Hey, guys! Sorry this one comes out a bit later than normal, because I've been busy during the holidays. Doing what, you say? Well... stuff that won't look good in a public forum, I tell you that.

Now, since summer is here, let's discuss the main source of entertainment during this time: the Olympics.

I'd like to use this opportunity to condemn those Russian officials who somehow or other got their athletes, who has been indicted with performance drug abuse, to battle in Rio. I think it's a pathetic attempt to cheat and curry favors with the higher ups, not to mention a cowardly deed in an international sporting exhibition. What a real sportsman/sportswoman will do is withdraw from that tournament, not doing these unsportsmanlike attitude. I'm sure 99% of you who will watch the Olympics is going to root for their defeat, and by 'you' I'm also including the Russian fans. I mean no offense to the quality of your athletes, because they're spectacularly good from the past up until this scandal, but I hope these cheaters get punished consequently.

There's also many scandals popping up in many championships recently regarding drug abuse, most notably the UFC and the NBA. Now, I know this isn't a sports forum, but I'd still like to take this moment to discourage any of you from following in their footsteps. We, as a member of the world, have the responsibility to fight these crimes in any way we can, and if it means adding two paragraphs unrelated to HVS-01: RKR, then so be it.

And with that, let's get on to the usual stuff.

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm myself.

It's a habit I formed after I mastered the use of my Pure Eyes. Resting my brain and physical eyes before their activation grants me more calculation space to process the incoming data, even if Alaya assured me it's not really necessary. However, this Placebo Effect is a necessity for a magus or Magic User, as we prefer to hypnotize ourselves to increase our techniques' efficacy.

I open my eyes, and the colors of the world changes.

I focus on any aberration in the flow of magic energy inside the humans mingling about. Perched on this high tower, after hypnotizing the guard for a nap, I can get a clear view of the entire town of Corbenic, the scene where everything goes wrong for Lancelot. According to the Akashic Records, he left from here after performing adultery with the local king's daughter back to Camelot for Guinevere's forgiveness. Her rejection of his apology caused him to go insane and wander the lands for many years before he's healed by the Holy Grail.

"So, Sir Lancelot went insane?" I ask the person behind me, only to confirm the facts.

A brown-haired lady answers my question.

"Yes," she nods. "Lady Elaine confides in me personally, claiming he went berserk after she reveals her pregnancy. Then, he jumped out of the window, as apparent from the broken glass and destroyed bushes, and left without a trace."

I sigh, turning back to face her.

"In any case, can you stop using that disguise in front of me? It's useless, you know?"

In front of my Pure Eyes, Dame Brusen looks like someone else... one i've met before, a much more powerful being.

She smiles, but doesn't take off her disguise of the flesh.

"Are you sure?" She asks arrogantly. "If I did so, won't everything around you be destroyed? Careful of your tone, Vessel."

"Not if I can eliminate you first, Lady Nimue."

To be fair, she's right. A being from the Inside as powerful of her will immediately terraform her surroundings according to her powers, recreating the landscape and killing everyone who can't control magic energy with magic energy overdose. It's exactly the same reason why I have my limiters, to limit the chaos we will cause if we brazenly walk about in our true forms.

However, in this form, and with Nimue encasing herself with a mortal body, I'm still confident I can seal her before she wreaks further havoc. Sadly, my hands are tied, since Nimue's existence is the counterbalance to Nyneve's strength.

It may seems odd to leave such an existence which loves 'chaos' so much alone, rather than fully destroying her to let her opposite which rules over 'order' take over, to ensure peace. But through my travels, I learned what truly creates peace was 'balance', which doesn't let either 'order' or 'chaos' to dominate. 'Chaos' can destroy the world if left unchecked, and 'order' will erase independence and promote slavery and restrictions if I let it roam free. Therefore, a delicate 'balance' must be preserved, and my main obstacle was to change destiny for the better without disrupting this 'balance'.

For the sake of this 'balance', I can't harm Nimue for any more than necessary.

Damn.

I narrow my eyes, trying to gauge her intentions while making a threatening face at the same time.

"You manipulated Fisher to let Lancelot save Elaine. Then, the scene will promote romantic feelings within her, right at the moment when you pushed her to embrace her feelings and seduce Lancelot. Finally, you drugged the both of them to achieve this end, where Elaine is miraculously pregnant after one intercourse and Lancelot's mental state becomes fragile to insanity."

I take a deep breath after my lengthy hypothesis, then say, "Am I wrong?"

"Fufufu, right on all accounts!" She happily exclaims while clapping. The act is so overstated I have to resist the urge to activate my Reality Marble right here and now to kill her, but I manages to calm myself down. There's nothing to gain for losing control right now.

"Where is he now?"

"Who knows?"

It's not a lie. She's the type to act first and think of the consequence later, although I have no doubt she can find out Lancelot's whereabouts this instant if she uses her power. Currently, she's limited by her disguise, so there's no way she can divine his location, even if the original Dame Brusen was also a talented magus before being taken over by this being.

Being too long in her presence will only increase my irritation, and as I can't do anything to her, I decide to leave.

"Ah, leaving already, Vessel SHIROU? Fufufu, I bid you good luck in your journeys," she chuckles, her tone very condescending.

I smile, although my face feels slightly stiff.

"How very kind of you, Lady Nimue. Sadly, I have no need for your blessings."

Without waiting for a retort, I jump off the tower to the direction where a conspicuously erratic magic energy flow goes.

I have data regarding Lancelot's magic energy signature, both when sane and insane. The sane part was collected when I was doing gathering information on all the Knights of the Round Table to correlate the data from Akasha and the real deal. The insane nature of his magic energy was witnessed when I reviewed the memory of a certain Holy Grail War, where only for a brief moment during heated combat, the black fog covering Berserker dissipated, allowing me to record his data into my brain.

Magic energy is produced by magic circuits, or in the case of the Pendragon lineage, magic cores, and the organ itself is tied directly to one's soul. It can only be accessed by Spiritual Surgery, and therefore someone's state of mind has tremendous influence on the state of one's soul. It's common to have someone's magic energy signature changes as he or she grows up and experiences many things, especially traumatic events.

Lancelot, being the most skilled knight in Altria's group, has a strangely small magic energy reserve, likely attributing to his abilities being blessings and gifts or some sort. He has less magical aptitude then, say, his future son, Galahad, about on par with Cecilia; that is, he has the talent of normal people regarding Magecraft. As he went insane, however, the normally weak trace became stronger and more erratic, thus more easily detectable to my Eyes.

My vision may be wide, but not all information coming from them will be processed. Like a regular human being, I take priority only for relevant, interesting, or eye-catching data to boost operating speed. I can take it all in, important or not, but doing so while moving is a dangerous and foolish exercise.

I run across the rooftops, careful not to break anything. The roof in these times, apart from rich mansions, are flimsily built, merely set as a shade from the elements rather than an important structural element. If I carelessly use my own version of Prana Burst, or even simple Reinforcement, I'll go straight through them and ruin my momentum. Not to mention the damage I have to repair later...

Ugh.

My skill in Alteration is comparatively worse than Reinforcement or Projection. Well, it still means I'm quite a lot better in using it than regular magi, and it serves me well in these kinds of situation. My Origin prevents me from Altering just about everything, but I manage to master Alteration to subtly change the laws of physics and chemistry, vital to my Reality Marble.

What I'm utilizing now is Altering the conservation of momentum.

As I arrive at an obstacle, my speed will inevitably be scrubbed due to friction and direction changes, in proportion to the energy I waste. To increase efficiency, I calculate how much momentum I have and how much I will lose, and upon contact, Alter that amount to be as small as possible, effectively rocketing me to another direction I aim at.

The basic thinking of this technique births one of the swordplay I taught Mordred. To be honest, I'm slightly jealous of her who can use this technique without resorting to Magecraft, merely through sheer innate talent and body control. She can even utilize Prana Burst as the initial released energy, giving her much better acceleration than mine.

She named it 'Ghost-Light Firefly', after I showed her how to do it. Fitting name, I suppose, especially at night, when the trail of magic energy used to change direction will draw beautiful multicolored lines on the dark sky, similar to the enchanting dance of fireflies.

What a grandiose name for a technique invented on a whim.

Over these few years, I tried to reduce the excess magic energy to an absolute minimum, eliminating any light show for someone unrelated to witness. Mordred can't do it still, though maybe it's because she didn't have decades to control her magic energy as precisely as mine. All the people I pass underneath me, just mingling in the streets of Corbenic, will be unable to see my silhouette after I reach this speed. Nimue can detect me, maybe, but her mortal eyes won't catch my seemingly random movements just by themselves.

As soon as I reach the town's outskirts, I shift up a gear and accelerate even faster.

I have to save Lancelot from his doom, no matter what.

The sound of horseshoes toppling over rough ground fills Cecilia's day, amidst the stops and the occasional village. The last few days have been uneventful, as the further they travel, lesser and lesser human settlements make themselves home, and both she and Mordred are having difficulties to secure supplies for their journey. Mordred's mood has worsened over the journey as well, with the diminishing amount of meals they have every day.

However, one thing she can't put her finger on about her master is how calm she is about everything else. If it was her, being left behind by your loved ones so soon after they met was, at the very least, very disconcerting. In all honesty, she expects her master to break down again, mentally, because of Mordred's fickle temperament. Even she herself misses the presence of her Grandmaster, if only as a person she could really relate to.

Yet, none of the above happened.

A few more hours on horseback beckon, and still no attempt on conversation from both of them. It's not an uncomfortable silence, since they've been together for long enough words aren't really necessary to convey their thoughts, both on and off the battlefield. Subtle gestures clue in on the direction they feel the best choice, and in these wild lands far east, it's very important to have absolute trust in one's travel companion, lest they meet their ends in the wrong end of a Saxon's sword.

Soon, sunlight reduces its presence, and they make a rudimentary camp by the side of the road. The location is a bit conspicuous, but with the risk of being discovered and attacked by hostile forces, there exist the possibility of meeting new allies and comrades as well. Fortunately, the last few times didn't cause any trouble for them, so they get into their routine and set up for the night.

As they drink the soup made from prepackaged stock given by Shirou, Mordred stares at her student, before speaking, "Okay... just say it."

"Huh?" Confused, Cecilia tilts her head to one side.

Mordred smiles. "You've been making that curious face for a while now, from the start of our journey, even. So, what is it? You want to ask me something, right?"

Fidgeting under the scrutinizing gaze, Cecilia blushes. Her master can be childish and rough sometimes, but still very sharp and perceptive for the important matters. It's her fault for underestimating Mordred's capability, and she pays for it by coming clean with her previous thoughts.

"Um... aren't you sad, Master? With Grandmaster leaving, I mean."

She breathes in relief as Mordred simply shakes her head without getting upset by the question.

"Why should I?"

"Ah, er... because many of my female friends tend to be depressed, or something, when a man they fancy left... So, I thought... Ugh, no, don't mind me, Master. It's been rude of me." She bows her head in apology.

Mordred chuckles, and put her bowl to one side.

"Don't compare my love with something petty like that!" She laughs in good nature, before saying, "Cecilia, let me teach you something. True love doesn't waver or hurt, no matter the circumstances or distance."

She looks to the sky, as if trying to divine Shirou's location from the stars.

"I love him, and I trust him in return. Just a few months, or years even, of separation won't dampen either of our feelings. That's what it means to love someone, much like how I care about you, or you towards me, okay?"

Cecilia is awed by the sincerity in her master's voice.

"You... really love Grandmaster, don't you?"

"Umu!"

Cecilia places a hand under her chin, staring at the fire.

"What's it like, Master? How can you love someone so selflessly?"

Mordred grins, asking, "You're really curious, huh? Did Shirou tell you our history?"

She nods wordlessly.

Mordred exhales a breath into the cold night air, calming her excitement before she recounts her emotions in the past.

"He... was my savior, you know?"

She starts with a calm tone.

"If you don't know already, I'm a homunculus, not a normal human."

She takes a look at Cecilia, but there's no surprise evident on her student's face. Good, she can skip the lengthy explanation, since Shirou most likely have explained it to her. In that regard, how much did he talk about? Should she double-check with Cecilia?

Ah, no matter.

"Back then... when I first gained consciousness, it wasn't the moment Shirou woke me up. In the glass vat, I could already think and sense the stuff going around me. Of course, I couldn't form complex thoughts initially, but the basic stuff was there.

"I didn't know good or evil, merely floated there, absorbing the information my mother poured into me and adapting to the physical changes she did to my body. I didn't even feel a thing when she died, just... I was empty, a simple shell for anything to be poured into."

She smiles absentmindedly, in reminiscence of the early memories.

"In that aspect, perhaps my feelings of affection to him at the start was a little biased. He cared for me, catered to my needs, and made me happy... I was in cloud nine in those years. I loved him, as a parent and a father, also as a woman to a man, however immature that feeling was.

"And then, as I grew older, I got more and more curious about my origins, so I asked him for the truth. To be honest, the me back then was really childish... hehehe..." She chuckles, though a slight bitterness can be heard from her voice. "I got angry, and fought needlessly with him. I left with pain in my heart...

"It hurt, thinking all I've been all this time was merely someone else's design. Both my mother and Shirou has shaped me, forged me, and manipulated me to fulfill their dreams... Or at least, that's what I thought at the time. Thank goodness I was wrong!"

A sour laugh escapes from her lips, but Cecilia doesn't dare interrupt her master.

"It's ironic how my feelings for him blossomed and matured only during my travels, away from him... Before I met you, I visited many places, trying to gain further insight to my past. Every where I went, only cold gazes receives me, because I was only a disposable homunculus to them.

"The only person who ever saw me in any worth or value was Shirou.

"I learned how he thought, I practiced how he acted... because I have realized what I aspire for, even if the concrete image didn't form until recently. I saw the people suffer under injustice, or when sacrifices were made under the guise of just wars. I felt what he must've felt... a mix of admiration and disgust to the way our King ruled the land.

"And yet, because of my immaturity, your village ended up a victim..." Mordred turns to look at her student, bowing her head. "For what it's worth, even if you scold me for doing this again and again, I'm sorry."

Cecilia smiles, not able to bring herself to chide Mordred.

"It's alright, Master. I'm sure the men have already forgiven you, so it's not fair for me to blame you right now."

Mordred returns the smile.

"With all these experience, every hardship and painful memories, only made me realize how foolish I was to throw away everything due to anger. My love for him grew and grew, because he's the person who embodies my ideal, perhaps... the first who regard me as who I am, who'll never toss me to the side, even if I'm just a tool in the end."

She holds a palm to Cecilia's rebuke at the self-deprecation.

"No, no, don't make that kind of face," she scolds Cecilia. "No matter how you look at it, both of us are just a small part in his plans, simple pawns in a board game against an unknown force. And yet, isn't our goal the same? Maybe I inherited it from him, and it's not even my own dream, but it's still a beautiful dream nonetheless."

She stands up, collecting the bowls to wash them.

"Which is why I'll continue to chase after it..."

Mordred flashes her a teasing smile, her hands hovering over her navel just above her womb, patting it.

"Besides, he did give me a 'parting present', right?"

Laughing at Cecilia's blushing face, she walks away while carrying the dishes.

Cecilia can only stare at her master's back, digesting her words.

Indeed, the goal of peace is admirable. But, like what her master experienced, Cecilia feels insulted and slighted at the comparison of herself and a pawn. Her pride as a swordswoman bangs against her consciousness, which begs her to calm down and see the bigger picture. If she does so, then everything's fine and dandy, but she just can't accept it so easily like her master.

Perhaps Mordred has been blinded by her devotion to Shirou. It's an emotion not unfamiliar to her, as she feels the same towards her master... an inclination to do and give everything to someone who changed her life. However, it's not as if Cecilia herself has no affection for her grandmaster at all.

Shirou, in the brief moments when they were together, has always been polite and respectful towards her, even if she's his student and younger than him. His mannerisms also weren't arrogant or self-centered, and his cooking skills were great. All in all, he did what almost all males or people with his ability would never do in their lifetime: serve others, even if they're lower than him. His honesty was painful, but also one of his good points, never letting off a feeling he's faking his kindness and generosity.

Come to think of it, being used by him as a pawn didn't sound so bad after all...

And yet, she can't help but think...

'Peace... is it truly worth the pain, Master?'

With that thought, she goes out to help Mordred with the cleaning.

After a few days of reconnaissance, I sigh.

This is what happens when I'm late.

A few miles from me, roughly in a straight line from my line of sight, Lancelot du Lac is wasting around in a local tavern.

Because of Nimue's influence, his magic energy track became confusing and blurry, although I assumed it was because I fell into her mental trap. She excels in such tricks, and for the slightest moment I let my guard down, she managed to plant a small suggestion inside my head. It's subtle, as more complicated ones would only be automatically dispelled, but it worked very well, delaying me for 2 days.

Precisely just enough time for me to lose Lancelot's trail, so I have to do it all over again.

Also, because of that, one of the Knights of the Round Table managed to get a head start on me, already moving close to pinpointing Lancelot's location. It's this tight time schedule which made me hesitate to initiate contact with the now-insane man. I don't have a major issue with meeting any members of Altria's court, it's just... the time isn't right for me to reveal myself. A brief encounter with Gawain back then was unavoidable, though it's my mistake as well, being overcame with emotions regarding Mordred's whereabouts.

I planned to meet Lancelot in the wilderness, then find a way to snap him back to sanity. It would involve an intense fight, for sure, but that's precisely the reason why I tried to intercept his route so quickly. The aftermath of the battle would be remote and hard to track, easy to conceal and clean up. Now, inside a settlement, it's extremely difficult to avoid collateral damage to the buildings and the people, much less to hide my activities.

I spent my day resting, simply watching for any sudden movements from Lancelot, just to keep track of his whereabouts. It's simple through the combination of my Strucutral Analysis, Reinforcement, and Pure Eyes, and I don't even have to physically aim in his direction to spy on him. I can afford to camp on the other side of the hill, as the small town is located near a series of undulations and compressions, and watch the efforts of Bedivere coming in fast.

The effeminate knight rides hard from the south entrance along with his aides and retainers. They've taken off their armors before coming in, of course, since it'd do no one good to attract too much attention. However, there's still numerous glances thrown their way due to their speed, which barely slows down even after passing the gates. Some of the guards look alarmed, but a plate tossed to the hands of one of them clears them of all suspicion, allowing them to enter unhindered.

At the center of the city, where merchants gather, they finally stop and tie their girdles to a designated spot. Fast and smooth, all the members quickly blend into the crowd, leaving the curious people confused about their presence. They spread throughout the city, asking for information. I can't hear this far away, but I'm confident in my lip-reading, so I know roughly what they're saying.

They work efficiently, working their way from the perimeter to the center. With this method, they find Lancelot within a couple of hours. They decide not to immediately storm the place and drag him out, though, so it'll be an interesting showdown.

If Bedivere can return Lancelot to his knightly ways without me interfering, then that's fantastic news.

Let's see...

'What a disgrace...'

Bedivere looks in disgust at the hunched back of a man, clearly drunk on one of the tables. Bottles of cheap alcohol lays scattered across the table and around the floor. There's clearly some previous conflict, as several pieces of wood from a few of the tables are piled up in the corner, and no one dares to sit next to this drunkard.

He feels anger welling up in his chest as he makes his way towards the prone Lancelot.

'When I heard him deserting, I had expected a fight... against a rebel army, or a tribe of barbarians. This... what a shitty excuse of a man! You dare betray your country, only to end up as a waste like this?!'

Among them, Lancelot has always been the example to strive for. Skillful, eloquent, polite, charming, and kind, he's the role model for the younger knights and squires in the castle. The moment Lancelot's desertion was revealed to the Knights was like a stab through the heart to Bedivere, who always believed the best in him. He doesn't know why the Knight of the Lake turns traitor, but he doesn't care.

He'll drag him back in a body bag if he has to.

Roughly, he grasps Lancelot's collar and throws him to the ground.

Instantly, the people in the taverns start to scramble for safety, all of them running outdoor, including the manager and a few others. All of them has seen what the drunken man can do, and no one has any interest to get in the way, if the newcomer decides to make a ruckus.

"Stand up," Bedivere spats out.

Between the messy bangs, a pair of black eyes shines with anger.

I facepalm.

"Oh, dear..."

It's fortunate the people in the tavern decided to get out, because the encounter has gotten very messy as I predicted. From the data I glimpsed in the Akashic Records, Bedivere has an upstanding and strict personality, a stickler for the rules and chivalry. By default, he's quite similar to Lancelot, and as a result, there's no way he can accept how Lancelot behaves right now enough to have a civilized conversation.

And, as if on cue, a part of the wall of the tavern explodes, scattering wood splinters everywhere.

True to his rank, Bedivere elegantly lands on the ground after being thrown clear through the windows, his sword already unsheathed.

Ah, must I do all the work around here?

This is exactly the problem which causes the Kingdom to be destroyed. Instead of negotiating every issues and employing diplomacy to achieve mutual benefit, every single one of them prefers to use force to subdue the opponent. It's this conflict which blooms into larger conflict, until there's nothing left to fight for or fight about. Sadly, history is marred with these battles all too often.

That's what I want to rectify.

Gently, I build up my magic energy, ready to spring to action in any moment.

The distance is 4 miles, well within my bow's range. If I Trace an arrow, emphasizing an extreme low-drag setup, the attack will arrive so fast they won't even feel or hear it coming, passing the sound barrier with ease. This distance is also ideal for defense, since the thick vegetation and large distance will render any chasing pack useless, especially Bedivere and Lancelot who specializes in cavalry and infantry skills.

I've confirmed there's no magi in Bedivere's party or inside the town, so I should be fine. Still, there's no harm in being cautious against scrying techniques, so I draw a six-rune combination to set up an anti-detection barrier. A Reinforced arrow won't break its concealment, though more powerful Mystic Codes will render it meaningless.

Hopefully, my intervention won't be necessary, but those two hotheaded knights will make it difficult.

Lancelot jumps out after Bedivere, two short wooden poles in each of his hands, likely taken from an unfortunate chair or table. Unlike the King or Mordred, most of the Knights of the Round Table can barely utilize their magic energy, so Lancelot is at a disadvantage against Bedivere's enchanted sword.

A quick Trace on the sword reveals its history. A simple, but excellently crafted steel longsword, it's enchanted by Merlin as a part of a mass-produced Mystic Code project. It's not as powerful as Bedivere's favored sword, but as a replacement on sudden notice, it's more than adequate. Sifting Mana from the surroundings, it's pretty much self-sustaining, though a small trickle of Od is still required to activate its boost. With it, Bedivere will have his fatigue reduced and his mental abilities boosted.

Quite an upgrade, but it's barely enough to contend against Lancelot's otherworldly skills.

Faster than Bedivere's men can react, he launches a fierce assault on the armed knight.

The short wooden sticks offer plenty of agility, so Lancelot, even when drunk, makes the most of it. A quick step in just before Bedivere can set his stance put Lancelot inside his range, followed by a lightning-fast stab to the throat. A twitch in his other arm tells me he plans to follow it up after any parry or block with a slash towards the midsection, which with his strength should be enough to crack Bedivere's ribs.

Bedivere isn't a Knight of the Round Table for nothing, though.

Even when his stance is compromised, he keeps calm and dodges the thrust with minimal movements to the side by twisting his body. He moves to the outside of Lancelot's outstretched arm to avoid the follow-up slash, then uses his sideways momentum to attack Lancelot's thigh. The human thigh contains a major artery, and a deep cut there can cut off one of the strongest muscle in the human body along with massive blood lost.

With insane flexibility, Lancelot lightly jumps and counters the slash with a side kick to Bedivere's side with the targeted leg, making the effeminate knight miss. It connects straight on, but Bedivere menages to loosen his muscles and jump backwards, dulling the impact. Regardless of the result, Lancelot continues his assault madly, seemingly trying his best to cave in his fellow knight's face in.

A downwards slash is parried easily with the steel sword, but before it can break Lancelot's balance, he changes his grip mid-air to a backhanded stab to the abdomen, in conjunction with a strike to the collarbone. A crack signifies the second strike finds its mark, but Bedivere has manipulated the hilt of his sword to block the stab.

He jumps back to create some distance, a wince visible on his face from the cracked collarbone. Lancelot switches his other grip also to a backhand one, launching himself with surprising speed to a low stance.

Furiously, like a whirlwind, he sends a multitude of slashes towards Bedivere's ankle, thigh, knee, groin, and stomach, keeping a low position to make it awkward for Bedivere to counter from above. The Head of Imperial Guards hurriedly backsteps, his sword flashing downwards around his center line to avoid being incapacitated around his legs.

Both of them know if Bedivere decides to counter towards Lancelot's exposed back, an upwards thrust will come faster than anything he can try and pierce his throat in return, so the exchange continues for some time. However, slowly, Bedivere becomes more and more cornered with every exchange, his higher stance naturally unsuited to the condition.

Like a snake, Lancelot's legs shoot out, trapping one of Bedivere's leg in a scissor hold and toppling him to the ground.

He launches upwards, keen on getting on top of his stunned former friend.

"Right... that's enough."

My patience has its limits, after all.

"Trace, on."