The next day, on the vast plains outside King Leodegrance's castle, the King of Knights, her betrothal secured, prepared to return immediately to her kingdom.
"Princess Guinevere, must you really go through with this fight?"
Under a clear blue sky with white clouds, banners fluttered in the wind. Dozens of knights stood arrayed behind the King of Knights and Guinevere.
This was both a farewell and a continuation of the agreement made at last night's banquet. Since everyone, including the King of Knights and Guinevere, had drunk a bit too much, their duel had been postponed.
"You are no knight," Guinevere replied to Merlin's question. Mounted on her tall horse, the smiling beauty wore light attire with a sword at her waist. "You wouldn't understand that for knights, the clash of weapons is the best way to bare one's heart."
Though her retort was laced with sarcasm, it drew hearty laughter and approval from the knights on both sides.
When two knights clash, their true character is often revealed through their combat style.
"Exactly! We'd also like to witness Her Highness Guinevere's skill," one knight added. "Besides, the King and Her Highness are already betrothed. This is practically a family matter—a friendly spar won't harm their relationship."
From drawing the Sword in the Stone to nearly pacifying all of Great Britain, the King of Knights had gathered an ever-growing number of followers. Among them, the most respected were Gawain, known as the "Knight of Maidens," and Lancelot, the most virtuous of all knights.
At this moment, Lancelot was absent, Kay was still drunk, and the King of Knights had already ridden ahead. Thus, it fell to Gawain to smooth things over for Merlin with a smile.
He couldn't help but feel that overnight, the future Queen—who smiled at everyone except Merlin—had only deepened her prejudice against the mage.
After speaking, the handsome knight with short, golden-gray hair reined in his warhorse, watching as Guinevere followed closely behind the King of Knights, riding further ahead.
In his eyes, his petite King remained cold and imposing, her aura flawless. And Her Highness Guinevere, his future Queen, faced the King's battle intent—forged from hundreds of wars—yet remained unfazed, even eager for the fight.
"Impressive," another knight murmured. "Is this the Knight Princess of King Leodegrance, the one who's also undefeated in a hundred battles? No wonder she has the confidence to challenge our King repeatedly."
"Bedivere, you seem to hold this Queen in high regard," Gawain remarked.
Bedivere, like Gawain, was one of the earliest knights to follow the King of Knights. However, his martial prowess was weaker, so he rarely commanded troops alone. Instead, he often served as the King's Attendant Knight.
In essence, wherever the King went, he was almost always there.
As the King and Queen—whom they were all beginning to accept—exchanged the formal courtesies of a duel on horseback, the knights fell silent.
A gentle breeze swept across the plain, rustling the hand-high green grass. After creating some distance, both the King of Knights and Guinevere dismounted.
"I didn't bring a lance. Shall we fight on foot?" Guinevere asked.
"Fine."
"I'm curious about your Sword. Will you be using it?"
"Fine."
"How about a smile?"
"Fin-"
The word "fine" died on her lips. Dismounting, the King of Knights—lost in thought until now—finally snapped back to the present. Last night, Merlin had warned her, but Guinevere's performance in the banquet hall had already left a deep impression.
Now over a hundred meters away, certain the other knights couldn't overhear their conversation, the King of Knights spoke.
"Guinevere, do you truly know that I am a woman?"
Ever since she drew the Sword in the Stone, the King of Knights' body had ceased to grow. From that day on, her life had been nothing but war. And terrifyingly, her talent for it was so extraordinary that her knights needed only to follow her charge.
As a result, she lacked genuine communication with them, seeing only their adoration. That scoundrel Merlin, while teaching her statecraft in her dreams, had conveniently neglected to instruct her in the nuances of human relationships.
But the King of Knights merely lacked understanding of the human heart; she did not lack a heart. If she didn't understand, she simply needed to learn.
In the gentle breeze, Guinevere met the King of Knights' gaze. Memories of the King's story from her past life flashed through her mind. She smiled. "Of course. And I happen to like women. You are the most remarkable woman I have ever met."
She didn't understand the human heart, but she certainly possessed one. Praised so directly by Guinevere—who looked both more mature and more beautiful than her—the King of Knights' breath hitched, and she fought the urge to look away.
She tried to twitch her facial muscles, attempting to form a smile that hadn't graced her face since she drew the sword. After two seconds of effort, she gave up and declared solemnly, "I am Arthur Pendragon, son of King Uther, the destined King of Great Britain."
"I know."
Hearing this, Guinevere's radiant smile faltered. She sighed, drew her own longsword, and assumed a serious stance.
The sword was 1.23 meters long, 12.7 cm wide, and 4 mm thick—the finest knight's blade in the Kingdom. Yet compared to the Star-Forged sword, Excalibur, which Guinevere had already glimpsed resting on horseback, this sword paled in comparison.
Meanwhile, seeing that Guinevere understood her meaning, the King of Knights revealed a natural smile, as radiant as the spring sunlight. Guinevere's eyes widened, her heart pounding, until the King of Knights dismounted, retrieved the knight's longsword Guinevere had already seen, and drew it from its scabbard.
"So beautiful," Guinevere breathed.
The blade was free of dust, rust, and even the slightest chip. Its hilt and guard were inlaid with brilliant gold. As Guinevere breathed her praise, wind gathered around the King of Knights' hand, completely concealing the sword within it.
This made it seem as if the King of Knights—having completed the display and assumed a stance with both hands clasped before her—was merely gripping empty air.
"This is a blessing I carry," the King of Knights said. "Please allow me to face your challenge with my full strength."
The King of Knights was a deeply earnest person. In her mind, concealing the blade was a greater sign of respect for Guinevere than revealing it, especially since she had already shown the Iron-Cutting Sword. For a truly powerful being, even that brief glimpse was a significant concession.
"Of course," Guinevere replied. "I will also give it my all."
She took a deep breath, shifting her mindset to combat mode. In an instant, a frenzied magical energy, tinged with the scent of blood, began to pour from her. Under the morning glow, it seemed to dye her hair red.
Without a System or knowledge of magecraft, and knowing the kind of world this was and the fate that awaited her, Guinevere could only rely on her decent natural talent and training harder than anyone else to force herself to grow stronger.
Born from the same battlefield carnage, Guinevere's bloodthirst and the King of Knights' noble and awe-inspiring aura diverged into completely opposite paths.
When Guinevere unleashed her magic and launched an attack against the King of Knights, the King's knights stirred slightly. Gawain and Bedivere, who had just been praising Guinevere, fell silent.
Only Guinevere's own knights erupted into loud clamor, their cheers surging with varying intensities, yet all carrying the same bloodthirsty, frenzied magic that mirrored Guinevere's own.
"Merlin, don't you have anything to say?"
"The Princess Guinevere I know shouldn't be like this."
While the knights were suddenly filled with concern, Merlin, who should have been gloating over her misfortune, was instead thrown into disarray. He wondered if he had misread the situation or if King Leodegrance had another daughter named Guinevere.
Seeing Merlin's confusion and emotional turmoil, Kay, who had sobered up, fell silent after asking the question.
They all turned their gazes back to the battlefield, and their affection for Guinevere surged anew.
Guinevere's magical aura was bloodthirsty and frenzied, yet her fighting style remained exceptionally rational. After their initial clash, she focused primarily on evasive maneuvers and probing attacks.
The frenzy couldn't control her.