—Thank you for everything, Gobann —I said to the blacksmith, who cheerfully raised a hand to wave us off.
Rachel and I stepped out of the shop. My display highlighted the 180k credits I had left. I wouldn't brag about it, but I needed 300k to buy the weapon Gobann had promised me—a path that meant I wouldn't be upgrading myself at all for quite some time.
I let out a long sigh.
—What's wrong, Tris? You should be happy. That weapon is incredible, I can tell —Rachel said, genuine joy shining in her eyes—. Once you unlock its Star, you'll be a tough opponent, even among Silver and Gold.
—You really think so?
—You've got the potential —she confirmed, proudly thumping her chest—. You just lack confidence.
—You're not the first to tell me that.
Rachel's breathing halted, as if she were staring at something incomprehensible… or perhaps insurmountable.
My gaze followed hers immediately.
I couldn't blame her.
The scene before us was straight out of a film.
At the center, a beautiful man with golden hair and noble bearing walked forward, clad in fine blue soft armor, a cape flowing with each step. To his left stood a young knight in green armor with bronze accents, a matching black cape at his back. At his waist rested a sword identical to Arthur's—though somehow less radiant.
And to Arthur's right walked a handsome man with long black hair tied neatly into a ponytail, clad in armor as blue as lagoon water, with a white cape like drifting clouds. Even beside his king, his nobility did not diminish.
—Tris… the one in green is Sir Gawain. The one who once bore Excalibur. And to his right… the one in blue—
—Lancelot —I said.
She only nodded. Slowly, she stepped behind me, half-hiding from the glorious figures.
—Rachel? What are you doing?
—Are you kidding, Tris…? —she pleaded, her eyes almost begging—. I can't let my king see me like this… in pajamas… in rags.
—Rachel, I don't think that's—
I don't know how it happened.
I don't think even Rachel could have prevented it.
When I realized what was happening, I was already in the air.
Instinctively, I let go of my axe. As if I knew I wouldn't be able to use it… or feared doing so. My hands gripped tightly around the wrist that held me aloft with terrifying ease.
—How dare you…? —a man's voice hissed.
He looked astonishingly similar to me. Pink armor. A blood-red cape. Crimson eyes burning into mine with fury. His wavy red hair outshone my false auburn tone.
There was no doubt.
He was the real Sir Tristan.
—I— —I tried to respond, but panic, dread, and the much stronger hand squeezing my throat prevented any sound from escaping.
—You're nothing but a commoner! A nobody! —he raised his fist.
My body froze.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel equally unable to react.
I simply braced myself for the painless blow that was surely coming.
—Sir Tristan, it's not worth it —a melodic voice intervened. Almost feminine in tone, yet carrying a masculine elegance capable of captivating even the finest poetry.
It was Lancelot, holding his free hand.
—You shouldn't strike lower ranks. At least not outside the games.
—But this fool impersonated me! My name is a disgrace because of him! —he spat, staring at Lancelot while still holding me in the air.
—That's enough, Tristan —Arthur's voice rang out, firm.
The young knight clicked his tongue and dropped me.
Pain didn't exist in the corridors of the Nexo, but the shock left me frozen.
Rachel sighed in relief.
Lancelot, however, looked at me with a complicated expression.
"Regret."
"Pity."
"Sorrow."
A hand extended toward me.
The golden-haired king had knelt to offer it.
Clumsily, I took it.
How naive I was.
I thought the king of kings was noble.
But he was just another bully.
I couldn't move. His mere grip paralyzed me with fear. My muscles refused to respond. Only my eyes trembled as the noble king transformed into a rancid hunter in a matter of seconds.
"I see… is that why Lancelot…?"
—Now then, let us become acquainted, Mr. Nobody —Arthur said smoothly, still holding me in place—. Who authorized you to use the name of one of my knights?
No words came from my mouth.
Perhaps it was shock.
Lancelot looked away.
My namesake seemed satisfied.
Gawain looked troubled… perhaps saddened.
I didn't dare look at Rachel.
I didn't want to know which side she stood on.
—Let him go! —her shout shattered the tension.
Lancelot closed his eyes, as if wishing to vanish.
Gawain let out a low whistle, as though something had excited him.
Sir Tristan looked at her with pure disdain.
—Lady Rachel —Arthur pronounced calmly, without releasing me—. I did not see you. Perhaps it is those unworthy garments of yours. Please do not dishonor my lineage in such a manner.
—Why…? Let Tris go…
Fast as the wind.
That was the only way to describe it.
A slap meant to cut through the air was stopped by someone who shouldn't have been there.
A man who imposed as much—if not more—presence than Arthur.
Gripping the wrist of the red-armored knight, who struggled to break free, stood Saladin.
Dressed as always—light shorts, a shirt patterned with horses, and the unmistakable crescent necklace at his chest.
—How dare you…?
An even faster slap followed.
Saladin disarmed the red-haired knight with ease, forcing him to his knees.
Ignoring him completely, Saladin stepped forward and gripped Arthur's forearm tightly.
For the first time, the king's stoic expression cracked into genuine irritation.
—Control your pets, little prince. No one touches my Ashabi.
—Filthy Kurd! Who do you think you're laying hands on? —Gawain snapped, reaching for his blade—only to be stopped by Lancelot, who shook his head.
Arthur did not escalate.
He released me and forcibly shook off Saladin's grip.
Rubbing his wrist as though he had truly felt the pressure, he turned his back on the sultan.
—Rachel… you should choose your company more carefully.
She lowered her head in shame.
The knights followed their king, each wearing a different expression—Lancelot shadowed, Gawain irritated, Sir Tristan almost disappointed.
They disappeared.
—Are you alright? —Saladin asked, offering me his hand.
I hesitated.
—Relax. You're my Ashabi, aren't you?
—What is…?
—Friend —Rachel answered quietly, her voice heavy.
—Right —I said, finally taking his hand. He pulled me up firmly.
Saladin bent down and picked up my axe.
He admired it briefly before handing it back.
—Nice weapon. Don't drop it again when you're attacked. Especially not around that group.
—But… doesn't the system prevent fights outside trials?
—Not if you're Platinum —he crossed his arms—. Or worse… protected by "The One Who Loves Conquests."
—How do you know?
A sly smile curved his lips.
—Because I am too.