Camelot was thriving. Day by day, more and more residents escaping from the violence of the brewing civil war between aristocratic families in Southern Roble pooled in droves. Gawain stood by the gate at all times, his light and charisma, a beacon that served to quell the unease and tension present in the air.
That was who he was as the Knight of the Sun, loved by all. In contrast, Arturia ruled justly, sitting upon the throne and relaying instructions to the various Knights patrolling within the Kingdom to maintain public order after reports of thieves and vandals came to her knowledge. Many of them had come disguised as refuges; the stories of a Holy Kingdom sprouting from the distant mountains filled with riches and luxuries, too hard to pass up when it was the talk of the entire southern country amongst the commoners.
Wandering mercenary bands, brigands, and bandits grew curious, leading to an inflow of crime that was mediated and over-seen by Agravain who was well accustomed to the darker-sides of society. For many thieves and criminals, he could tell at a glance whether their circumstances were forced or premediated. It was something he found in their expressions when questioned; those quick to plead for mercy often giving themselves away due to the intensity of his glower.
No matter, Agravain was proficient in the use of lies and deceit. Those that were quick to plead often had things to conceal that he could differentiate between a guilty conscience and a panicking convict. The only forced individuals were those whose eyes remained steadfast in direct confrontation with his own. They who had nothing else to lose and would not be missed in their passing. He gave those people a chance, allowing them to apply into the Knight's Hall which the King had set up to foster a unit of Knights other than the imposing Enforcement Knights that patrolled the streets.
Not only were the Enforcements Knights intimidating, but the grandeur and nobility exuding from them and their pristine armours made the common peasant unable to raise their head. It didn't help that the standard lvl38-lvl40 Enforcement Knights were the equivalent to what the common folks considered Adamantite-Rank Adventurers all patrolling the streets in droves.
It was Arturia's intention to pull back her Enforcement Knights as soon as the Knight's Hall was established to allow the people that had taken residence within Camelot a piece of mind in their daily lives.
Of course, as the King, she was caught up in several important matters to attend to such as infrastructure, residential positioning, and procuring a stable source of food. Camelot could not solely rely on Tawara's rice forever. Moreover, the matters of her day and the next few days were far from over.
Minor Nobles that had fled their lands when their armies were outnumbered and overtaken had arrived at Camelot's doorstep seeking asylum. In her role as King, it was her obligation to hear them out and extend an invitation of goodwill. Most of the Minor Nobles had good characters, and had only left their lands when all other options had run out, but that didn't mean that all of them were like that.
Some just came because they saw an opportunity in Camelot and wished to gain a high-standing before anyone else.
The constant bickering was grating on her ears.
She was not amused.
Most of the problems were miscellaneous, and she had Duke Berferd settle the majority of it as he was a familiar figure among the Nobles, but she still had to oversee everything as was her duty.
As a King, Arturia had to play host, leaving her inwardly dissatisfied as a vague paranoia concerning the lack of Nero's presence anywhere assailed her mind. On one hand, she felt like throttling Nero if she dared strut down Camelot's streets in her image, and on the other, she felt uncomfortable thinking that Nero may be with Shirou at the moment. Considering that Nero had said that she was looking to discuss something with Shirou, it was a high possibility that she was around him right now.
The thought caused Arturia's lips to thin subconsciously into a venomous scowl, silencing the aristocrats who were trying to bring up the topic of landed Nobles within Camelot.
The intensity of her gaze caused the rest of the meeting to accelerate, and in less than an hour, she was striding out of the doors of her audience hall with hurried steps; Nero and how she might be seducing Shirou the only thought in her mind as her imagination ran wild.
Contrary to Arturia's expectation, it was not Nero who reached Shirou first, but the stalwart Agravain.
Currently, Agravain was seated in front of Shirou in one of the side-rooms located within the castle at the center of the Kingdom. The both of them were staring out at the open view of the residential area where the asylum seekers had set up a lively trading market. Most of the belongings of the Asylum seekers had been lost in their escape, so the current market didn't use much in the way of currency as a medium of exchange. Instead, they used a traditional bartering system where one side offered what they had to the other in hopes of reaching a suitable agreement.
"It's peaceful," Shirou commented lightly, watching the way the people he had seen in the pits of despair days earlier began to smile again.
Agravain grunted, crossing his arms and inclining his head. "It will stay that way too. A stable Kingdom is derived from the happiness of its citizens. That's why it must be protected."
Agravain turned to look towards Shirou after the two had seen enough of the market place. "Forgive my sudden intrusion into your personal time, but I wish to collaborate with you on a certain planned initiative."
"You didn't go over this with Arturia did you?" Shirou spoke lightly. As the one who modeled Agravain after the real-life equivalent, he understood the man in front of him to a certain extent.
If Arturia ran the Kingdom of Camelot as the Light, then Agravain was the Shadow. There were many methods at Agravain's disposal that Arturia would hardly ever agree with, yet all were necessary nonetheless for Camelot's prosperity. This was why it could be debated that the fall of Camelot began not with Mordred, but with the death of Agravain.
Just as Shirou expected, Agravain didn't bat an eye to his question as he answered indirectly with a sharp narrowing of his brows. "There are things that need not be made aware to the King for the sake of the whole, just as a Knight need not question the command of their superiors."
Shirou hummed in thought, a finger tapping over the surface of the table in front of him as he contemplated. "What do you have in mind?" He questioned.
Agravain had prepared everything from the moment that Shirou had said that he'd leave the situation in Agravain and Arturia's hands.
In Agravain's ears, it was something like a test to judge his capabilities, and he did not plan to fail.
As an NPC created by Shirou, he could vividly recall the care and attention Shirou had put into creating him. At the same time, it made it possible to see Shirou's own weariness through his life of chasing after an ideal that could never be realized. His creator was selfless beyond anything Agravain had ever seen before. It was to the point that he would have called Shirou a fool if not for the admiration deep within him for a man who refused to give up despite the overwhelming odds.
His creator had worked hard enough. He was certain that all of the other NPCs knew this as well. Therefore, he'd asked Arturia to make a trip with him to the Mausoleum of Heroes to discuss with the other NPCs about plans for the future, leading to one common consensus.
A path of least bloodshed.
Their creator had worked himself enough. It was a sentiment that none of the NPCs in the Mausoleum would disagree with, and it was time for them to do their part. One by one, they left the Mausoleum to expand out into the New World underneath Shirou's notice. None of them wished to burden Shirou any longer, and instead wished to realize an ultimate goal.
A world where everyone could be free and Heroes were no longer needed.
A place where their Master could finally rest. An Avalon in the middle of nowhere.
For such a means, the heroes of the mausoleum would do their part to quell the tensions and wars of the New World with all their capabilities.
Nero was seeking Shirou out to discuss her intention of travelling towards a place known as 'the Empire' by the common folk of Roble.
Cu was to head towards the Re-Estize Kingdom after his mission, while the rest of the Heroes in the mausoleum chose to stay and guard it, or to just travel the world on a whim. Scathatch chose to remain while NPCs like Gilgamesh and Enkidu chose to lead a new adventure. The two had left traveling on a golden carriage days prior with no news to be heard back from them. Then again, Agravain was not concerned about Gilgamesh and Enkidu's safety.
Gilgamesh had two forms, one in a passive state, and the other in an aggressive state. In simpler terms, when out travelling, Gilgamesh had assumed a Caster form to broaden his understandings of the new scenery. In battle, he had the ability to class change into an Archer if need be to unleash the Grand Treasury of Babylon.
There was no need for Agravain to overly concern himself with the actions of the two. They were strong enough as they were.
What Agravain needed to do right now was the task before him.
If Nero was to head towards The Empire, and Cu towards Re-Estize, then it was his King and fellow Knights duty to oversee the turmoil in Roble.
"If you'd cooperate with this humble one's request, I'd be most honoured," Agravain bowed his head low. "What I have in mind only needs you to act by the end. All else can be left on my side to deal with."
The expression on Shirou's face twitched as Agravain explained his intentions with unerring attention to detail.
He really was taking his role seriously.
Shirou sighed, wondering just how Agravain could come up with something so elaborate yet insist that Shirou was the true genius.
Shirou had never been much of an intellectual person to be honest. Instead he preferred simpler approaches in order to accomplish a goal, but it didn't mean that he was ill-opposed to using a more effective method.
This was the reason that he had reluctantly agreed to something so underhanded in the sense that it was basically all just an elaborate ruse.
What was the best method to stop a conflict?
There many answers but the one Agravain had come up to in his experience as a Knight of the Round was fairly simple- A common enemy.
Ever since the last attack by the Demi-Humans several years back, the threat the Demi-Humans imposed had largely diminished. Left with no other aggressors to deal with, the nobility of Roble fell into a tendency of in-fighting and power struggles that fractured rather than repaired the strength of the Kingdom. It was due time that such deplorable actions were to come to an end, and Agravain would see to it as quickly as possible.
The golem Shirou had created in front of him resembled something more like a mud-slime due to his low level of skill. Unlike in YGGRASIL he could not freely edit anything using the system interface, and as such, he was left staring at a veritable pile of moving slop. Worse, his in-game character was physical-class-based, forcing him to use his own magecraft in an attempt to help but to no avail. It wasn't to say that his skill level was low, it was just that his magic was unsuited for his current endeavors which was why he was currently being watched.
A ringing laughter entered his ears from a location a few feet away from him.
He scratched the back of his wryly at his failure in the eyes of a woman he had mixed feelings about. She had been an enemy once upon a time, nearly killed him too, but he'd still made her out of nostalgia.
It was Medea of Colchis. The Caster of the Fifth Holy Grail War.
She was standing with her arms crossed, wearing a light purple robe downed with lighter colours within the interior. Her face was out in display, pointed ears and soft blue hair seemingly almost elf-like in their characteristics.
He knew her settings and history well, but her current personality seemed less morose then usual. That and she looked fairly different with her hood off, far less menacing. Still, the fact that he wasn't exactly certain of what was going on with his NPCs and the new 'life' given to them, left him a little weary considering how devious of an opponent Medea had once been.
Then again, it was Agravain who had enlisted her help, and him who insisted that he could at least try to be of use. The end result though was far from stellar.
Comparing his created mound of moving mud to the Dragon-Tooth Warriors, Wyverns and Shadowed-Chimeras that Medea had created was like a babbling baby trying to compete with a professional.
He should have admitted defeat from the moment he found out that he'd be creating anything other than swords and weapons with his magic in the first place. However, he didn't like the feeling of others working while he remained idle so he tried to do what he could, the result being Medea laughing at his pitiful attempts.
"I hate to say this Master, but it would probably be better if I did this alone," Medea said softly. "Your knowledge in the arcane, is well," she coughed into her hand to stifle the smile working its way up her face, "It's unique, I suppose. They could probably blend in with the ground and wait until someone steps on them, but I don't believe that was what Agravain was intending."
Of course not, Shirou stopped trying entirely. Not only was creating golems far more taxing on him than Tracing swords, but his attunement just wasn't aligned with what he was trying to do despite how much Medea insisted that he possessed enough magical power to practice with.
Regardless, what Agravain wanted was an army so staggeringly despair inducing that none in Southern Roble could even think about starting a civil war.
It was then that the 'The Holy Maiden' would come in with her powerful Knights and Holy helpers to single-handedly defeat the enemy. The fact that Arturia was unaware of Agravain's plotting would only add to the effect as she would take the situation seriously.
At Medea's current output, she could make thousands of golems and familiars a day, and judging from the sheer number Shirou could already see, it was evident that Agravain had instructed her to begin working them long before he'd gotten involved.
Just for clarification, but Agravain had set Shirou's role to be the mysterious Hero serving by the King's side. The most difficult aspect of his role was to make sure that Arturia wouldn't catch on to what was happening. This was the crux of Agravain seeking him out and it was easier said than done.
In the end though he had still agreed as it would lead to the result with the least bloodshed. The golems and familiars Medea was making couldn't be considered casualties as Medea could create them again by infusing her magic with the correct materials. Earth golems were the most abundant as all that was needed was soil and rock.
The latest addition to the army Medea was secretly creating was a moving mound of mud that Shirou was considering trying to hide away due to how sorely it sticks out. Worse, as if to mock him, Medea had stationed it near the head of the army.
He left at that very moment, unwilling to create anymore mud slimes and be teased by a witch whose true personality wasn't actually as horrendous as the Holy Grail War.
The sound of Medea's mirthful chckling trickled into his ears as he left, not knowing that Medea had actually placed his mud-slime in front as a sign of her respect for the person who somehow gave her a new chance at life.
All that was going through Shirou's mind, was that it was better for him to just stick to his role.
Now if only the armour Agravain had prepared for him wasn't so gaudy and Red.
It made him feel like he was imitating a certain Red Archer.
Navigating through the bramble of Southern Roble two scouts sent by Calca Bessarez worked silently side by side to look as unassuming as possible as they prepared to venture into the local villages for information.
One of the scouts was a trusted subordinate of Calca and was also part of the 'Nine Colours,' a group of the strongest and most renowned individuals currently in Roble. His main Class was a Ranger and he preferred life in the country and woods to the bustling streets of the capital. The noise hurt his ears and he could never relax properly unless he employed a form of magic to mute his surroundings. The only reason he'd even bothered to remain within the capital was due to his wife and young daughter. His wife was a paladin serving the Holy Order, and his daughter aspired to follow after his wife's career path. Which meant to say, that the slow life of the country side would be forever out of reach.
The man's name was Pavel Baraja, a platoon sergeant of the Holy Kingdom's army in the North.
He had been tasked by the Holy Queen to investigate the circumstance surrounding the oddities in the South, and for some reason she'd scent him a helper despite his skills. A man by the name of Gemas Hawthorne, a peasant granted nobility as a Baronet after rendering an undisclosed meritorious service to the crown.
Although Pavel was curious, he had no business prying into another man's secrets. More so when the Queen hinted that Gemas was the most suitable to aid him given the suspicion of the Eight-Fingers, an underground syndicate's involvement in Roble.
Pavel didn't know it, but Gemas had been vital in the elimination of the information network that the Eight-Fingers had once set up in Northern Roble. Which was to say, if the Eight-Fingers could set up such an intricate web in the North, then they must have had been able to do the same in the South.
Gemas was necessary in this case to try and discover any clues in southern Roble. Therefore, in his seventeenth year of service to the crown, he was placed under Pavel as support.
Pavel however didn't exactly know what to make of Gemas, but at the very least the man was both professional and competent as a veteran of thirty-eight years.
Presently, the both of them had changed out of their regular armours and into a pair of torn rags that looked no different from the garments of peasants.
They could not wear their official attires if they wanted to blend in and look for information, but Pavel still felt the need to carry something to identify himself should he meet a friendly. It was a symbol of the royal crown which he had hid beneath the cloak he was wearing.
Gemas stared at Pavel in disapproval for taking such a risk, but didn't open his mouth to speak as he put on a darker shade of the peasant's attire due to preferences. He wasn't one for bright colours due to the circumstances of his past.
Neither of the two spoke much. In fact, both men were the silent and professional types, neither being too excessive in their use of words.
The quiet in the air wasn't awkward by any sense of the word, but was instead mutually productive. Both Pavel and Gemas seemed to be the same type of individual so it made understanding each other's intentions a lot easier.
There was no need for words when actions were enough.
The two went out to the direction of the local villages specified on the map only to discover a large problem. All of the villages were completely empty, many even burnt down into ashes after what looked to be a raid.
Gemas knelt down by the side of a burnt and dilapidated building and brushed the ashes off to reveal a charred children's doll beneath.
He shook his head in regret for the lives lost. "There's no one here."
It was the same for the next village and the one after.
Pavel's brow had long since furrowed in consternation. It was like the entirety of the peasants and villages within southern Roble had up and vanished. Blood stains were evident in some of the villages he'd seen, making it highly likely that a slaughter had ensued.
Just what exactly was going on in the South?
The only clue both Gemas and Pavel managed to obtain etched into a plank of wood as a ign for others was a single phrase.
"Go to the True Holy Kingdom in the West."
Pavel was utterly baffled at the phrase, and had to read it numerous times to make sure that he was reading it properly. Gemas in contrast was already making his way to the west in the direction of the large mountain. The sooner he got the job done, the sooner he could see his wife and kids.
The time it took for the both of them to change back into their armours and travel to the forested mountainside in the west took roughly three days on horseback. They couldn't ride continuously lest their horses tire, so they made due with taking numerous breaks along the banks of a river running alongside the direction of their intended destination.
Pavel was currently wearing his signature enchanted leather armour with an owl stitched to his right chest and the emblem of the Holy Kingdom on his left. Gemas in contrast wore a tunic around whatever protective garment he wore beneath. From the luster of Orichalcum that Pavel had spotted at the corner of his eye, Gemas's armour was definitely expensive.
Both Pavel and Gemas wore leather covered with metal plates over their arms and legs, but the rest of Gemas's attire was largely hidden behind the gaudy cloak he was wearing.
"We're still acting as scouts," Gemas reasoned. "We can't just give ourselves away even though there's no one near us."
It was a fair point and just because they didn't run into anyone in the past three days didn't mean that they should let their guard down. Gemas was right, though Pavel couldn't be faulted for not wearing his cloak twenty-four-seven. It would stink like a rat's ass and frankly he didn't know how Gemas could cope with it. Unknown to Pavel, Gemas washed his cloak in the river near them early every morning.
Personal hygiene aside, Pavel and Gemas had eventually reached their destination, entering the forest at the foot of a large mountain where it suddenly grew oddly quiet.
Both Pavel and Gemas possessed Ranger Classes and their experience out in the woods wasn't be belittled.
It was odd.
The forest.
It was silent.
There were no sounds of falling leaves, the rustling of animals, or even the cawing of birds. All that remained was an oppressive sort of quiet that unnerved the two in how unnatural it was.
Pavel furrowed his brows. He did not recall Roble ever having a forest quite like the one he'd just entered. The way a hand circled to the base of his bow revealed the unease he was feeling.
Suddenly, Gemas stopped, a finger brushing over a ring worn on his left hand.
It was an enhanced Ring of Detection he'd once obtained through the black market. It was a + 7 ring that could detect presences within a radius of 25-meters. Only those with a concealment skill greater than 5 could avoid its detection.
Frowning, the result of Gemas's actions proved negative, the ring indicating that there was no one nearby, but his gut was warning him. He'd lived a harsh life and hard worked his way up to his current standing. He couldn't ignore his very senses which he'd honed for years.
"We're being watched," Gemas warned, trusting his intuition.
Pavel merely raised a brow. He'd never had a need to use a detection ring as he was fairly confident in his own perception level.
He heard Gemas's warning, and rather than doubt him, he readied his bow in preparation for an ambush. As a soldier and leader, he knew that doubt and the unwillingness to trust in the judgement of others could lead to death- especially if the judgment of another was proven correct.
A subtle trace of wind passed through the area before sound suddenly returned to the forest.
"Your senses are quite sharp, aren't they?" A man dropped down from the trees wearing a dark cloak over the green vest he wore beneath. In the next moment, he made a gesture with his hand and spoke again. "Do you recognize them?"
The person being addressed was a woman who stood awkwardly at the side. Much to both Gemas and Pavel's bewilderment, they had not noticed her until it was pointed out, but they were quick to understand that it was probably the work of the man before them. His level of concealment must have been exceedingly high to pull of such a maneuver.
"No," the woman shook her head before her gaze focused on the emblem hidden beneath Paval's left chest and her eyes widened. "You're from the North too?" She seemed almost excited. "My name is Tyra Bremming of the espionage department of the Royal Crown."
Tyra had been sent years before Pavel and Gemas to act as an insider to the events that occurred in Southern Roble. She had been posing as a member of nobility under the vassalage of the Vendele family until the change in circumstances led her to her present situation.
She was the very woman that Cu had spared on his first mission to disrupt Duke Berferd's pursuers. Like she had said, she had been a spy for year and had given Cu the locations of vital areas to wreak havoc on the armies led by the southern nobles. Of course, Cu didn't take her along, but had instead tasked her to help the Nameless King identify potential enemies within the forest surrounding Camelot.
"They aren't enemies," she was quick to explain. "They're from the same place as me."
Pavel and Gemas looked between each other before Pavel stepped forward as the man of superior rank in the army. "Just what is going on here?" He asked Tyra who rather than replying turned to the man who jumped out from the trees.
This prompted both Gemas and Pavel to stare at the man in scrutiny, unable to grasp what level of ability the man possessed to hold authority over a trained member of Northern Roble.
Pavel was Tyra's superior by military rank, she shouldn't have had to seek permission from an unknown to speak, but the fact that she did spoke volumes.
"Friendlies, huh, well that makes things easier," the man slumped his shoulders, putting away what looked like a crossbow mounted on his right arm before pulling off his hood.
The man beneath was young. No older than a man in his late twenties or early thirties. He had scruffy orange hair covering one side of his eyes and vivid green pupils that seemed highly unmotivated with his task. In fact, it looked as if the man had just woken up from a nap. However, both Pavel and Gemas could tell that this wasn't an individual to be taken lightly.
Pavel could feel that the attainment of the man before him in regards to the Ranger-Class was similar if not greater than his own. "May I ask for your name?" Pavel could not hide his curiosity. He was a member of the Nine Colours and no individual that he knew of could be compared to him in terms of Ranger Level and skill. For one to suddenly show up in Southern Roble made him feel like the information the north had on the south was highly inaccurate.
The man lazily viewed Pavel up and down before giving out a low whistle. "You can call me Robin Hood. I'm currently acting as this forest's guardian. Well not for much longer anyway. This will probably be my last day before a life of lounging awaits me if everything goes according to plan."
"According to plan?" Gemas cut into the conversation, zeroing in on the most important point.
Robin Hood shrugged. "War is coming, and war is ending. So long as the common folk are safe, it's enough for me."
"War," Pavel muttered the words in a low whisper before turning to Tyra for answers. She explained everything that she knew of to the best of her abilities, stunning Pavel that the situation had already escalated to such a state.
Gemas scrutinized Robin Hood seriously, trying to look for anything that could indicate how trustworthy the man could be but finding nothing substantial. All he could do now was fish for answers. "What did you mean 'war is coming, and war is ending?'" he asked.
Robin closed his eyes and hummed before pointing in the direction of an open clearing several paces away. The action drew the attention of both Pavel and Tyra who'd finished their discussion.
"Why don't you go and see for yourself," Robin Hood advised before suddenly jumping up onto the trees and out of sight. "It should be starting by now anyway."
Narrowing their eyes, Pavel, Gemas, and Tyra could see the marching of a ginormous armed army.
There it was, just like the reports had stated. A castle located deep within the mountains whose walls seemed nigh-impenetrable with the number of Knights and fortifications done over top.
Admittedly, seeing it for what it was left a major blow on Anya, Eric, and Nathan who were fully aware that they had sent their children to apprehend the young heir of Duke Berferd in the area.
The fact that none of the forces they sent with their children had reported back left little doubt about their circumstances.
"This isn't possible," Anya muttered from atop her horse. She was garbed in heavy steel-plate armour with the laurels of the Merding's family crest emblazoned over a mantle on her back.
Behind her were rows upon rows of soldiers, Knights, and Archers that she had quickly gathered up once she came to the decision to investigate the oddity that was occurring in the West of Southern Roble. Unlike other aristocratic families, she, Eric, and Nathan understood the importance of information before conflict.
He who understood their enemy best would always be the inevitable victor. It was the way of war and conflict of interest. As such, before she had gathered the army around her, she had made personal inquires from the locals in the area to get a grasp of what was really going on.
To suddenly hear about the wild exaggerations about a fortified Holy Kingdom in the Western mountains was mind numbing.
It was simply impossible.
None knew better than this than herself. When she had first sent her son Dillan in preparation to catch Vincent Berferd in an ambush, she had accompanied Dillan to the exact location where the operation was to be held.
This castle did not exist.
She was certain of it. Yet as if to mock her, the pristine white walls before her eyes seemed to shatter whatever disillusions she harboured, replacing them with maternal fury.
Where was her son? What happened to him?!
The grip she had on the reins of her horse tightened so much that the leather that comprised them nearly tore at the seams. She hardly cared, her eyes blood-shot, and hair in disarray beneath her eagle-shaped helmet.
Nathan Huberts was feeling much the same concerning the safety of his daughter, but it was Eric who showed the biggest reaction. His face had completely paled when the army had passed a section of the forest and he saw the burnt apparel of the Vandele crest trampled into the ground. The fabric itself was exceedingly fragile after experiencing a type of heat unimaginable. The moment Eric had picked it up, it crumbled into ashes in the wind. Rage consumed him.
Unlike both Nathan and Anya who held onto the hope that their children were alive, the crest Eric had found was his personal crest that he'd given directly to his son on the day that Marteo was deemed a prodigy of the sword.
The fact that it was reduced to rubble meant only one thing. His son was dead.
It was the first time either Anya or Nathan had seen Eric explode with a cold fury. The quieter he was during the course of the journey, the greater his resentment became in Nathan and Anya's eyes.
Eric had stopped at nothing to gather the entire force of Noble Family.
Ballista were being hulled in the dozens, groups of High-Level Archers and disciplined soldiers marching in unison towards a common goal. They were out for blood. For vengeance.
Eric himself was personally leading the hundreds of cavalries he'd trained for years in his territory, never planning on using them unless in the case of an emergency. Yet at this point, he didn't care if he was weakening himself in the long run, making him a target for other aspiring nobles. Right now, all that was present in his mind was the annihilation of the enemy before him.
The Vandele forces combined with the Merdings and Huberts family Knights and retainers, swelled the army's numbers to a staggering ten-thousand strong even with the interference of a blue Lancer.
The Archers were lined behind the rows of Knights, but further ahead than the war machines stationed in the back protected by veteran Magic Casters.
The entire army was currently staring out at Camelot within the mountainside, a tense silence hanging in the air. Camelot alone was big enough to house the entire army of ten-thousand, so Anya, Eric, and Nathan had already decided to focus on a single area rather than spilt their forces thin.
In response, a single Knight stood before Camelot's wide gates, rows of Enforcement Knights barricading the doors in tightly knit defensive formations.
As if to give credit to the name of the 'Holy Kingdom' the light from the sun itself seemed to shine down upon the man guarding the gate with a confident posture and poise.
So long as he stood standing, then the gate would surely not fall.
From the distance, Anya and the rest could hear the shouts from the peasants and commoners that had taken refuge in Camelot calling out to a Sir Gawain in encouragement.
Anya scoffed.
Nathan furrowed his brows. No matter how he saw it, Camelot's walls did not seem equipped to deal with the offense of the catapults wheeled at the back along with the ballistae. At best, he could spot Knights running up and down the walls holding bows and arrows, but those would do little good against massive boulders raining down from the heavens.
By now Nathan understood the situation was irreversible with how intent Eric and Anya were, but more so when he spotted Duke Berferd staring at them from atop the walls.
The sight of their fellow Noble caused Eric's complexion to redden in rage.
If only Duke Berferd could have had just died quietly, then none of the current situation would have had been necessary. His son would not have had died either.
As the prelude to battle was continuing to intensify Eric and Anya began to organize the placement of the army before the attack. Nathan in contrast was shooting weary glances towards the hooded figures hiding within his camp.
If he had to name the specific reason everything had to happen as it did, it wasn't the fault of Duke Berferd like Eric assumed, but because of the actions of these individuals in the dark.
Members of the Eight-Finger, an underground syndicate whose primary base was situated in the Re-Estize Kingdom. They were using his connections with him as blackmail to goad his compatriots into a civil war in the south of Roble in hopes of profiting extensively from the slave trade.
Times of war were the best times to procure unsuspecting peasants in foreign lands, and the Eight-Fingers knew this concept well. Nathan did not how many of Roble's citizens that the Eight-Fingers had captured for trade in the turmoil of the Demi-Human invasion by the Shrush, but he was inwardly numb to it already. So long as his family was safe, then he could turn a blind eye to the misfortune of others. There was no way that he could stop the influence of the Eight Fingers by himself anyway, so he'd long since given up.
Being as the prospective slaves the Eight-Fingers wished to obtain at Duke Berferd's expense had all found refuge in the 'true' Holy Kingdom of Camelot, the representatives of the Eight-Fingers were not amused. To them, the Kingdom of Camelot was an eye-sore that had to be removed, leading to the current situation.
In fact, Nathan was keenly aware of something suspicious. Why was it that only the garments of Marteo Vandele were left behind when Marteo travelled with both Dillan and Elanor?
Should they not have found remnants of all three?
Nathan suspected that the members of the Eight-Fingers hiding in the Hubert Family forces had hand to play in Eric's situation. It was common knowledge at this point that the Vendele had secured the largest amount of military reserves in their current coalition. Of the ten-thousand in the army, over half were from house Vendele.
Realizing the truth in conjecture, Nathan shook his head and chose to feign ignorance much like Anya. Of course, Anya's ignorance was more because she refused to accept that her son was dead. Assuming that the cloth of the Vendele Crest that Eric had found was fake, then didn't that mean that the signs of battle in the area indicated that her son was dead too?
Anya was in a perpetual state of denial.
Nathan in comparison had some reassurance. There was life magic cast on his daughter from the work of a Magic Caster of the Hubert Family, and judging from what the specific Magic caster had told him, Elanor was still alive. Anya and Eric may have had employed similar means upon their children, but realizing that the Magic casters remained silent at their inquires, the two didn't want to delve further in at the time.
Tensions were running high.
The catapults had been set up at the back, yet despite seeing the threat that they posed, the Knights manning Camelot's walls appeared unperturbed. They hadn't even sent a unit of Knights to intercept the catapult teams and just chose to sit there like ducks to be hunted.
It infuriated Eric and Anya, but Nathan was feeling apprehensive.
Despite all the information he had tried to gather concerning Camelot, he could find nothing except for a single Legend found within an old tome by an author named Agra from house Vain; some noble house he assumed had fallen from grace and was lost from the history books. Mentioned only once in the tome, it concerned the disappearance of Roble's Holy Maiden in the Era of the Demon Gods.
When Evil and Dark come again, she would return with the splendor of a Valkyrie to save the citizens of Roble, erecting a Kingdom that would stand the test of time.
It was ludicrous and Nathan knew it, but staring at Camelot's white walls and the Kingdom it shielded within, the entire spectacle contained a regality that Nathan could only describe as sacred.
A Haven for the weak and troubled.
In perspective, he who had helped gather an army to besiege and trespass upon the tranquility before him was the true offender.
He couldn't help but think, were he and the others the Evil and Dark of Roble that the Legend had spoken of?
Just as he had thought about, he already knew that he was wrong. They were only the ants in comparison.
The ground shook.
Numerous Shadows suddenly loomed overhead such that they appeared like a black cloud to blot out the sun. Large in numbers, reptilian wings spread open, to encompass the very skies.
The wyverns that flew in the air were unlike the wyverns said to be tamed near the Baharuth Empire. Their bodies were blackened, a vile filth coursing through pulsating veins suffused with a kind of demonic energy that was unnatural, like a taint that sought to corrode all. Beneath them was a moving sea of monsters.
Worse, Nathan could hardly even identify them. Just as the wyverns above were covered in dark-wisp-like energy, the same was present on the approaching monstrosities. Many appeared to be a type of golem, while others resonated with the aura of Draconic might, the specialty of Dragon Tooth Warriors.
The endless sight of them caused the teams loading the boulders onto the catapults to freeze in place and drop what they were doing. They weren't the only ones, the common soldiers and Knights were the same, the din of clattering metals revealing the trembling of the common man.
It was a dark that that stretches across the land, encroaching and never ceasing. A plague. Remnants of the Demon Gods left buried within Roble.
Far more than just the ten-thousand soldiers that Nathan and the others had brought, the enemy appeared to number in the tens of thousands with how numerous they seemed.
"I-Impossible," dissension was already beginning to fracture the army apart, yet there was nowhere to run. None could escape the speed of a wyvern in the air or find a way to break out of the enemy encirclement.
Death had come, and all Nathan could see was the greed and indifference of humanity that had started it all. The hooded figures of the Eight-Fingers behind him were frighteningly silent, the scent of sulfur revealing that one of them had soiled their pants.
It was too late for regrets.
Eric and Anya in comparison were deathly pale.
Nathan closed his eyes, sitting still atop his horse as the sound of panic and the chattering of teeth echoed in his ears. Yet he would not fear. For if it was truly as the legend had said, then light would shine within the dark.
His eyes opened, his gaze moving not towards the army of monsters, but towards the white walls of Camelot.
"When darkness consumes the land, she will return again."
He kept the words in his heart, even as he and the others readied themselves for a battle against an adversary that they had no hope in defeating.