened his power.
Bors felt it too. He straightened, touching his cheek where the punch had landed. It stung, yes. But it hadn't hurt. Not really.
"As I suspected, my king." Bors's voice was calm, almost sad. "You have gotten weak."
He moved.
His dagger came around, slashing at Arthur's side. Arthur twisted, barely evading the blade passing so close it cut a thin line through his tunic.
Then Bors's arm compressed.
Muscles tightened. Power gathered. His fist shot forward not once, but again and again.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Each punch landed with compressed force, with devastating impact. Arthur's head snapped left, right, back. His arms came up too slow. His body couldn't keep up.
"One's not enough, is it?" Bors's voice was cold. "How about a barrage?"
He kept punching. Kept hitting. Each blow compressed, strengthened, amplified by the technique he had mastered over centuries.
Arthur couldn't evade all of it. Couldn't block all of it. Could only endure.
And then Bors spoke.
"A king?" His voice dripped with contempt. "You should kill yourself."
Arthur's eyes flickered just slightly.
"You're only a cock sleeve. Nothing else." Bors's words were deliberate, cruel. "A man unable to please his own wife another man does it for you."
WHAM! Another punch landed.
"You don't even have the balls to take the decisions that make your nation great!"
WHAM!
"What kind of king are you?!"
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Bors's voice rose with each blow, each word a weapon as sharp as his blade.
"That wizard! He's the one behind every decision you took, isn't he?! Not you! Never you!"
WHAM!
"Why were you even born? Have you ever wondered? That maybe you were a tool a figurehead for others to use?!"
WHAM!
"Why, Arthur?! Why?! What's wrong with you?!"
Bors paused, breathing hard, his fists still raised.
"Even a greedy king is good. An evil king is known for evil. But you" He shook his head. "What kind of king are you? Arthur what does it mean for you to be a king?"
In Arthur's mind, everything was fire.
He stood on a large sea of flames, the heat immense, the destruction absolute. The fire stretched in every direction, consuming everything, leaving nothing behind.
And in the center of that inferno, he heard the question.
What does it mean to be king?
He whispered it to himself. Let it echo in the chambers of his broken heart.
What does it mean to be king?
Then clarity.
"I know."
His voice was quiet at first. Then stronger.
"I know what needs to be done."
"Excalibur."
The sea of flames vanished.
For a single second, there was nothing just void, just emptiness, just potential.
Then the flames returned.
But they were different now. Brighter. Angrier. The color had changed to a deep, burning red the color of blood, of fire, of resolve. The flames rose up and consumed him, burning everything his doubts, his fears, his weakness until nothing remained.
Until he was entirely burned up.
And from those ashes
In the real world, a bright light exploded from Arthur's body.
It was blinding. Absolute. It engulfed the entire environment the lake, the waterfall, the rocks, the sky. Bors was thrown backward by the force of it, his body flying through the air like a ragdoll.
He crashed into Galahad.
Both knights tumbled across the ground, fetching up against a boulder, stunned and blinded.
BOOOOOOM!
The entire place exploded.
The waterfall vaporized millions of gallons of water turning to steam in an instant. The lake evaporated, its bed cracking and splitting. The surrounding earth destroyed, carved into a giant crater by the force of the blast.
When the light finally faded, when Galahad and Bors could see again
Arthur stood in the center of the crater.
His hair was like flames burning, living fire that danced in an unfelt wind. And in his hand, formed entirely of that same flame, was Excalibur.
The holy sword had returned.
Bors lay on the ground beside Galahad, broken and bleeding. But as he looked at the figure standing in the crater at the king who had risen he smiled.
"We may not have Arthur back." His voice was weak, barely a whisper. "But now... at least we have the king of Camelot."
Arthur raised the flame-blade. His voice carried across the ruined landscape, calm and absolute.
"A king will protect his people." Each word was deliberate, eternal. "Even if it means taking the greatest of evil and the greatest of good into himself."
He looked at his knights at the men who had challenged him, who had saved him.
"He will endure their betrayals for their own good." His eyes burned with the same flame as his sword. "A king exists for his people. And his people exist for him."
The present.
Arthur landed.
His feet touched the ground of Valhalla's battlefield with the force of a meteor. He slammed Excalibur into the earth the real Excalibur, the physical blade, blazing with golden light.
CRAAAAAAAAAASH!
A ripple exploded outward from the point of impact. It tore through the Roman soldiers in that area, ripping their bodies to pieces, scattering blood and armor across the sand.
Arthur didn't pause.
He jumped again soaring into the sky, a golden comet against the grey.
His voice rang out across the battlefield, across all four fronts, across all of Valhalla.
"KNIGHTS OF MY ROUND TABLE!"
Every knight looked up. Every soldier paused. Every soul heard him.
"LET'S FINISH THIS!"
He held Excalibur high, its light blazing like a second sun.
"DESTROY THE ROMANS!"
The cry echoed across the battlefield and was answered by a roar from every Camelot knight who heard it.
Arthur descended toward the enemy, Excalibur blazing.
And behind him, his knights followed