If given the chance, Gawain would definitely challenge Reiger again.
At that time, she wouldn’t be fighting as Elf Knight Gawain but as a member of the cursed werewolf clan of the Tusk Clan, going all out against Reiger.
"Tristan... no, what about Bawan Xi?"
Gawain changed the subject and asked.
"Not sure," Lancelot shook his head and said, "She probably escaped using ’Mirror Fusion’."
"How about that country girl?" Gawain turned her gaze to Lancelot and said, "Though I lose my rationale during ’Ancestral Return’, my memory does not fade."
"And if I’m not mistaken, it was you who saved her, wasn’t it?"
"Where did you take her?"
Gawain began to question with an undertone of accusation.
Lancelot didn’t meet Gawain’s gaze, instead turning his back.
"I was merely entrusted by someone to give her a bit of help," Lancelot said, "She has already left Camelot, just like that man."
Gawain made no comment but continued to look coldly at Lancelot, as if trying to see through her thoughts.
As an Elf Knight, Lancelot hadn’t seized the opportunity to capture Altoria when the queen’s arrest order was given; on the contrary, she rescued her and brought her to a safe place. If this action were scrutinized, it would certainly be deemed betrayal.
Yet Lancelot did so without hesitation, appearing as if it was the most natural thing to do, making Gawain feel that the Lancelot of this moment had become somewhat of a stranger.
Gawain guessed the identity of the person who entrusted Lancelot with such a task.
It wasn’t hard to guess.
In the Fairy Country of Britain, Lancelot had made almost no friends with anyone.
Her relationship with the other Elf Knights, her colleagues, wasn’t good, to put it lightly; it was even somewhat bad.
Her relationship with the clan chiefs, led by Woodworth, was also poor, as they mostly harbored unilateral aversion towards her.
Only with the chieftain of the Wind Clan, Aurora, did Lancelot seem to have a special affection, engaging in close interactions even before becoming an Elf Knight, often seen coming and going together in private.
Moreover, some more perceptive people had always felt that, compared to Morgan, the queen, Lancelot seemed to heed Aurora’s word more, acting more like a subordinate of Aurora rather than Morgan’s knight.
In such circumstances, when someone asked Lancelot to help Altoria, and Lancelot complied without hesitation, even in defiance of the queen’s commands, it inevitably made people suspect that Lancelot was carrying out the task at the behest of the chieftain of the Wind Clan.
And Lancelot did not deny it, instead softly saying,
"You should focus on healing. As for the queen, I will take responsibility and report to her Majesty myself."
With that, Lancelot once again transformed into a white comet and flew towards the palace.
Gawain watched Lancelot leave, and after a while, she murmured,
"Why would an elf like you be subject to Aurora’s control?"
"Aurora, chieftain of the Wind Clan, what exactly does she want?"
At this moment, Gawain pondered deeply on many things.
But in the end, an image involuntarily surfaced in Gawain’s mind.
"...It’s necessary to find a way to make contact with him again."
Having settled on this decision, Gawain slowly closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling with difficulty.
The bloody hole in her chest had stopped bleeding and was slowly healing.
Inside a room in New Darlington,
As a mirror in the room emitted a faint light, a figure stumbled out from it.
Amidst agonized coughing, Tristan lay on the floor, charred and naked, unable to help coughing up several mouthfuls of blood.
"Damn you, Gawain... Damn humans...!"
The fairy girl struggled on the ground, cursing with venomous words as she did so.
"How dare you do this to me... I’ll chop off your ankles... use your feet to decorate my room..."
"And that despicable country fairy... daring to look down on me... she must be killed..."
"I am the daughter of my dear mother... I will definitely... definitely not let you go...!"
As if using such words to anesthetize herself, to forget the pain and suffering, Tristan struggled towards the bed, pulled over the blanket and wrapped it around herself.
Then, with a stifled voice and great difficulty, Tristan prepared to get up.
"This is bad... The injuries are too severe... I must find a way to seek treatment..."
She said that, but Tristan was not skilled in healing magic.
The magic she knew was almost entirely for killing people. It was either curse-related spells or attack spells, none of which were beneficial to people.
Peculiarly, Tristan wasn’t a regular fairy; she lacked the vitality and self-healing power of fairies. If not for having a certain type of undying nature not present in other fairies, she would probably be dead by now, definitely not able to persist till the present with such grave injuries.
"Must I seek help from my dear mother...?"
This thought crossed Tristan’s mind, followed immediately by fervent head shaking.
"No, I can’t go to my dear mother...!"
Not only had she failed to fulfill Morgan’s orders, but she had also ended up in this sorry state. If she went to seek help from Morgan , it would be utterly shameful.