"Then I'll just smash your kneecaps first."
Vortigern's voice was cold as it lunged at Lot, its jagged teeth bared, blood still dripping from its maw.
That was all it would take to reduce Lot to shreds.
Though his body ached fiercely, Lot knew this wasn't the time to falter.
The words slipped from his lips softly, almost like a whisper.
Then, gripping Joyeuse tightly, he braced himself for Vortigern's assault.
But before he could move
Artoria was already charging forward.
The gallant knight stood resolute before the other two, her figure cutting a striking silhouette against the chaos.
In her hands, she raised Excalibur high
But not just Excalibur.
At the same time, she drew the Sword in the Stone from her waist, the blade she had carried all this time.
"If you wish to harm my lord, you'll have to face my swords first."
Her voice was steady, unwavering.
Swords in hand, she crossed the distance in an instant.
Her eyes flicked to Excalibur.
"was entrusted to me by His Majesty Lot."
Then, to the Sword in the Stone.
"was the blade Her Majesty Morgan had me pull from the stone."
Dual-wielding the legendary weapons, she crossed them in an X and swung.
Vortigern, despite its rage, couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for the knight before it pushed to her limits, yet still standing firm.
Perhaps it was only natural.
Only a cunning king and valiant warriors could have brought it this much defeat.
A dark chuckle rumbled in its throat.
They shall receive the most glorious death it can bestow.
Darkness began to swirl.
The world itself seemed to melt at the edges, reality warping under the weight of Vortigern's power.
A sinister aura permeated the air, enough to drive any witness to madness.
Yet at the center of it all
Artoria stood unshaken.
Twin beams of light erupted from the holy swords, their radiance cutting through the encroaching darkness.
Behind her, Lot watched as Excalibur unleashed its brilliance for the first time
More magnificent than any depiction.
More dazzling than any recreation.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"I can't afford to lose either."
Gripping Joyeuse, he poured every ounce of his remaining strength into the blade, unleashing a torrent of light alongside Artoria's strike.
As he swung, his eyes darted to Galahad, who was preparing to join the fray.
"Galahad, stand down!" Lot barked. "You're our last line of defense protect us if we fall!"
Galahad clenched his fists, then scanned their surroundings.
They were in the ruins of Vortigern's palace.
A massive, ornate iron gate, torn from its hinges and cast aside.
While Lot and Artoria clashed with Vortigern, he sprinted toward it, hefting the gate with all his might.
The twin beams of light one radiant, one shimmering with prismatic hues slammed into Vortigern's gaping maw.
The white dragon roared as it attempted to consume the attacks, its body convulsing violently under the strain.
It seemed as though the sheer force would tear it apart from within.
Had Lot and Artoria been at full strength, the outcome might have been different.
But now, drained as they were
Vortigern swallowed the light.
The beast swayed, its form flickering like a candle in the wind
Yet its eyes burned with undiminished fury.
Lot and Artoria collapsed, their strength utterly spent. Artoria had already lost consciousness, while Lot barely clung to awareness.
Only Galahad remained.
Planting the iron gate like a shield, he intercepted Vortigern's charge.
Human potential is limitless.
Pushing himself beyond his limits, Galahad held the line, his muscles screaming in protest as he withstood the dragon's assault.
Even his resolve had limits.
And his makeshift weapon
Was no match for a dragon's fury.
With a sickening crack, the gate splintered apart.
Galahad's eyes widened as the metal shattered in his hands.
Vortigern's lips curled into a cruel smile.
It had nearly been defeated.
Victory was still its.
Raising a claw, it prepared to crush Galahad where he stood
A figure yanked him out of harm's way.
"These people… are the future of Britain. I won't let you snuff out that hope."
The voice was weary but firm.
Clad in simple robes, his hair streaked with gray, his face lined with exhaustion
Yet his eyes shone with undimmed resolve.
In his trembling hands, he held a sword.
Lot's voice was thick with disbelief.
This wasn't Lancelot.
This was his actual father-in-law.
Uther laughed, though the sound was rough, like gravel.
"You're still alive!?"
The words left Lot's mouth before he could stop them.
Uther's expression darkened instantly.
"I'm starting to regret letting you marry my daughter."
Grumbling, he turned his gaze to Vortigern.
"After leaving Camelot, after stepping down as king… I found my body lighter than ever. And now "
" I'm alive enough to face you one last time, Vortigern."
Vortigern's eyes narrowed.
"Your stubbornness is impressive. But how long can you last, clinging to life by a thread?"
"Long enough to watch you die, dear brother."
His grin turned sharp.
"This era belongs to my daughter and my son-in-law now. To the next generation."
Then, with deliberate malice
"Ah, but of course you wouldn't know about that, would you?"