General Titus looked down at Gaheris's body and laughed.
"That was fun!" His voice rang across the battlefield, bright and genuine. "It's been so long. Even though it's not the thrill I yearn for..."
He sighed a long, theatrical exhale that seemed to release something coiled deep inside him. His smile deepened, stretching across his weathered face like a scar.
"At least it's a form of thrill."
He looked at the corpse with mock curiosity.
"What was his name again?"
He tilted his head, feigning thought.
"There's no need to remember his name." He waved his hand dismissively. "But I have impacted into him a great lesson. Not to the dead but to you, the living."
His eyes swept across the remaining knights Sir Palamedes, Sir Leodegrance, Sir Tor, Sir Dagonet, Sir Ywain. Five warriors who had watched their brother die. Five warriors whose hands trembled with rage and grief and helplessness.
Titus studied each face with the detached interest of a scientist examining specimens.
You can feel it, he thought. It's suffocating them. Their emotions overpouring in their mouths, almost as if it is drowning them.
He shook his head slowly.
Oh my. Are they fools like this one? I want someone that will at least be a sweetener before I eat my main meal.
He sighed again this time with genuine disappointment.
It seems each of them will die a quick death.
He raised his voice, sharp and commanding.
"Get that dumb emotion out of your gut! If not, you will die a pathetic death just like this one here!"
He gestured at Gaheris's body without looking at it.
"Your death will be a burden to your king. Don't you all want to kill me? Or have you lost focus of your goal?"
He spread his arms wide, inviting.
"This is a battlefield. There is no room for flimsy emotions you cannot control. An emotion can only be held when it can be controlled."
His smile returned thin and cold.
"It's why I call you knights of Britain barbarians."
He sighed once more, then slapped his two hands on his face hard almost like a man trying to wake himself from a stupor.
Then his tone changed.
"SHOULD I STAND UP? "
The words fell like stones into still water. Ripples spread through the knights' minds, through their hearts. It was like a pouring of water clean, cold, awakening.
Their anger dissolved. Like sugar placed in tea, it simply... vanished. In its place was something clearer. Something sharper. Something that could think.
Above them, Darlington watched with eyes wide.
"What's this?" He leaned forward, his analytical mind already working. "I don't even think I need to focus on this side of the battlefield anymore."
He studied Titus's posture, his expression, the absolute control he radiated.
"Because it's not just the strength gap between them." He shook his head slowly. "His mind is far superior to theirs. In terms of everything."
He began to break it down, his words coming faster as the patterns emerged.
"And the way he acts if I'm to break it down primarily, he acts like a predator who knows he is a predator. There is no single wavering in his mind. He is strong, and he knows it."
He thought for a moment, searching for the right metaphor.
"The best way to describe him would be a frog in a well that knows it's in a well." He smiled at the paradox. "He is fully aware of his capabilities. And also aware of his limitations."
His smile faded.
"That is an extremely dangerous opponent."
He continued his analysis, warming to the subject.
"And then, if we look at it on the secondary level of things just like he said..."
His voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"He loves Caesar. "
He let the words hang in the air.
"His love for Caesar gives him absolute determination. Absolute pride. And absolute belief that he is incapable of loss."
Darlington smiled a slow, genuine smile of appreciation.
"Honestly, I'm happy he has appeared on the battlefield. If this kind of opponent had remained hidden..." He shook his head. "Honestly, that would have been a big problem for me."
He settled back to watch, his eyes gleaming.
"Now that I know how he thinks his ideal I can roughly estimate his strength. From all these things..."
He pointed at Titus below.
"Especially his unbothered attitude. Instead of going for Arthur. Instead of going to the other fronts. Instead of even attacking Lancelot..."
He chuckled.
"He confidently goes to that front. To fight them."
He covered his face with his hands, and something fundamental shifted in his expression. It was almost perverted the joy he took in this, the hunger.
He laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
He enjoyed all of this like a spectator at the greatest show on earth.
Below, Titus's voice rang out again.
"SHOULD I STAND UP? "
The words echoed across the battlefield, carrying that strange, awakening power.
And then a reply.
Sir Palamedes stepped forward.
He was dark-skinned, sharp-eyed, his movements deliberate and controlled. Between his lips rested a cigarette unlit, forgotten, just there. A habit from life that had followed him into death.
He looked at Titus with eyes that held no fear. No rage. No foolishness.
"You sit," Palamedes said quietly, "because you belong to the floor."
He pointed at the ground beneath Titus's crossed legs.
"Right there, where you sit I promise you, on a knight's honor..."
His voice hardened.
"It will be your grave."
Titus's eyebrows rose. His smile returned not mocking this time. Interested.
"Well." He studied Palamedes with new eyes. "At least you're different from the other one. Yes you definitely have killing intent. The only difference is in how you use it."
He nodded slowly, appreciatively.
"Yours is contained. Mastered."
His eyes narrowed.
"But then you have pride." He clicked his tongue. "Now that's going to be a problem."
He smiled.
"For you, though. Not for me."
Palamedes walked forward.
His steps were measured, unhurried, each one bringing him closer to the general who had just killed his brother in arms. The other knights tensed, ready to move, ready to fight
But Palamedes did not attack.
Instead, he sat.
Opposite Titus. Cross legged. Face to face.
He looked at the general at the man who had called them barbarians, who had mocked their emotions, who had murdered Gaheris with a word and smiled.
"Let us try another form of battle," he said calmly. "Shall we?"
Titus stared at him for a long, silent moment.
Then he laughed a genuine, delighted laugh that seemed to surprise even himself.
Two men sat across from each other on a battlefield.
One had come to kill.
The other had come to play.