I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

But the firelight was bright, reflecting in her emerald green eyes, creating a vibrant beauty. Guinevere knelt by the campfire, her sword beside her, gazing at the dark forest ahead. Sleepiness washed over her, and she covered her mouth, letting out a lazy yawn.

Lighting a fire at night can easily attract wild animals and thugs with ill intentions, but both women are skilled in martial arts and don't really care about ordinary dangers. It would be best to find a village to stay in during their journey, but when they need to sleep in the wild, they take turns keeping watch, and today is no exception.

Before it was even completely dark, Guinevere had already gone to bed early. Five or six hours later, she was woken up by Artoria to relieve her on the second half of the night watch. Fortunately, she hadn't had any minor ailments like teeth grinding or sleep talking in either her past or present life. Plus, having learned swordsmanship from her father since childhood, her senses were sharper than most. She opened her eyes and woke up as soon as Artoria's footsteps approached. She wouldn't make any mistakes in getting up and cause her affection level to drop by one or two points... Although she wasn't sure if the person in front of her was a romanceable character, in any case, a higher affection level was never a bad thing.

"But I'm still growing. If I don't get eight hours of sleep every day, will I not grow to be 1.85 meters tall in the future?" With these messy thoughts running through her mind, she picked up a piece of firewood, poked at the campfire a few times, threw it in, then held her cheeks and looked at the flames, letting out a soft sigh.

In a sense, this life has been quite smooth sailing, though there have been a few unpleasant troubles. Overall, it has been mostly good. Among these troubles, I have long since let go of the fact that I was born as a woman. In the cycle of reincarnation, it is already a blessing that I was not reborn as an animal or a hungry ghost. To be picky and nitpicky would be a bit unreasonable.

Even though she felt that, apart from sharing the same name as the queen, the two were practically unrelated in terms of character – at least in her previous life, having read so many versions of the Arthurian legend, she had never seen a Guinevere with such formidable swordsmanship, let alone one who was connected to the Lady of the Lake of Avalon. But on the other hand, fate was a mysterious thing; who knew when she might marry King Arthur for various reasons? The thought always bothered her, but that worry vanished ten days ago. Now, her biggest concern was her height.

Even if I don't reach the ideal height of 1.85 meters, at least... I hope to be a head... half a head taller than some knight king.

Guinevere glanced back at the cave. Artoria should be wrapped in a blanket, sleeping peacefully inside. The cave was quite spacious, with some signs of human intervention, suggesting someone had lived there at least several months ago. Now, it was likely occupied by some wild animal as its den. The two had happened to pass by at dusk, and seeing that it was getting dark and dark clouds looming in the distance, suggesting rain in the latter half of the night, they decided to "borrow" the place for the night. It was fortunate they hadn't encountered the "owner." Although their skills wouldn't have made things difficult, it was always better to avoid trouble and conflict.

Lost in thought, she suddenly seemed to hear a sound. The sound was carried by the night wind, faint and indistinct, but she tilted her head and listened for a moment. In the red glow of the firelight, her expression turned serious.

That was a person crying for help...

Guinevere reached for the hilt of her sword, but instead of drawing it, she slammed the hilt and blade together on the ground three times. A response immediately came from inside the cave: "What's going on?"

This was their pre-arranged signal. If they encountered attackers like bandits, shouting would only raise their guard. Tapping a few times served two purposes: concealment and providing the other with an opportunity for a sneak attack—a righteous backstab. Surprisingly, the knight king wasn't particularly opposed to the idea of ​​a sneak attack—a righteous backstab.

"If the rules are set in advance, a fair one-on-one duel is fine. But in situations where one fights against many or the weak defeats the strong, it is perfectly reasonable to use strategy."

When Guinevere suggested setting up a code, she was a little worried it would be rejected, but after Artoria explained, she understood. Thinking about it, even the illustrious King of Knights couldn't possibly be the kind of inflexible, blockheaded person he was. It was she who had been too fixated on this still-unofficially-formed title, and thus failed to see the person right in front of her.

This is also a good lesson, she thought.

"Someone is calling for help. I'd like to go check it out, is that alright?"

She pushed herself up, hanging the sword at her waist as she spoke in a voice just loud enough to carry into the cave. The next moment, a figure moved within the cave, and Artoria appeared in her field of vision. She was still draped in a blanket, her hair slightly disheveled, as if she hadn't had time to fix it, but she already held a sword in her hand—not the broken Sword in the Stone, of course; the pile of broken swords was still in the shrunken cloth bag, kept by Guinevere along with several other bags. Artoria was now holding only an ordinary iron sword, given to her by Hector before she left. It wasn't very sharp, but it was sturdy enough, perfect for Artoria's use.

"go together?"

The wind howled through the trees, rushing towards them. The intermittent cries for help carried on the wind grew clearer, and the person making the sound seemed to be approaching. Guinevere shook her head: "I don't know what's going on yet. You and Ma stay here, I'll go check it out."

"it is good."

Without saying much, Artoria nodded in agreement and went to the campfire. She saw the girl dressed as a servant turn around, and a green leaf pattern appeared on the back of her left hand. With the help of a sudden gust of wind, she flew into the forest like a bird and disappeared without a trace after a few leaps.

The wind made the campfire, her clothes, and her hair sway from side to side. Artoria raised her hand to straighten her hair, but instead of sitting down, she stood by the fire, her brows slightly furrowed. However, after Guinevere left, the cries for help suddenly disappeared, and the world fell silent. Whether it was her imagination or not, the firelight beside her seemed to dim.

*******

"Help...help me..."

A small figure darted through the woods, running towards the direction of the cries for help. Though her steps were light, the whistling of her clothes startled several birds, creating a cacophony of fluttering wings. After a moment, the girl stopped under a tree. Something was irritating her skin, and she felt a strange threat and a sense of unease. She looked up; a crescent moon hung in the branches, its silvery light streaming through the gaps in the leaves.

Despite the bright moonlight, she looked away and, taking her current location as the center, saw that there was absolutely no light within five or six meters in front of and behind her; it was pitch black, so dark that she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face—this was not an exaggeration.

With just a stretch of his arm, half of it, up to the forearm, seemed to blend into the darkness, its outline completely obscured. At first glance, one might almost mistake it for someone having severed the other half of an arm, only the cut was smooth and there wasn't a drop of blood.

However, when he withdrew his right hand, the forearm that had disappeared immediately became perfectly intact again.

"save……"

The cries for help came again. But this time, the location was no longer clear. It seemed to come from far away one moment and near the next. One second it seemed to be in the far west, and the next it was right next to your ear. If the previous voice sounded like someone crying for help in a panic, this one sounded more like the protagonist in a horror story.

"Who's calling for help?"

As she asked the question, her left hand was already on the hilt of her sword. Her sword, if classified, should be a one-and-a-half-handed sword, also known as a hybrid sword, usable with both hands—although Guinevere remembered this type of sword becoming popular close to the Renaissance, as the saying goes, Britain at that time even had potatoes; dwelling on the differences from Earth's history was just asking for trouble—at that moment, her left hand pressed down, and before she could draw the sword, the surrounding darkness, like a sentient tide, suddenly surged towards her from all directions!

In an instant, her hands and feet, up to her elbows and knees, were swallowed by the black tide, followed by her thighs, shoulders, and half her body. As the blackness reached her heart, Guinevere found herself unable to feel her heartbeat. It was a truly horrifying scene—watching her body parts disappear one by one, as if a monster lurking in the darkness had opened its jaws and was slowly devouring her.

Without feet, there was no real sense of standing on the ground; the moment his arm was "swallowed," the sword he had been holding vanished completely. Before him lay endless darkness, with only hearing, and the increasingly faint cries for help echoing in his ears.

"...Help, help me..."

The voice was extremely weak, as if it might disappear at any moment.

Guinevere's expression remained calm, but her gaze suddenly darkened, and in the pitch-black darkness, a faint light suddenly shone—at first, the light was like a candle flame about to go out, but then it transformed into a clearly defined green leaf. The light spread like water from the center of the green leaf, illuminating the girl's slender hands and the jeweled hilt of the sword.

Swish!

As the longsword was drawn, a dazzling light appeared on its blade—Guinevere's sword strike was like a shooting star piercing the night. The blackness that had already swallowed most of her body suddenly began to fluctuate violently, with transparent ripples swaying in the air. Although there was no sound, the girl seemed to hear a scream that was indescribable.

But the ripples lasted only a moment. As she swung her sword, the surrounding darkness began to recede, revealing everything once more: soil, protruding tree roots, fluttering leaves, outstretched branches, the frosty moonlight, the girl's dusty little leather boots, and then her complete, slightly over 1.5-meter-tall body. She stood among the trees, sword in her left hand, lips pursed, quietly watching the "tide" recede into the distance.

It's a long story, but from the moment she sensed something was wrong and stopped, to the eerie darkness surging in, and her unleashing the power of the holy seal on the back of her hand to repel the enemy with a single sword strike, the entire process took only a few seconds. Now, the warning signs in her heart had disappeared, seemingly meaning the danger had passed, and for a moment, only two questions were swirling in her mind.

What just happened?

What did I just do?!

The moment the alarm bells rang in her mind, even though she didn't know who the enemy was or what was going on, she instinctively used all the means at her disposal—the holy seal and the sword—and swung it out. And then… it seemed… she had won? But… nothing was solved!

"Help... help..."

The weak cry for help came again, which brought Guinevere back to her senses, her emotions in turmoil. This time the voice was much clearer; the eerie, ghostly changes it had made earlier might have been due to the influence of the black tide. She followed the sound, but after a moment, she froze.

……

"Help, help me... Thank goodness, someone has finally come to help me... Kind sir, please forgive me for not being able to confirm whether you are a gentleman or a lady right now... Could you please do a small favor for poor old Talisin?"

The person who had been weakly calling for help the whole way, but was now speaking to her with overwhelming joy...

"...My head accidentally fell to the ground, right over there, the one you just kicked... Could you help me pick it up?"

It was a skeleton hanging upside down from a big tree, swaying and clanging in the wind.

P.S.: My writing room crashed three times while I was writing this chapter, each time taking away an average of 200 to 500 words... I'm exhausted. As usual, please recommend, favorite, and vote with monthly tickets!

Chapter Fifteen: The Mist of Cornwall (Part 2)

In the stillness of the night, deep within the dark woods, a stark white skeleton hung upside down from a tree, its body swaying in the wind, bones clanging against each other. The head, however, lay on the ground. As she approached, she accidentally kicked it away; it slammed against a tree trunk nearby with a "bang," bounced back, and finally came to rest at her feet, the two empty holes that should have been eyes staring straight at her.

The next moment, the head's two rows of teeth opened and closed, making a series of "click-clack" sounds. At the same time, an old man's voice rang in her ear: "...Kind sir, please forgive me for not being able to determine whether you are a gentleman or a lady right now...Could you please do a small favor for poor Talisin?"

clack clack clack-

"...My head accidentally fell to the ground, right over there, the one you just kicked... Could you help me pick it up?"

The clanging of teeth and the old man's voice rang out simultaneously, one fast and one slow, yet both stopped at the same time—a very strange sensation. Moonlight shone brightly, and after a moment, Guinevere sheathed her sword, rubbed her eyes hard, and then cautiously opened them a crack. The scene before her remained unchanged: moonlight, a secluded forest, and a skeleton hanging upside down…

"...Excuse me, are you still here? Or have you already left? Abandoned the poor, weak, and helpless old Talisin, and left this place alone?" *Click-clack-clack-clack, click-clack-clack-clack—*

And a talking skull.

It seems this isn't a dream.

Guinevere pressed her temples, constantly reminding herself that this was the moon, and anything was possible there. Besides, in her various creations from her previous life, there were many things even more outrageous than this. Let alone a mere talking skeleton, she had even heard of, seen, and used skeleton girls who could have a great harem with a hero and then have a bunch of children... Thinking about it this way, she suddenly felt that the old man in front of her who called himself Tarisin... the old skeleton, was not so scary after all.

The other person seemed to have a story to tell. If this were a game, you might even see a huge exclamation mark above their head—preferably a blue one with a plus sign, the kind that unlocks important features upon completion. Of course, this wasn't a game world, and although she was a transmigrator, she didn't have any system with her. The idea of ​​a quest was just a joke only she understood. Ultimately, Guinevere had never seen or heard of undead in this world before. Logically speaking, this old skeleton might have some hidden story, perhaps cursed or something else that turned him into this state.

Since that's the case, and the other party needs help, and I'm curious and have the ability, I might as well try to help. Even if it harbors ill intentions and attacks, with my skills, I'm not necessarily afraid of anyone. If all else fails, I can call upon a future Knight King; whether to leave or fight is still in her hands.

As the saying goes, skill breeds courage. Guinevere gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and after mentally preparing herself, followed the old skeleton's instructions and put the constantly cracking head back in its original place—a process that sounds simple, but was not so smooth in practice.

On the one hand, she was in her forties or fifties across two lifetimes, yet this was the first time she had ever touched a dead person's bones, so she couldn't help but feel apprehensive. On the other hand, just as she picked it up and hadn't even gotten a firm grip on it, the old man, Mr. Talisin, suddenly started praising her as "noble and kind," which startled Guinevere. She watched helplessly as the head slammed to the ground and rolled a considerable distance before she hurriedly chased after it, picked it up, dusted it off, and looked it over—thankfully, it hadn't cracked.

"Should we just... put it back?"

"Yes, yes, old Talisin will always owe you a debt of gratitude." *Click click click*

She held the skull in her hands, anxiously trying to catch it and put it back, but its body, hanging on the tree, swayed in the wind, sometimes left, sometimes right, sometimes forward, sometimes backward, and for a moment, she couldn't find the right spot.

"I think I felt like my left hand hit something... Is it just my imagination?" The skull in my arms clicked its tongue, sounding puzzled.

"That's my left cheek..."

Guinevere covered her slightly flushed cheeks and answered with tears in her eyes.

"Excuse me... Oh, it seems I hit something again. Could it be your right cheek?"

“…Did you do this on purpose?”

"How dare you!"

After a long while, she finally spotted an opening, and with swift reflexes, she reached out and caught the skull on the severed neck bone. It fit perfectly, and when she released it, it seemed glued in place, holding on firmly without falling. Upon closer inspection, the skeleton, perhaps because it belonged to an elderly person, had relatively tightly connected bones, but there were still gaps between the bones. Normally, hanging from a tree like this without anything to hold it in place would have caused it to crumble to the ground long ago; it was a mystery how it had managed to maintain its current state.

"That's fine... but it doesn't seem like anything has changed?"

"Well, it's a bit embarrassing to say, I got it backwards. Could you please do it again?"

"Okay, and... I'm sorry."

Then she removed the head that had been reattached, and holding it, she continued her battle of wits with the body swaying in the wind for quite some time—something completely incomprehensible without reading the preceding text—before finally managing to reattach it. A thin layer of sweat beaded on Guinevere's forehead. She crossed her arms, took two steps back, distancing herself from the skeleton in the tree, appearing nonchalant, but in reality, her entire body was tense.

If the skeleton showed even the slightest hostility, she was confident that she could instantly turn it from a skeleton into a pile of broken bones, swearing on the tuft of hair on the Knight King's head.

However, just as the old skeleton had said, it seemed to have no intention of repaying kindness with enmity. Once the head was reattached, the entire body stiffened abruptly, and then, deep within the two empty eye sockets, two pale white flames suddenly ignited. These flames were weak, like candles flickering in the wind, easily extinguished with a single breath. But as the white light appeared, Guinevere truly felt a gaze upon her.

"Ah..." The old man's voice was full of surprise: "I never expected that the one who saved old Tarlisin's life would be such a lovely and beautiful young lady... although not as beautiful as my daughter."

Guinevere gritted her teeth: "I'm suddenly starting to regret helping you."

Perhaps due to memories from her past life, she didn't pay much attention to her own appearance, much less feel jealous of other beautiful women. In fact, she was too busy admiring them to be jealous. Instead, it was the highly skilled knights who truly ignited her competitive spirit. Since mastering her swordsmanship, she had practically begged and pleaded with everyone in and around the castle who had a reputation.

The outcome was mixed. The knights who were inherently strong fared well, but some of the less powerful knights were so badly beaten that they lost their will to fight. They felt ashamed to continue serving the king after losing to a girl so much younger (shorter) than themselves, and simply went back to their hometowns to get married...

"Your Majesty! The little princess's swordsmanship has improved rapidly, beyond imagination. If she continues to challenge herself like this, Scotland will soon have no soldiers left to use!"

An unnamed knight named Clarke once advised Leo Doggran in this way. This advice may have been partly the reason why the King of Scotland hastily sent his daughter away upon hearing rumors of a sword being drawn.

But not caring is one thing, being told to her face that she is inferior to others is quite another. Her father always said that she looked almost exactly like her mother, whom she had never met. Although she had never met that mother—it seemed that she had a difficult childbirth and barely managed to save the baby, but the mother died—she had always respected the person who gave her new life. She herself didn't care about the skull comment, but in a sense, it could be interpreted as a judgment on her mother, which made Guinevere somewhat unhappy.

Seeing her frown, a pale flame flashed in the skull's eye sockets, as if it had sensed her mood. It quickly apologized. She didn't want to dwell on what the other person had said, so she nodded and let it go. Besides, the most important thing right now was to find out the origin of this old skeleton and why he had become like this. It was okay to mention other questions a few times, but saying more would just be a waste of time.

“I have a companion nearby. If it’s convenient, could you come with me? I’ll see how to get you down…” She hadn’t been out long, probably only about ten minutes, but she was worried that Artoria might also encounter that strange darkness. She had the Holy Seal’s protection, while Artoria only had an ordinary iron sword, and might not be safe. Secondly, she didn’t want Artoria to worry if she waited too long. Asking questions here would mean repeating everything back home; it would be much easier to bring the person over. Considering all these things, she questioned the skeleton while circling the tree, trying to figure out how it managed to stay suspended there without falling apart.

There were no ropes or anything like that. To her, the skeleton's leg bones seemed to be "stuck" to the tree branch. Was it some kind of magic? Curious but hesitant to act rashly for fear of causing serious consequences, she heard the old skeleton reply with a click, "Don't waste your energy. From the past to the present, and from the present to the future, old Talisin will be hanging here, hanging on this tree. It's an inescapable fate."

"But this head is the only exception. Fate has woven it this way: 'If someone can hear old Talisin's cries for help and come through the darkness to this tree, in that instant, old Talisin will be freed.'"

The skeleton, still headfirst, awkwardly grasped its own head, then with a "plop," ripped it off, cradling it in both hands and offering it forward. The two pale flames burning in its eye sockets extinguished the instant it left its body, turning completely black again, only its teeth still chattering: "Take me to your companions. As a reward for my freedom, old Talisman will tell you the whereabouts of what you are searching for—"

Guinevere did not reach out to take it.

She simply stared silently at those two empty eye sockets, her gaze lingering: "So... those two slaps I just took were for nothing?"

The wind rustled.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

P.S.: As usual, please recommend, vote, and add to your favorites~ By the way, the number of posts has suddenly decreased by more than half, which is making me a little panicked...

Chapter Sixteen: The Mist of Cornwall (Part Two)

"...My name is Talisin, and I used to be a somewhat well-known magician. But that was a long time ago. It's normal that you're your age haven't heard of me. Of course, I think most people should know me... Huh, never heard of this name? Don't know who Talisin is? Really? Your parents, elders, teachers, even once, no one has ever mentioned me? Hmm, I'm not disappointed at all, not even a little bit, hehehe, hehehehehe—"

In the dim firelight, several shadows fell on the cave walls, moving occasionally but mostly remaining still. A horse tied to a tree snorted, the wind howled like a sob, and Guinevere knelt by the campfire, looking with Artoria at the skull on the rock ahead, its teeth clicking and opening and closing—she had finally brought this suspicious-looking skeleton back, because leaving it on the ground was too inappropriate, and it wasn't easy to hold it in her arms, so she moved a rock of moderate size and placed the skull on it… It felt like this was only missing a pig's head and three cigarettes to complete the altar, but the latter seemed quite satisfied with this arrangement, thinking there shouldn't be any problems.

He briefly explained what had happened to Artoria, thinking she would be startled. But whether it was the future king's astonishing courage and appetite, or the general boldness of people in this era, after hearing her explanation, she was only slightly surprised. She was more concerned about what the sudden attacking darkness was. As for Mr. Skeleton himself, he accepted it quite normally.

"Compared to Merlin's usual behavior, this is nothing."

A simple sentence, yet it evokes a profound sense of sorrow, a feeling of having endured countless hardships and a past too painful to recall.

I wonder what kind of person this Flower Magician is, whom I've never met but whose name and deeds I've heard about in many ways. That she could make all those people I've met so far, who are now or will be remembered in history—Artoria, her father Leodogran, Hector and his son Kai, etc.—show such complicated expressions when they talk about her.

However, Guinevere also understood that this type of person was often synonymous with trouble, and the safest choice was to stay as far away as possible and never have anything to do with them for the rest of her life. But now that she was involved with the Knight King, whether or not to avoid him, and whether or not she could avoid him, was largely out of her control. She would just have to take it one step at a time... These thoughts swirled in her mind, not really being considered seriously. She would just occasionally drift off into thought, looking at the flickering flames before her, blinking, and then snapping back to reality.

Just then, I overheard the skeleton man saying, "When I was young, I studied magic under a druid. Later, I spent over twenty years traveling all over Britain. After returning from Ireland, I sailed to the other side of the sea... I spent some time in that empire. The magic there is different from the druidic tradition; it has its own unique aspects. I benefited greatly from that time. To take it a step further, I converted and was baptized. I lived in a church for a few years, but unfortunately, a small problem arose, and I was kicked out..."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "That day was a crucial moment in determining whether I would be promoted to bishop. I was so nervous that I didn't sleep well all night and was a bit sleepy. As a result, I accidentally mixed up the points during my sermon and ended up talking about Druidic doctrine for the entire morning..."

Guinevere blurted out, "They didn't kill you?"

"Crackling, crackling... Almost, almost, I was barely clinging to life." Mr. Skeleton chuckled shyly. *I wasn't praising you...* She rolled her eyes and looked to the side. Artoria also had a blank expression, wanting to retort but unsure where to begin. The conversation continued: "After I couldn't stay in the Empire, I returned to Britain, just as Vortigern was bringing the Saxons in, about to engage in a decisive battle with King Uther..."

Vortigern and King Uther.

The difference between these two titles implicitly reveals one's stance.

Although she didn't know if it was intentional, upon reflection, he seemed unable to determine which side they were on, which could potentially backfire. If he spoke with certainty, it meant this old skeleton was no ordinary person and possessed genuine skill. Guinevere smiled slightly, remaining silent as she listened to the sound accompanying the clicking: "Back then, I was young and impetuous, at the peak of my arrogance. I got into an argument with an old friend over something… Looking back now, I think I was tricked."

"After arguing for a long time, and then provoked by his words, the two of them made a bet—among all the magic tricks I've learned, the one I'm best at is prophecy and divination. The bet was based on this... to predict who would win between Vortigern and Uther, and what the fate of Britain would be. The loser... would commit suicide on the spot."

“Why bother?” Guinevere sighed softly. “So, you… lost?”

The skull shook its head—a simple action for an ordinary person, but for a single head, it became a strenuous full-body exercise. The stone, hastily moved, was not very flat to begin with, and when it shook, it hit an uneven spot, almost sending the entire skull flying. Fortunately, Artoria was quick-witted and caught it in time, preventing the old man from experiencing the "head rolling" sensation again.

She released him, her forehead covered in cold sweat. Guinevere muttered, "Just say it properly, no need to make such a fuss." Mr. Skeleton chuckled awkwardly, and the previously serious atmosphere suddenly became strange. After a moment, the skeleton sighed, "Let's not talk about the outcome of the bet. Although I used some method to avoid the result, I'm still hanging on by a thread, and as you can see, I've become skin and bones. And until I met this kind little girl, I was trapped in that darkness, a living hell..."