It was an attack that never should have happened.
No one could have imagined that, on a battlefield of mortals, someone would dare strike at a god.
"Did his hand slip?"
"It must've been a slip, right?"
Watching the red magical lance streak toward him like a meteor, Alaric, for some reason, recalled a tale from his past life about a certain legendary figure known for erratic missile launches.
As the saying went, any attack on a critical structure would be treated as an act of nuclear war.
But if the one launching the missile was that legendary figure… even the most cautious would double-check... was this just another error in their missile program, hitting the wrong target?
Clang.
With the thought of "giving him one more chance." Alaric lightly flicked his claw, redirecting the lance that had reached him back to its origin.
Thud...
The lance, which had soared like a meteor, plummeted back just as swiftly. Alaric's control was precise, planting it firmly in the ground before King Pellinore.
Staring at the lance embedded in the earth, Pellinore stood dazed, silent for a long moment.
"Go."
He dismounted, retrieved the lance, and stabbed his horse's flank.
The horse, in pain, neighed and galloped away, leaving Pellinore alone on a battlefield where victory was impossible.
With a complex gaze, he surveyed his surroundings.
Before him stood an invincible foe; behind him, defeated soldiers with no will to fight. He could not win... this outcome was clear before the battle even began.
Yet he had come, standing on this hopeless battlefield, issuing a hero's challenge to the mightiest being of the age.
"King Arthur... "
Gripping his lance tightly, he called out the name of the Chosen King. The melancholy in his eyes faded, replaced by boundless fervor.
"I've heard that a noble knight, even against a weaker foe, must always fight with full resolve."
"And you, lofty god in the heavens above."
"You need not show me any mercy, for what I seek is the blood of a god!"
[Ding! King Pellinore has issued a challenge to you.]
[Do you accept?]
…
Pellinore's roar echoed across the battlefield.
It was the roar of a lion... the majesty of the king of beasts radiating outward, leaving Alaric and Artoria, two true dragons, exchanging bewildered glances.
They'd seen fearless men before, but never this fearless.
To charge head-on against Artoria despite the vast gap in strength was already commendable courage. But now, boldly declaring his desire for "enemies to fight with full strength" And "to see a god's blood"… had he truly given up on this world?
Or was he seeking to cement his legacy with a heroic death?
"Regardless."
"Since he dares to issue such a duel, we must fulfill his 'wish.'"
Artoria's expression grew solemn.
After Lamorak pledged himself to her, she had genuinely hoped to spare King Pellinore.
After all, setting aside their positions, he was undeniably a valiant warrior and an exceptional king.
But now, faced with his demand for "full resolve." She could no longer hold back.
In the sky, Alaric, certain he'd been provoked, began to channel the white light of destructive power.
As a Blue-Eyes White Dragon who revered direct confrontation and the aesthetics of ultimate force, he was more than willing to grant this hero a legendary end... at the cost of his life.
But why?
"Despite facing certain death, his eyes still flicker with hope."
"What is he hoping for?"
…
The attack commenced.
A white beam of light from the sky and a searing torrent from Artoria's hand converged on King Pellinore, standing at the battlefield's center, in an assault impossible to evade.
Yet Pellinore didn't try... he didn't even close his eyes.
Thump, thump...
The sound of his heart pounding.
In this moment of life and death, time slowed unexpectedly, and the noisy world grew silent.
All he could hear was the powerful thump of his heart.
Bolstered by courage, it beat like a war drum... deep, heavy, and full of strength.
"Aaaaaaah!!!"
Roaring, Pellinore raised his lance.
He wasn't waiting for death; he was fighting. Facing the white beam capable of razing a city, he unhesitatingly hurled his magical lance once more at the lofty god above.
Boom...
His attack was futile.
The lance, forged of special materials, was swallowed and obliterated by the torrent of light, leaving not a trace.
But this was exactly what he had hoped for.
"O God... "
Facing the two beams now upon him, the hero, with no means left to resist, finally closed his eyes.
"Was my life pleasing to you?"
…
King Pellinore was dead.
Under the gaze of all, he was utterly annihilated by the twin beams.
No one could survive such an attack... not even a fragment of his body remained.
Yet no one mocked him.
This was Britain, the land of the Celts, where reverence for heroes was etched into their souls. Even Artoria, his enemy, paid the highest respect to such a King Pellinore.
But...
"No!"
"The battle isn't over!"
"This guy… was he planning that?"
Looking at the battlefield, now empty yet gradually shrouded in a gray mist.
Familiar with this aura, Alaric finally understood why Pellinore had done what he did.
"Isn't this the aura of that Isle of the Dead?"
On the reverse side of the world, the Isle of the Dead, surrounded by black waters, was a realm only the departed could enter.
And on that island stood a city accessible only to heroes.
A land for heroes alone, where the legendary "Mentor of Heroes" resided, granting their souls true peace.
As for the name of that "Mentor of Heroes"...
"No wonder that magical lance looked so familiar!"
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