What unfolded before the eyes of the warriors on the battlefield next was nothing short of a miracle.
Though it was still early morning, the sky suddenly darkened. King Lot lifted his head and saw, beneath the descending Holy Lance, a vast mirror spreading rapidly in the air. Within that mirror, deep starlight shimmered, and blue-green auroras drifted like ribbons.
On the far side of that mirror, facing the heavens, another enormous lance emerged—identical in form to the golden Holy Lance falling like divine punishment, except its glow was azure. The two lances thrust toward one another, tip to tip, as if fated to clash.
The instant they collided in midair, the world itself seemed to lose its color.
In the next heartbeat, boundless light and heat, along with a torrent of raging magical power, erupted outward, sweeping the clouds from the sky.
Fortunately, Morgan had already raised the Water Mirror. All the magical backlash from the two Holy Lances striking one another fell upon the mirror's starlit surface. It rippled like water, but not a single trace broke through to reach the allied army below.
To the mountain tribes, however, this sight was too bizarre to comprehend. They stood frozen, staring blankly at the dazzling miracle in the heavens, until a sharp, cold voice snapped from the rear:
"Descendant of Mab, what are you dawdling for? Is this how you rule the North?"
"Tch."
Called out by Morgan, Noknare clicked her tongue in annoyance, but immediately shouted:
"The Lion King's Holy Lance has been released! Soldiers—charge with me!"
Her magically amplified voice spread across the battlefield, snapping the dazed soldiers awake. They scrambled to retrieve their fallen weapons and rushed forward once more.
Meanwhile, Guinivere swiftly drew his bow and began picking off the archers on the city walls. Beside him, Baldrengtai and Bavanzi also loosed volleys, pouring fire on the walls until the Suppression Knights could no longer lift their heads.
Thus, with almost no losses, the coalition forces stormed directly to the gates of Camelot. And there, waiting to defend it, was none other than the Knight of the Sun, Gawain.
Seeing Guinivere charging at the front, Gawain sighed softly and raised his sword.
"So, you've come after all."
"Of course."
Guinivere, already possessed by King Lot, dismissed his bow with a flick of the hand and dismounted. Resting his palm casually on his sword's hilt, he chuckled:
"After all, I still owe my son a lesson in swordsmanship."
"Be serious, King Lot."
Gawain's expression hardened. His voice was cold and commanding:
"Right now, we stand as enemies before our armies. Even if you find me unworthy of respect, at least respect this war and the people who shed blood in it! This is battle, not play-acting!"
At Gawain's severity, King Lot shrugged helplessly.
"Really? You, of all people, lecturing me? When you were a child, you were the one who loved to play knight the most. Yet now, you've grown into the stiffest of the four siblings. Even your father barely recognizes you. Well—no, Agravain is even stiffer than you. Perhaps it was a mistake to let your mother raise you all?"
"I never denied you."
At that moment, Gawain spoke again:
"I've thought it through. Our bond as father and son is one matter—but here, on the battlefield, we are knights of opposing kings. Since you stand here, then you are the obstacle I must remove for the Lion King."
"And since you spared me last time out of familial ties, then when I defeat you today, I too will spare your life. I'll take you prisoner and deliver you to the Holy City for judgment by our king."
He raised his voice sharply, his tone cutting like steel:
"So draw your blade, King Lot!"
"Heh."
Lot gave a small laugh, nodding.
"Not bad. One matter for one matter… you've learned to separate them well. In that case—"
He cleared his throat, his expression hardening. No longer careless, he raised his sword in both hands, pointing its gleaming edge at Gawain.
"Very well, Sir Gawain. To keep you from hindering our army any longer, I'll strike you down here!"
At his words, an unseen domain expanded rapidly around him, drawing Gawain within. Immediately, the blessings upon Gawain were duplicated—his gift of eternal daylight, his triple strength beneath the sun—all were mirrored and bestowed upon King Lot.
"Come, then!" Lot laughed boldly, sword poised.
"With pleasure!" Gawain raised his golden blade, Galatine, and stepped forward to meet him.
Yet at the instant their swords clashed, Lot's expression shifted.
The strength channeled through Gawain's blade far surpassed his expectations. Compared to just days before, Gawain had grown much stronger. With a single blow, Lot nearly lost his weapon altogether.
This, however, was exactly as Gawain had planned. As Lot's blade was knocked wide and his guard left open, Gawain surged forward, bringing his greatsword around in a horizontal sweep aimed at Lot's waist.
But King Lot steadied himself instantly. Instead of resisting, he released his weapon entirely, letting the Knight's Sword of Calia fly from his hands. He stepped in close, colliding chest-to-chest with Gawain, their bodies pressed together.
"A duel isn't just about blades. One-handed technique and disarming are just as important."
Before Gawain could react, Lot clamped both hands down on his son's wrists, halting the slash at its start. At this distance, neither greatsword nor longsword could function properly. In such conditions, another skill became paramount—
"By the way, your father has never lost a single wrestling match either."
With that, Lot's hand shot upward, striking beneath Gawain's chin. The sudden blow threw him off balance. At the same time, Lot's leg hooked around Gawain's, tripping him.
With a shove of his hips and a sharp thrust, Lot sent Gawain flying backward. He spun through the air, flipping head over heels, before crashing to the ground.
"Credit where it's due—you had a clever plan."
Lot did not press the advantage. Instead, he wagged a finger lightly, offering calm judgment:
"You had the Lion King reinforce your blessings. And, to keep my ability from duplicating them and strengthening me further, you tailored those blessings to empower only Galatine itself. That way, even if copied, I'd gain nothing without the sword. A smart idea… but your combat experience is still a little lacking."
"…So you saw through it all, huh? Well, no surprise. Agravain already said that trick wouldn't be enough to beat you. I just didn't expect I couldn't even win the slightest edge."
Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Gawain muttered.
"Oh? So you're admitting defeat?" Lot tilted his head. "If so, tie yourself up and sit quietly like a proper prisoner. But if you still want to fight, come at me again."
"Hah. Give up? Hardly."
Gawain shook his head, smiling faintly.
"My task here was never to defeat you—it's only to stall you."
"By now, the others should already be in motion."
At those words, Lot's brows furrowed. And then—the thunder of hooves and the roar of voices erupted from behind.
"Suppression Knights—charge with me!"
The familiar bellow split the air. While the mountain tribes had poured into the sunken ground before Camelot's gates, another force suddenly appeared at the mouth of that depression: a host of armored knights clad in purple, mounted on warhorses in full barding.
At their head rode a Knight of the Round Table—Lancelot.
At once, his heavy cavalry arranged themselves in tightly packed ranks, filling the narrow approach completely. Then, with terrifying unity, they began their iron-blooded charge.
Even strengthened by Noknare's enhancements, the mountain tribes were no match for these summoned Suppression Knights—much less under Lancelot's direct command, the elite of the heavy cavalry.
The armored riders swept forward like an unstoppable avalanche, their lances three meters long, their warhorses pounding the earth in thunderous unison.
The coalition soldiers froze, eyes wide with terror. Their arrows could not pierce knightly plate, their blades were like twigs against the lances. Faced with the wall of charging steel, they had no way to flee.
The rear ranks fell like wheat before the scythe, impaled in clusters on lances, trampled into pulp beneath hooves. Even those lucky enough to dodge the first rank found themselves immediately facing the second, and then the third.
There was no escape. Only blood, only crushed flesh, only slaughter.
Understanding this, the coalition began to break.
Though they had braced themselves for death, courage crumbled in the face of such meaningless butchery.
Ignoring Noknare's commands, soldiers abandoned order. They surged forward in blind panic, desperate to flee into Camelot's gates—even if it meant trampling, hacking down, or crushing their own comrades in the process.
From that moment on, the battle devolved into a one-sided massacre once more.