The Forest of Ladies attacked fast, their movements swift and brutally efficient.
The elves who had joined the organization moved alongside the female knights, mages, and warriors, all of them charging as one toward Camelot's village.
Their boots pounded against the earth, kicking up clouds of dust, their weapons glinting in the pale light.
They expected an easy victory, a quick slaughter of defenseless villagers who had no idea what was coming for them.
They were dead fucking wrong.
The moment they stepped into the village, expecting to find soft, terrified targets begging for mercy, they were met with something entirely different.
A fierce, coordinated counterattack slammed into their ranks like a hammer striking an anvil.
Before they could even process what was happening, a single, devastating laser defense system activated, its beam cutting through the air with a blinding flash and obliterating the front line of attackers into nothing but ash and scattered polygons.
The Forest of Ladies forces froze in absolute shock, their charge grinding to a screeching, panicked halt.
Their eyes went wide with terror.
Their weapons trembled in their hands.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The village was supposed to be weak.
The village was supposed to be an easy target.
Instead, they had walked straight into a goddamn trap.
Bedivere seized the opportunity without a moment's hesitation.
He raised his sword high and let out a thunderous battle cry, rallying every young man behind him who could still fight.
They surged forward, crashing into the disorganized, terrified remnants of the Forest of Ladies' forces, cutting them down and sending them into a full, chaotic route.
Erdellia, refusing to accept defeat, saw her chance to salvage something from the disaster.
She pushed through the panicked crowd of her fleeing allies and challenged Bedivere to single combat, her blade flashing as she lunged toward him.
Bedivere caught it on his guard without flinching.
"You face Sir Bedivere of the Round Table," he said, his voice calm as still water. "Stand down. Surrender. You cannot win this battle."
"I'm not interested in winning!"
Erdellia's attacks came faster now.
Wilder.
More desperate.
She wasn't fighting to conquer.
She was fighting to hurt.
To kill.
To make someone—anyone—pay for the humiliation of watching her allies burn.
Bedivere deflected every strike. His expression didn't change. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"You are skilled," he admitted. "But your rage blinds you. You leave openings a child could exploit."
"SHUT UP!"
She lunged—
And then the world exploded.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
The words were not mere sounds.
They carried the weight of a dragon's ancient power, an Unrelenting Force that erupted from his throat like a storm given voice.
The shockwave slammed into Erdellia with enough force to send her stumbling backward, her feet skidding across the ground as she fought to keep her balance.
The rest of the Forest of Ladies forces were not so lucky.
They were thrown to the ground like ragdolls, their bodies scattering across the dirt, their weapons flying from their hands.
Humiliated. Broken. Defeated.
By the time the echoes of Arthur's Thu'um faded from the air, the battle was already over.
The surviving members of the Forest of Ladies were rounded up, tied down, and captured in the village they had intended to destroy.
Their leader, Erdellia, knelt among them, her face a mask of cold fury and barely concealed shame.
The trap had sprung perfectly.
And the Forest of Ladies had learned, in the most brutal way possible, that Camelot was not to be underestimated.
Not ever fucking again.
Arthur and his party had known long before the attack ever happened that it was coming.
Merlin's clairvoyance had revealed the Forest of Ladies' plans in vivid, undeniable detail: the gathering forces, the planned strike, the target.
They had prepared for this.
They had set the trap and waited for the prey to stumble into it.
And they did.
Erdellia glared up at Arthur, her eyes burning with defiance even as she knelt in the dirt, bound and defeated.
Her teeth were gritted so hard it looked like they might crack.
Spittle flew from her lips as she spat out her words like venom.
"Whatever you want to do to us, human, just do it already!" Her voice was sharp, laced with contempt and a desperate, hollow bravado. "Kill us! Murder us in cold blood like the savage beast you are! I don't care!"
Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her, his expression cold, unreadable, and utterly devoid of pity.
When he spoke, his voice was calm, measured, and absolutely terrifying in its lack of emotion.
"Death is too easy for you," he said flatly. "Too quick. Too merciful. You don't get to escape that easily."
He paused, letting his words sink into her stubborn, hateful skull.
"We showed you mercy before. We gave you a chance. We let you walk away when we could have ended you right then and there. But you mistook our kindness for weakness. You thought you could abuse our generosity and stab us in the back the moment we turned away." His eyes narrowed.
"You were wrong. And now you're going to pay for that mistake."
He gestured broadly, taking in all of the captured Forest of Ladies members who knelt trembling in the dirt around Erdellia.
"Your beliefs are irrelevant here. Your race is irrelevant. That false sense of superiority you cling to? Completely and utterly irrelevant. The only thing that matters to us, the only thing we give a single shit about, is your contribution and your character. We don't care about your bloodline. We don't care about your traditions. We don't care about your excuses."
He gestured broadly at the prisoners, at the village behind him, at the kingdom that stretched beyond.
"We judge by contribution. By character. Nothing else. And every single one of you has been weighed and found wanting."
Erdellia's jaw tightened. "Then what? What's your 'merciful' punishment, fake dragon?"
Arthur's expression didn't change.
"All of you are hereby sentenced to hard labor. Permanent hard labor. You will work for us, for the betterment of this world, for as long as your miserable bodies can still draw breath. You will not rule over anyone. You will not enjoy the fruits of anyone else's labor. You will work for the very men you considered lesser than yourselves, the men you thought existed only to serve you."
His lips curled into a cold, cruel smile. "That is your punishment. That is your penance. You wanted to be superior? Fine. Then prove it. Work harder than anyone else. Suffer more than anyone else. And know, every single day, that your suffering serves those you despise."
Erdellia's face went pale.
He turned his head slightly. "Morgan, give her the collar. And give them to the rest of these worms as well. Then contact the guild and inform them that we have already exterminated every last one of the bastards who infiltrated Elf Island."
Morgan's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smirk. "As you will, my little brother. It would be my absolute pleasure."
Her voice was sweet.
Poisonously sweet.
The kind of sweet that made hardened warriors flinch.
Erdellia's eyes locked onto the collar in Morgan's hands. Her defiance flickered back to life, desperate and feral.
"What is that? What are you—don't you dare put that on me! DON'T YOU DARE—!"
Morgan's smile didn't waver.
She approached Erdellia with the unhurried grace of a predator that knew its prey couldn't run.
The collar clicked open. Gleamed in the morning light.
"Hold still," Morgan murmured. "This will only hurt if you resist."
Erdellia spat at her.
Morgan caught the collar around her throat and clicked it shut.
"You bitch—I'll kill you—I'll—"
The collar activated.
Erdellia's curse turned into a scream.
Her body convulsed.
Her back arched.
Her hands clawed at the dirt as electricity coursed through her—not enough to kill, not enough to cause permanent damage, but more than enough to make every nerve in her body shriek in agony.
The scream tore out of her throat raw and broken and utterly, completely helpless.
Then it stopped.
Erdellia collapsed forward, gasping, trembling, her cold mask shattered entirely.
Tears and snot mixed with the blood on her face.
She looked like what she was: a broken woman at the feet of her betters.
Morgan looked down at her without pity.
"The collars restrain," she explained to the horrified prisoners. "They punish disobedience. And they heal—just enough to ensure you survive the punishment and remain fit for work. You'll find it's a very... efficient system."
One by one, the remaining prisoners received their collars.
Some screamed.
Some cried.
Some tried to resist and learned exactly how ruthless the punishment could be.
Morgan showed none of them mercy.
Arthur watched it all.
His expression was hard as stone.
But when the last collar clicked shut and the last scream faded into whimpers, something flickered behind his emerald eyes.
Something tired.
He sighed.
"Bedivere."
The silver-haired knight stepped forward immediately. "Yes, my king?"
"Take care of them." Arthur's voice was quiet now.
Almost gentle.
But his words were iron.
"Don't play soft. I know that's not in your nature, but I'm saying it anyway. These are murderers. Rapists. Kidnappers. Every single one of them thought they were doing the world a favor. Every single one of them believed they were righteous."
He turned and looked Bedivere directly in the eyes.
"Never show them mercy. Not once. Not ever. The moment you forget what they are—the moment you let your guard down because they look pitiful or because they say the right words—they will repay that kindness with a blade in your back."
Bedivere saluted, his fist pressed to his chest. "I understand, my king. They will be watched. They will be worked. They will never be given the opportunity to harm Camelot again."
"Good."
Arthur turned and walked away. His party fell into step behind him.
Morgan lingered for just a moment, her cold eyes sweeping over the bound, collared prisoners with something that might have been satisfaction.
"Welcome to your new lives," she said softly. "I do hope you enjoy them."
Then she turned and followed her king.
Behind them, the Forest of Ladies knelt in the dirt—collared, broken, and utterly defeated.
The women who had terrorized the kingdom, who had kidnapped and murdered and believed themselves untouchable, now faced a future of endless labor under the watchful eye of the men they had despised.
It was not death.
It was worse.
But Arthur knew, with a cold, sinking certainty, that this was only the beginning of a much larger, much uglier conflict.
The organization had deep roots.
And he intended to tear every single one of them out of the ground, no matter how much blood he had to spill.