Rubbing his sore shoulders, Kay couldn't fathom how this Gawain had grown to be like this.
This physique if she charged on the battlefield, nothing could stand in her way.
Kay was deep in thought.
On one hand, this little Gawain was still just a child. Though her physical strength was already fully developed, Kay had no idea about the rest.
On the other hand, he had explicitly promised Gawain that if she lasted more than ten minutes in a fight against him, she would be allowed to join the war and aid her father. And now, not only had she surpassed ten minutes she could last even longer.
He truly had no reason to stop her.
Besides, with little Gawain's current strength, unless either he or Bedivere were present, there was simply no way to restrain her.
But both he and Bedivere had their own duties to attend to.
They couldn't keep an eye on her forever.
After pondering for a while, Kay finally spoke to Gawain:
"Very well, Your Highness. I shall permit you to go to the front lines."
Before Gawain could celebrate, Kay continued, "However, I have conditions. I will assign two knights with extensive reconnaissance experience to accompany you until you meet either Her Majesty Morgan or His Majesty Lot."
If he couldn't handle Gawain himself, he'd just toss her to her parents.
Gawain thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
"But I have a feeling… my father and mother are in grave danger right now. So, I must hurry to their aid."
Kay quickly nodded. "I'll make the arrangements immediately."
Before leaving, he couldn't help but glance at Gawain again.
One hundred and ninety centimeters tall.
How in the world did she grow ?
Even taller than her father by several centimeters.
And that terrifying stamina…
"Will I even remain in the top five of the Round Table's strength rankings in the future?"
Kay wondered silently.
Lot stared at Vortigern before him.
Well, more accurately Lot, standing on Vortigern, was staring into those enormous eyes.
He was far luckier than Artoria and Galahad.
The two of them could only cling tightly to their swords, battered by the fierce winds, their faces stinging as if sliced by knives. They didn't even dare to open their mouths, fearing that if they lost focus, they'd plummet from the sky.
Thankfully, both of them were exceptionally skilled.
Otherwise, they wouldn't have lasted this long.
A fall from hundreds of meters in the air would be fatal.
Lot, meanwhile, had it much easier.
He had solid footing, and he could even spare the effort to lock eyes with Vortigern.
Though, even one of its eyes was larger than him.
"Hey, Vortigern, how about we chat? You're about to die anyway, and I certainly won't let you go. Don't you have any last words? I might not fulfill your dying wish, but I'd love to mock you with it."
Vortigern had no interest in humoring him.
Instead, it began thrashing violently, its massive body twisting and its dragon head swinging wildly, trying to fling Lot off.
Lot, of course, was fine he still had the dragon's snout beneath his feet.
The real victims were Artoria and Galahad.
Those two were essentially riding standing tickets.
Lot took a quick glance and saw the two of them shooting him resentful looks.
With shameless composure, Lot coughed and said,
Ahem, this is Vortigern's fault. You two should stab it a few more times. Oh, and Galahad if only you'd brought your shield, we wouldn't have to worry about landing."
Why would I need my shield?
(Truthfully, Lot was already restraining himself by only mentioning the shield and not suggesting Galahad turn into a kouhai.)
Distracted by the thought, Galahad's grip on his sword faltered. He fumbled, nearly losing his balance, and had to desperately tighten his hold, driving the blade deeper into the dragon's flesh.
In the end, Lot's nonsense only brought more suffering to Vortigern.
But that was exactly what Lot wanted.
Simply killing Vortigern wouldn't be enough to satisfy his hatred.
He wanted it to die in agony.
Only then would it atone for the countless lives it had taken.
A nobleman may wait ten years for vengeance
So I'll take my revenge as soon as possible.
Even if I must chase you through the heavens or drag you from the underworld,
I will never let you go, Vortigern.
The white dragon didn't fly much longer.
Battered by the raging winds, Vortigern crash-landed in the fields of Wales.
A trail of the white dragon's blood stained its path.
The unbearable pain made its descent horrifyingly fast
Almost like a freefall.
In that state, neither Lot, Artoria, nor Galahad could maintain their balance.
They were thrown off, crashing hard onto the ground, their bodies aching as if every bone had shattered.
Even Lot, who had been the most comfortable earlier, now bore cuts and scrapes from the wind and the impact.
Artoria and Galahad were even worse off.
Lot couldn't help but laugh.
"Your Majesty, what's so funny?" Artoria asked, puzzled.
"I'm laughing because if the three of us walked into a town right now, people would probably toss us a few coins out of pity."
Artoria frowned. "So we'd be beggars?"
Lot grinned. "Hahaha "
"Your Majesty, do you think Vortigern might already be dead?"
As they spoke, the dust from the dragon's landing still hadn't settled.
Galahad stared at the cloud and asked Lot.
"I'd like that, but it's probably not the case."
Then, Lot turned to both Artoria and Galahad.
"By the way, how much fighting strength do you two have left?"
"About thirty percent," Artoria answered.
"Same here," Galahad agreed.
"I've got half of mine left!" Lot declared proudly.
"…Though that's probably about the same as your thirty percent."
As the dust cleared, Vortigern's massive white form reappeared before them.
Now, it looked even more monstrous.
"Kneel and submit to me. I shall grant you a dignified death."
"Sorry, but my legs aren't what they used to be after that fall. Can't kneel even if I wanted to."