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

When the lion-like Gawain swept his impassive gaze across the gathered crowd, it took him only a moment to lock onto the lone stranger on the battlefield—Richard the Lionheart. Without any superfluous dialogue or concern for the condition of Lancelot and the other Knights of the Round Table, he focused entirely on his target.

On this crumbling, massive platform, as everyone plummeted downward, Gawain drew his Revolving Sword of Victory. Using a fragment of rock as his foothold, he charged ferociously toward Richard the Lionheart!

With Gawain's arrival, the nameless battle escalated to its peak intensity.

Two of the most powerful Knights of the Round Table in this singularity had appeared on the same battlefield, fighting side by side against a common enemy.

BOOM!

Unlike Lancelot's refined swordsmanship, Gawain's assault was a storm of blazing flames. In an instant, he engulfed Richard the Lionheart, Lancelot, and Mordred in a sea of fire. The intense heat melted the rocks and evaporated the atmosphere in mere moments.

The massive platform, already fractured by Gawain's forceful entry, lost a third of its volume, leaving only a few precarious footholds for Alaric and the others. The battlefield grew increasingly tense.

But Gawain paid no heed. Like a lion, he leaped into the still-raging inferno.

Clang!

Clang!

The chilling sound of swords clashing tore through the fiery blaze, piercing the heavens.

Richard the Lionheart fought fiercely against four Knights of the Round Table, clashing across hundreds of meters within mere seconds. To Alaric, this spectacle was the very definition of what it meant to be a Servant—a combat far beyond the terrifying battle he had experienced with Vlad III.

Fueled by immense magical energy, Richard managed to hold his own against three knights simultaneously, but Gawain's arrival tipped the already uneven scales further against him.

Against the combined might of Gawain, Lancelot, Tristan, and Mordred, even Richard the Lionheart stood no chance of mounting a defense.

Slash!

A glint of cold steel flashed, accompanied by a spray of blood.

Richard and the other knights reappeared in the distance, battered and worn. Alaric saw that Richard's once-noble cloak was now tattered, his light armor in ruins, revealing an unprotected body covered in wounds—some so deep that the bone beneath was visible.

This devastation had occurred within mere seconds of Gawain's arrival.

Despite his dire state, Richard showed no signs of panic. Instead, he smiled at Gawain and the others.

"Truly worthy of the illustrious Knights of the Round Table, whose names echo through history! But is this how you display your so-called loyalty—to a false king?"

At the mention of the "false king," Gawain's expression remained unchanged. He moved to pursue Richard but froze momentarily upon noticing the transformation of Richard's weapon. His face darkened.

"As the King of Rebels, there's nothing more to be said. We Knights of the Round Table exist to eliminate all uncontrollable threats for the Lion King."

"Yet you betray the King you once served. How tragic," Richard retorted with a smile.

Before Gawain and Lancelot could strike again, Richard raised his holy sword high.

At the same moment, flames erupted.

"!?"

A wave of foreboding washed over Alaric. Instinctively, he looked down. Beneath the shattered platform lay an abyss—a hellscape of flesh and blood.

Alaric and the others were falling toward this horrific scene.

In that instant, clarity struck Alaric like lightning. The mystery of Richard's endless magical energy was solved.

It wasn't purely from leyline magic. No, it came from a horrifying source—a human battery farm of refugees and Crusader knights.

The hellscape below wasn't just a blend of chimera experiments; it was a grotesque engine designed to supply Richard with limitless magical power, enabling his continuous use of Noble Phantasms.

Such unspeakable cruelty!

Realizing the critical nature of the situation, Alaric took decisive action.

Screech!

Overloading his Dragon Heart, he unleashed an enormous surge of magical energy, transforming into a streak of crimson lightning. He bypassed Richard, Lancelot, and the others, heading straight for the hellscape below.

Activating his Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, Alaric began to trace the lines of death permeating the hellish construct.

Despite the strain overwhelming his mind, Alaric pushed on, focusing entirely on the death lines he now saw.

And there it was: the death of the flesh-and-blood hell.

The grotesque monstrosity, sensing danger, retaliated. Chimeras crawled forth, unleashing devastating attacks, while tendrils shot toward Alaric.

But he was faster.

Driven by all his remaining energy, Alaric performed an attack of godlike speed—a single, decisive strike!

The crimson lightning illuminated the abyss, slicing through the blood-chimeras and their defenses. Within the cascading debris of the shattered platform, a radiant light—brighter than the sun—began to shine.

Above, the battle reached a fever pitch. Gawain raised the Excalibur Galatine, its flames burning away all impurities.

"This sword is a replica of the sun. Its flame shall cleanse all the impurity of this world.!"

Mordred's furious roar followed:

"This is the evil sword that destroyed my father...!"

Blinding red lightning intertwined with the radiant solar flames, illuminating the battlefield.

Alaric, meanwhile, focused solely on his target—the death of the blood-hell.

No matter its regenerative powers, its vast lifespan, or the countless lives it consumed, Alaric's strike would end it.

Crimson lightning surged forward.

Alaric drove his blade into the heart of the monstrous construct.

"Death—manifest!"

In an instant, the blood-hell writhed violently before succumbing to its fate.

Above, the clash of Noble Phantasms erupted.

"Excalibur Galatine!"

"Clarent Blood Arthur!"

"Excalibur!"