Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King's Personal Knight

Credits: hyoi

"Bedivere isn't Father's—"

Mordred blurted out instinctively but was quickly silenced by Agravain.

"Mordred, be quiet."

"So, it seems that everyone here knows this Bedivere. He must be quite a renowned knight. Is that your justification, Sir Alaric?"

The Lion King's cold gaze swept across the room, finally settling on Alaric.

"That is my justification. I await My King's judgment," Alaric replied firmly.

As soon as Alaric finished speaking, the Lion King's calm voice echoed through the hall.

"I see. Raise your heads, Sir Alaric, and Sir Gawain. But keep your knees on the ground, for you do not need to rise anymore."

From the Lion King's palm erupted a radiant brilliance—a light signifying the end of the world, the dazzling glow of the world's terminus.

Facing that blinding light, Alaric felt as though the very fabric of reality unraveled. The essence of the world's edge, represented by the Tower that pierced the inner and outer realms, unfolded before him—a dreamscape eternally out of reach.

Boom!!

The torrent of light roared, tearing through the throne room in an instant, streaking across Camelot's night sky like a magnificent comet. It pierced through the pristine white walls of the city, leaving a colossal gap that exposed the outside world.

The resounding explosion echoed throughout Camelot, startling every citizen of the Holy City. Back in the throne room, a massive breach now opened to the outside, leaving the knights stunned.

"How enviable... To receive even a sliver of the King's sacred lance—what an honor," Tristan murmured, his tone devoid of sorrow and filled instead with admiration for such a blessing.

However, the reactions of the other two knights were markedly different. As Alaric and Gawain were blasted out of the throne room, Agravain's face turned pale with alarm.

"Sir Gawain... Sir Alaroc! Mordred, how are they?"

Even for Knights of the Round Table, a direct strike from the King's sacred lance was nearly impossible to survive. With the critical battle against the Sun King approaching, the loss of Alaric and Gawain would be a significant blow.

Mordred rushed to the edge of the breach and peered into the distance.

"Haha, don't panic, Agravain! Let me take a look— Ah, as expected of Gawain! He's the most resilient of the Round Table. Look at him—what a mess! He didn't just crash through the city wall; he flew all the way to the outer walls of Camelot."

"Hmm? What's up with Alaric? Is he... dead?"

Mordred furrowed her brows, genuinely surprised by what she saw.

Her words left Agravain and Tristan equally stunned.

"What?! Mordred, are you sure?"

Agravain exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief.

Alaric wasn't like them—he wasn't a heroic spirit but a living knight, personally appointed by the Lion King. As a successor of the Round Table, Alaric carried immense potential and the King's expectations. Could someone like him have been slain by the King herself?

Mordred leaned forward, her voice tinged with doubt.

"Wait, did I see that wrong? It looks like... he's alive again. What's that guy up to?"

...

Outside Camelot's outer walls, the massive alabaster structure had crumbled under the devastating impact. Alaric and Gawain lay amidst the rubble like broken dolls, their injuries horrific.

Even Gawain, known as the Knight of the Sun, bore near-fatal wounds from the attack. As for Alaric—his limbs were twisted, and large swathes of his flesh vaporized, exposing cracked, white bones beneath. His injuries far surpassed Gawain's.

But Alaric wasn't focused on his wounds. Unlike the battle against the Lionheart King, his consciousness hadn't drifted into a dreamlike realm. Instead, he lay there, gazing at the starry sky as a man.

'Ah, the moon... It's so beautiful,' he thought, his unfocused eyes reflecting the glowing orb. Though Gawain lay nearby, the sun hadn't risen. Only the cold moon hung high in the heavens.

As faint wisps of gray mist dissipated, Alaric felt his still dragon heart start beating again. Familiar pulses of vitality flowed through his body as magic circuits reawakened, repairing shattered bones and scorched muscles.

His survival instincts honed to perfection, drew mana from the Holy Grail to heal him at a frightening speed. His body worked without conscious direction, greedily absorbing the Grail's magic to sustain life.

At that moment, Alaric's existence was as fragile as a candle in the wind. Even an ordinary refugee armed with a magical artifact could kill him. But that vulnerability was fleeting. With each breath, his revived dragon heart unleashed unparalleled vitality, rapidly closing his wounds.

The speed of his recovery was almost inhuman, a feat possible only with the Holy Grail's aid. Without it, the time and mana required for Alaric to recover would have been monumental.

Alaric struggled to his feet amidst the rubble. Spotting Gawain's battered form, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Sir Gawain, you look so pathetic!"

"Did you truly not betray the King?"

Gawain asked weakly, trying to rise despite his injuries.

"Of course not. If I had betrayed the King, would I have returned for punishment?"

Alaric extended a hand to help Gawain, but seeing the knight's condition, he abandoned the idea.

"Sir Gawain, I must return to see the King. It seems you won't be joining me."

Retrieving his damaged sword, Alaric noted the deepening cracks on its blade and chuckled.

"Then go, and offer my apologies to the king," Gawain said, watching Alaric's retreating figure with a faint smile.

...

When Alaric returned to the throne room, his gaze met the Lion King's piercing eyes.

"I've returned, my king," Alaric announced, drawing a deep breath. Before he could say more, Mordred interrupted.

"Wait, aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Mordred examined Alaric from head to toe, searching for any trace of the lethal wound inflicted by the sacred lance. But Alaric's body was entirely healed, leaving Mordred empty-handed.