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Chapter 84: ’Arthur Vs. Lancelot’

Chapter 84: ’Arthur Vs. Lancelot’

The Dead Forest loomed like a nightmare, its skeletal trees stretching twisted limbs toward the starless sky. Beneath the cold moonlight, their shadows warped across the bloodstained earth. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, the stench of rot, and the earthy scent of damp soil. Even the faint rustle of leaves seemed muted by the grim atmosphere.

Arthur stood opposite Lancelot, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. Sweat slicked his pale face, and the sluggishly bleeding stab wounds Florian had inflicted earlier painted dark streaks down his clothes. His legs trembled faintly beneath him, though he fought to remain steady.

Lancelot tilted his head, a smirk curling his lips as he rolled his shoulders, muscles taut and ready. His gleaming sword reflected the eerie light. "So, let me get this straight..." he drawled, gesturing lazily between Arthur and the lifeless body of the rogue leader sprawled nearby.

"Both of you—big, scary criminals—got stabbed by a little prince, and now you’re here trying to fight me?" He chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "That’s just pathetic."

Arthur’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Fury flashed in his dark eyes, but his knuckles whitened around the hilt of his blade, betraying the exhaustion creeping into his limbs.

"Shut your mouth," Arthur spat, shifting his stance despite the tremor in his hand. "You talk too much."

Lancelot’s smirk deepened. "And you bleed too much."

Without warning, Lancelot lunged forward, his sword a blur of deadly precision. The sudden burst of movement forced Arthur to react instinctively. Steel met steel with a resounding clang, the impact rattling up Arthur’s wounded arms. His teeth clenched against the pain, but he retaliated with a wild slash aimed at Lancelot’s side.

The knight sidestepped effortlessly, his footwork fluid and graceful. Arthur’s blade whistled through empty air. Lancelot’s eyes gleamed with cold amusement as he ducked low and drove his elbow into Arthur’s ribs with brutal force.

A choked gasp escaped Arthur as he staggered back, breath knocked from his lungs. Pain exploded through his chest, but he gritted his teeth and raised his sword again.

Lancelot didn’t give him a moment to recover. He pressed forward, his strikes swift and relentless. Each blow forced Arthur on the defensive, sparks flying as their blades clashed. Arthur’s breaths came in ragged pants, his vision blurring at the edges.

Snarling through his pain, Arthur summoned his magic. The ground trembled, and sharp wooden branches erupted from the soil, shooting toward Lancelot’s legs like venomous fangs.

But Lancelot was faster. He twisted mid-air, narrowly evading the deadly spikes, and landed gracefully beyond their reach. His boots skidded on the blood-slick ground, but he maintained his balance.

"Nice trick." His smirk widened, eyes gleaming with adrenaline. "But not enough."

Arthur’s breaths hitched as he struggled to summon more branches, his magic faltering under the weight of his injuries. Lancelot saw the opening and capitalized on it without mercy.

With a burst of speed, Lancelot closed the distance. His blade was a whirlwind of motion, cutting through Arthur’s waning defenses. Sparks flew as Arthur’s sword barely held against the ferocious onslaught. A downward strike nearly tore the blade from his grip, forcing Arthur to his knees.

The rogue’s shoulders sagged as he fought to remain upright. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth. He tried to raise his sword again, but his limbs felt like lead.

Arthur was faltering. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs trembling from blood loss and fatigue. His magic sputtered out, the branches he had summoned crumbling into lifeless wood that littered the forest floor.

Lancelot seized the moment. A brutal kick to Arthur’s knee sent the rogue crashing down to the ground. His blade gleamed under the pale moonlight as he pressed it against Arthur’s throat.

"You’re done," Lancelot growled, his voice low and cold.

Arthur’s chest heaved, sweat slicking his face, but defiance still flickered in his dark eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might simply collapse into unconsciousness. And then—he laughed.

A low, rasping laugh that grew louder, raw and almost hysterical.

Lancelot’s brow furrowed. "What the hell is so funny?"

Before Arthur could answer, a frantic voice cut through the tension.

"Commander!" One of the Arcaniors sprinted toward him, panic sharp in their tone. "His Highness—he’s been poisoned! He needs immediate attention!"

Lancelot’s blood turned to ice.

’Fuck.’

He whipped his head toward the Arcaniors. Their glowing hands hovered frantically over Florian’s body, trying to stem the poison’s spread. The prince lay limp on the forest floor, his face pale as death, breaths shallow and labored.

Arthur’s laughter intensified, jagged and mocking. "Finally kicking in, huh?"

Lancelot snapped his gaze back to Arthur, his eyes darkening with fury. "What?"

The rogue’s lips curled into a sinister smirk. "You really think we took a hostage just to keep him safe?" His voice was hoarse but laced with triumph. "We’ve been poisoning him from the start. That clueless prince never noticed—the torch in his prison and even the food we gave him were laced with poison."

Lancelot’s fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. "You poisoned your own hostage? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Arthur’s grin widened, a sick sort of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Insurance," he hissed. "If you didn’t come for him, he’d die anyway. If you did... well, this is how it ends."

A burning rage ignited in Lancelot’s chest, spreading through his veins like wildfire.

"You bastard," he snarled.

Arthur opened his mouth for another taunt, but Lancelot didn’t give him the chance.

With a savage punch, he knocked Arthur unconscious. Blood sprayed from Arthur’s lip as his head snapped to the side, and he crumpled to the ground, motionless.

Lancelot stood over him, breathing hard, fury radiating off him in waves. He pointed sharply at his knights, who were already corralling the remaining rogues, their faces grim.

"Secure him," Lancelot ordered, his voice dangerously low. "Alive. We’re taking him back."

The knights saluted and moved swiftly to bind Arthur.

Lancelot turned and strode toward Florian, his steps quick and resolute. His heart hammered against his ribs at the sight of the prince’s fragile form. The boy’s lips were tinged blue, and his body trembled with fever. Each breath was a shallow gasp, as if his lungs were fighting against the poison flooding his veins.

Lancelot knelt, gathering Florian carefully into his arms. The prince’s head lolled against his shoulder, his weight unsettlingly light.

"Stay with me," Lancelot murmured under his breath, his voice taut with worry. "You hear me, Your Highness? Don’t you dare check out now."

The Arcaniors hovered beside him, their hands still glowing faintly. "Commander, we’ve slowed the spread, but it’s only temporary. We need a proper healer—now."

"Then we’re moving," Lancelot barked, his tone brooking no argument. His dark eyes flickered back to his knights. "We’re leaving! I want every rogue accounted for. Double time!"

The battlefield was eerily quiet now, the last echoes of combat fading into the rustling of dead leaves. The rogues who remained alive knelt on the blood-soaked ground, trembling under the weight of their defeat.

There was no hesitation. The knights secured the prisoners and formed up around Lancelot.

Florian’s faint, labored breaths rattled in Lancelot’s ear. His grip tightened around the prince, his jaw clenched against the rising panic clawing at his chest.

’Not on my watch,’ he vowed silently. ’You’re going to make it, Florian.’

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