Reflecting on what he'd just witnessed—like the "Mountain Formation" that clearly boosted soldier defense, the "Wind Formation" that enhanced speed, and the "Thunder Formation" currently buffing him—Guinevere had a fairly good grasp of Knocknarea's abilities by now.
Unlike Artoria, whose growth leaned toward crafting and... well, boar—actually, more accurately, toward durability and strength enhancement; unlike Barghest, whose abilities centered around controlling blood; and unlike Faelancelot with her extreme single-combat prowess—Knocknarea's rewards from the system seemed focused on team-based combat.
She appeared capable of altering her troops' formations on the fly, granting them various attribute buffs. And since Guinevere was her sole vanguard, he could enjoy the formation buffs directly, skipping the reformation steps entirely.
This type of power—one that fortified a front line through coordinated buffs rather than personal strength—suited her style as Queen of the North. She didn't fight for herself; she empowered an army.
As for why Guinevere had never seen these powers before, the answer was simple: she most likely obtained them during those simulated battles where Guinevere was repeatedly defeated by Faelancelot and eliminated early on.
Which explained why Knocknarea dared to stand against the coalition of multiple lords with just her own city as a base.
—But that was all background. Right now, Guinevere cared about only one thing.
"Hey! Lancelot!"
Guinevere waved at Faelancelot with a sneer.
"Your days of abusing that Seya Slash are over."
But Faelancelot didn't play along with his bravado. She looked a little puzzled and muttered,
"What are you even talking about… whatever, it doesn't matter."
Then the savage gleam returned to her eyes.
"For my love... you can go die now!"
With that, she transformed once more into a streak of light and lunged toward Guinevere, blades crossed and ready to strike.
This time, instead of standing helpless like he always had before, Guinevere hurled his shield with his other hand—directly initiating a head-on clash.
Faelancelot instinctively raised her blades, but Guinevere's earlier words stirred a hint of doubt within her.
Should she really block this? Was something off? Had he really figured out a way to counter the Twin Blade Dance?
She didn't have time to think. With the buff from Rune Overload, the shield raced toward her like a bolt of lightning, and within a blink, it was already in front of her.
Out of reflex, Faelancelot slashed forward with her crossed blades, intercepting the incoming shield charged with crackling red lightning.
But the moment her blades connected, the shield passed right through them—and then straight through her body. Golden light shimmered across her skin as the Invincibility status activated once more.
Everything seemed exactly the same as before.
What was that? Was he just bluffing?
As that thought surfaced, Guinevere suddenly appeared in front of her, sword in hand, thrusting straight for her throat.
It was the exact moment she couldn't yet launch another Twin Blade Dance.
Ordinarily, with her A+ agility and immense mana output, Faelancelot could almost completely eliminate the gap between attacks. But thanks to Myrddin's presence, her stats had been suppressed, creating just enough of an opening for Guinevere to exploit.
Her pupils contracted slightly.
She knew this was the one flaw in Twin Blade Dance: if someone caught the minuscule gap between moves, it was theoretically possible to land a strike. She'd noticed this during her first fights with Guinevere.
But… it shouldn't matter.
She'd already accounted for that flaw. Beyond minimizing the gap with her speed and mana, the real safety net was Seya Slash: its otherworldly dodge mechanic and the "Invincibility" buff it granted afterward patched over that opening.
And right now, she had the Invincibility active. She shouldn't be able to be hit. Guinevere's attack should pass right through her, again—
Wait.
As his blade rushed toward her throat, a terrifying chill ran down her spine—like plunging into an icy abyss. A sharp, instinctive danger sense screamed at her, needles pricking her nerves.
She jerked her head aside on reflex—but was still a moment too late.
The sword sliced her neck. Blood gushed out in a crimson arc, pain stabbing into her nerves.
If not for that instinctive dodge, her head would already be rolling. Even so, Guinevere's blade had cut deep into her carotid artery.
—What…? I… got hit?
Faelancelot's eyes widened in disbelief.
Invincibility… got broken?
She had no time to ponder. Pure survival instinct took over. She smacked away the blade that had slashed her neck. And as Guinevere tried to use the rebound force to launch a follow-up strike, Faelancelot leapt into the air, one leg bent and the other lightly tapping the ground like a waterfowl skimming across a lake.
Then, her sword flashed again—slashing rapidly with vicious precision. Melusine, balancing on a single toe, danced forward with a torrent of strikes.
But this time, Guinevere didn't retreat. Instead, he gave a sharp shout, spinning his massive sword like a windmill.
After so many battles—and having felt the sting of Michaela's blade firsthand—Guinevere had finally seen through the essence of the Waterfowl Dance.
Like his own ultimate self-created technique, it relied on transferring momentum from each strike into the next, creating an uninterrupted barrage of blows. The main difference was that Waterfowl Dance used a single-handed longsword and had a lifesteal buff attached if it landed.
Before, Faelancelot's overwhelming agility had made her attacks a blur, impossible for Guinevere to follow.
But now, in Myrddin's field—where all attributes were equal—what did he have to fear?
"Come on! Let's see how my Windmill Dance stacks up!"
Guinevere roared, his greatsword spinning faster and faster, each slash leading seamlessly into the next, turning fading strength into fresh momentum. One strike fed the next in a perfect, relentless rhythm.
And so, Windmill Dance met Waterfowl Dance head-on. The sound of clashing steel erupted like a torrential downpour on a metal roof, drowning out everything else.
But when Faelancelot's Waterfowl Dance ended—Guinevere's Windmill Dance showed no signs of stopping.
The storm howled, clouds billowed—tornado in a parking lot!
With every flaming swing of his sword, the searing heat scorched the tips of Faelancelot's hair. She had hoped to use the Waterfowl Dance to lifesteal and return to the fight, but when the flurry ceased, she hadn't even managed to touch Guinevere.
Instead, another blistering sword wound had opened across her body.
—If this continues, unless I abandon this form and transform completely, I'll die here.
Realizing this, Melusine gritted her teeth. Shame and fury surged through her chest.
But she didn't hesitate any longer. With a spin, she launched herself into the sky, fleeing toward the horizon.
The burning blade grazed her back—but couldn't catch her.
"Coward! The so-called strongest dragon fae flees the field like a rat?!"
Guinevere's voice rang behind her, full of scorn. Faelancelot clenched her jaw so tightly it almost shattered her molars.
But she dared not slow down. Using her unparalleled aerial mobility, she flew off bleeding profusely.
She was bitter.
Again. Again. And again!
Another moment where victory was within reach—slipped through her fingers!
But this time wasn't just a narrow escape for Guinevere. This time, she had lost. She was the one forced to flee in disgrace.
Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT!
If not for Myrddin's stat suppression... if not for Knocknarea giving him new abilities... how could she possibly lose?!
Her heart ached as if it were bleeding.
No. This can't continue… If it does, then the ending will be the same as before, won't it? She'll never find Uther again.
"Uther... Uther…"
Murmuring the name of the one she loved most, Melusine took a deep breath… and as if making a firm decision, her gaze fell on something buried in her system inventory.
A black spear, long untouched and gathering dust.
[Divine Armament: Raikou Zanshō]
"Whew…"
Watching Faelancelot's silhouette disappear into the sky, Guinevere finally let out a long breath.
Then, from behind him came Knocknarea's voice.
"Hm, not bad. As expected of the Chosen Hero picked by the Child of Prophecy. That battle was quite the spectacle."
"Ah, well…" Guinevere scratched his cheek and gave a polite smile. "It was mostly thanks to you and Myrddin."
"True. Without my help, this fight would've been hard to win."
Knocknarea nodded matter-of-factly, showing no hint of modesty at the praise.
"Now that the Windfang Clan's pursuit units are cleared, let's return to Edinburgh. As my new vanguard, I think I can safely entrust you with some command authority."
"Whoa whoa whoa! Knocknarea, hold on a sec! We never agreed to go back to Edinburgh with you!"
Just then, hearing the dangerous direction the conversation was heading, Artoria whacked the fae she'd been fighting unconscious and jumped in.
"Yeah, yeah! We didn't agree to anything! If we're going anywhere, it should be New Darlington—my place! Why would we go to Edinburgh?!"
"Hmm? But your opinions don't really matter," Knocknarea said blandly, glancing at Artoria and Barghest. "After all, Guinevere is my vanguard now, isn't he?"
"Huh?" Guinevere blinked, then scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Well, about that… I mean, wasn't that just an emergency decision…?"
"Sorry, I'm afraid it's not up to you."
She cleared her throat.
"Vanguard! Return to position!"
And the moment she spoke, Guinevere was horrified to find that his body no longer obeyed him. He walked straight to Knocknarea's side and stood at attention among her troops.
"What's wrong? Did you really think the power I granted you came without a price?"
Casting him a side glance, Knocknarea fought the urge to burst out laughing on the spot, then turned smartly around.
"All troops, return to Edinburgh!"