Lancelot was cast once more into the depths of the dungeon. This time, he was bound with mana-suppressing restraints to ensure he could not escape. It seemed, at last, the gates of his cell would remain shut for good.
However, the execution of Queen Guinevere was postponed indefinitely. The reason was as bloody as it was tragic: the maddened Lancelot had slaughtered a great number of those who had gathered to witness the previous attempt at her sentence.
The carnage had rendered the ceremony impossible to proceed with, and the populace, gripped by terror, now hesitated to attend any public gathering. A cold thought crossed my mind—that we should simply carry out the deed ourselves in private—but I held my tongue.
Political maneuvering was not my forte; I would leave such burdens to Artoria, trusting she would navigate the storm with her usual stoicism. I believed in my King, unconditionally.
In the end, Gaheris did not survive. The internal damage to his vital organs, compounded by the sheer loss of blood, proved a toll too heavy even for a Knight of the Round Table to bear.
Gareth remained in a state of profound shock. The knight she had admired above all others had fallen into the abyss of depravity and had even attempted to take her life. Such a psychological wound was only natural, yet no less devastating to witness.
Gawain, meanwhile, was consumed by a quiet, burning fury. He blamed himself for not being present during the chaos, yet that guilt was eclipsed by a burgeoning hatred for Lancelot—the man who had murdered two of his brothers and nearly struck down his only remaining sister.
I had heard that Lancelot and Gawain were once the closest of friends. I could not begin to fathom the depth of the enmity born from such a betrayal. While Gawain looked as if he might draw his blade and hunt Lancelot down at any moment, he managed to restrain himself, grinding his teeth in deference to the King's command.
We held a funeral for Gaheris. He was laid to rest in the cold earth, beside the tomb of Agravain.
The Round Table was crumbling. The Great Table, gifted by King Leodegrance, possessed a mystical property that bound the knights together as one entity.
It meant that the table and its knights were intrinsically linked. As a knight perished, the segment of the table associated with them began to decay.
Tristan's seat was empty after his departure. Galahad's place remained vacant following his ascension with the Holy Grail. Percival's seat was cold, having died in pursuit of that same relic. And now, the seats of Agravain and Gaheris, both slain by Lancelot's hand, were marred.
Deep cracks spider-webbed across the surface of the table before those vacant chairs. Looking upon the splintering wood, a bitter expression crossed my face.
I felt a hollow sense of futility. All my efforts to alter the fate of Britain alongside Artoria felt as though they were being reduced to nothing but scraps of wasted parchment.
Though the path we took had changed, the destination felt hauntingly familiar. Was it truly impossible for the efforts of a single man to redirect the tide of history?
"Hah... to think I've grown so pessimistic. I truly must be exhausted," I muttered to myself, standing up from my desk after processing the final stack of paperwork.
I let out a long, weary sigh. Finally, a moment to rest—
BAM!
"Sir Elius! This is an emergency!"
Of course. The moment I seek respite, the world conspires against me. My life is a relentless cycle of duty... honestly, at this point, it feels as if the world itself is mocking my very existence.
I swallowed another sigh and pulled myself away from the comfort of my chair. Better to handle this quickly so I could finally sleep.
"...What is it now, Sir Bedivere? Has another knight caused a scandal? Or has Lancelot escaped his cell again?"
"...Rome has declared war. Against Britain."
For the love of—dammit all.
***
"—So... this is the sovereign letter sent by the Roman Emperor?"
Artoria nodded in response to my query. I picked up the parchment and scanned its contents.
I see. Beneath the flowery rhetoric and endless digressions, the core message was clear: they claimed to 'value the Mystery' still present within our land and demanded that we surrender to become a vassal state of Rome... Absurd.
"...They have lost their minds. To send such a demand to the King of a sovereign nation is nothing short of an insult. As Sir Bedivere said, this is a formal declaration of war."
"That is not the primary concern at the moment," Bedivere interjected. "Intelligence reports that the Roman Emperor himself is leading an army toward Britain as we speak."
"...Pardon?"
I was floored. In the history I knew, weren't we the ones supposed to launch a campaign into Gaul to confront Rome? To think they would strike first... Had the butterfly effect of my presence altered the timeline so drastically?
However, Artoria nodded, her expression grim but calculating.
"In truth, this may work in our favor. Unlike the invaders who are unfamiliar with our terrain, we know the reaches of Britain intimately. We shall use that to our advantage."
She pointed to a location on the tactical map where the Roman forces were expected to appear.
"The distance between Rome and Britain is vast. The enemy will be exhausted by a long voyage across the sea.
We predict they will attempt to land here. We shall depart immediately to intercept them, striking the moment they attempt to disembark, caught between the surf and our steel."
The assembled knights nodded in agreement. Artoria continued with her orders.
"We march tomorrow morning. Sir Bedivere, Sir Kay, and Sir Gawain shall accompany the main force.
Sir Mordred and Sir Elius will remain behind to command the capital's defense. Are there any objections?"
""None, Your Majesty!""
Artoria gave a curt nod of approval.
"Very well. Prepare for the campaign."
""By your command!""
***
The preparations for the march were completed with remarkable speed. Knowing of the Roman invasion from the original legends, I had been obsessively maintaining our armory and drilling the men. My diligence was finally paying off, even if the circumstances had shifted.
Of course, this meant another all-nighter for me. Hah... by now, the lack of sleep felt almost normal. I had reached a Zen-like state where I realized that life is simply easier once you abandon all hope of rest.
It weighed on my mind slightly that I was being left alone in Camelot with Mordred—the one destined for rebellion in the original tales—but there was no helping the necessity of the King's strategy.
At sunrise, I watched from the battlements as Artoria and the Knights of the Round Table departed. The sight of tens of thousands of soldiers marching in unison was a breathtaking spectacle of martial prowess.
Naturally, we kept ten thousand soldiers back to maintain order and defend the Holy City.
While I felt a twinge of regret that I wouldn't be on the front lines to distinguish myself, a capable administrator was needed to hold the home front.
All I had to do was maintain the status quo and wait for the news of victory, right? I never doubted Artoria's triumph for a moment. In the legends, the war with Rome concluded with the Emperor falling after Excalibur overwhelmed his sword, Florent.
"Return safely, Artoria. I shall be waiting," I whispered to the wind. But as I buried myself in administrative work, expecting word of a crushing victory, I received a report that sent a chill down my spine.
"...The vanguard the King is engaging was a mere decoy! The main body of the Roman army has made landfall near Camelot!
According to the scouts, the Roman Emperor, Lucius Tiberius, is leading the second wave himself..."
"...What?"
Why the hell are you showing up here?!
I held my head in my hands. We were in serious trouble.