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

"Okay, jokes aside, you really did a great job just now. Wow, you used to be a snotty-nosed little boy who would cry at the drop of a hat, but you've become so clever and sensible without me even noticing. Time is such a wonderful thing."

"I've already said I'm not that age anymore..."

As she spoke, she reached out to touch Lancelot's head, but he dodged her with a strange expression. This repeated several times, and perhaps finding it amusing, her smile grew even brighter. After a moment, Lancelot seemed to finally give up resisting, obediently lowering his head and letting the female magician rub it a few times. As soon as she removed her hand from his head, he quickly glanced around, thankfully no one had seen what had happened.

“You’re still the same as always.” Lancelot smiled wryly. “But, Merlin, it seems you’re in trouble too. Although I had some idea beforehand, those people from earlier, apart from Prince Fisher and that blue-haired woman, are probably not very useful… including that famous Fisher King, he’s too weak.”

"That's a truly merciless assessment." Merlin's lips curled into a smile, but then, as if remembering something, he gradually suppressed it.

"Leaving aside the others, Perez has had a tough time. Despite lacking talent, he shouldered responsibilities far beyond his capabilities, and naturally, he had to pay the price. It's a miracle he's survived. The Poseidon's Halberd is not something mortals can easily dabble in..." She spoke the last sentence very softly, almost to herself, so much so that even Lancelot beside her didn't hear her clearly. Merlin let out an "Ah" and shook his head.

"It's nothing. Anyway, I still want to thank you for your cooperation. With another option, some nobles should be able to keep quiet for a while and stop causing trouble in secret. Heh, we can't push them too far..."

The wooden staff tapped gently on the ground, making a soft, rhythmic sound. Merlin's expression was hidden in the shadow of her snow-white hood, as if she were deep in thought. Lancelot stood to the side, silent, watching her quietly. After a moment, however, he suddenly hesitated.

“Merlin.” His eyes flickered, then slowly darkened. “Where is the new king who is rumored to be the savior of Britain? He shouldn’t be in that tent from earlier.”

"Arthur is currently undergoing a test in North Wales. If all goes well, we should receive news from there in a few days. So, are you interested in him?"

"I want to challenge him."

"reason?"

“For a knight, challenging a strong opponent doesn’t require any special reason,” Lancelot replied. But after a few seconds of eye contact with Merlin, he awkwardly looked away.

The female magician's lips curled up, but there was no hint of mockery in her voice: "Lancelot."

"What...what happened?"

"I take back what I said earlier. You really are still that stubborn and unyielding little brat from back then."

That's prejudice!

"Then let's leave it at that. Don't worry, you'll have a chance to challenge Arthur, but not now. You probably won't be able to stay here for too long either. Once you go back and discuss it with Ban and Bors, if they haven't changed their minds by the time we meet again, I'll personally preside over the knight challenge."

"It's a word."

“Of course. But before that, I’d like to introduce someone to you—” Merlin changed the subject, but then suddenly stopped.

"Introduce someone? Who is it..." Lancelot was about to ask when suddenly the words caught in his throat. His expression changed, and his white-gloved left hand dropped down to grip the hilt of Aarondette's sword. He turned his head and looked in a certain direction, his gaze filled with deep vigilance.

“What is that… a beast? No, this feeling…” His fingers on the sword were trembling slightly, his heart filled with astonishment. Even when he faced a giant more than ten meters tall during Vivian’s combat exercise, he had never felt such a powerful sense of pressure.

Like an electric current shooting through him, his body trembled uncontrollably. Yet, the overwhelming pressure before him made him almost draw his sword, Aarondet, several times, but he restrained himself at the last moment. He was like a bowstring stretched to its limit, sword in its sheath, ready to unleash a perfect strike at any moment.

But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find the source of this oppressive aura. Before him was a peaceful, everyday scene: soldiers came and went, nobles in high-class attire occasionally strode by, and the distant neighing of horses could be heard. Looking around, he couldn't find anything unusual, yet the overwhelming aura was so real. The conflict between his senses and his vision gave Lancelot an indescribable sense of absurdity.

"what happened……"

"As expected, I knew you could sense this aura." Merlin, standing to the side, lifted his hood and scratched his hair as if in a bit of a headache.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a little complicated to explain... Simply put, there's a rather troublesome guy living in this camp for various reasons, and what's most frustrating is that he's completely oblivious to it, let alone trying to tone it down. So I need your help with a small favor... Look over there, isn't there a blonde girl? Guinevere, over here, come here for a second—"

As she spoke, the female magician raised her hand and shook it. The other person seemed to notice her, smiled and waved a few times, then said a few words to the old man next to her before walking quickly over.

She was a woman with a lovely smile, a round face, long, flowing golden hair, and a simple, belted dress. She also had a sword at her waist. From her gait, the calluses on her hands, and other distinctive features, it was clear that her outfit was not just for show.

The young woman was undoubtedly an excellent swordswoman, and her appearance perfectly suited Lancelot's tastes. However, at this moment, the romantic French knight had absolutely no time or inclination to appreciate these external things.

As the girl named Guinevere approached quickly, her tangible aura of pressure swept over him, as if the entire world had sank and dimmed. He involuntarily took half a step back, his palm gripping the sword already drenched in cold sweat without him even realizing it.

"Merlin, did you need something? Hmm, who is this...?" Guinevere tilted her head, looking at the man whose behavior was strange and suspicious.

But she heard the other person mutter to themselves—thanks to the Wind Mark, this soliloquy was also transmitted to her ears without missing a word: "Is it... a dragon in human skin?"

"what!?"

P.S.: My Fate/Grand Order report is two days late: First, I got Ereshkigal from the three lucky bags, even though I was trying to spend money on them but never got it. After getting nothing, I finally got Hokusai the next day using the New Year's gift charm... I have mixed feelings.

Chapter 159 The Secret Sword I Created (Part 1)

"So, in other words, I've actually been unconsciously... releasing what's called pressure on the surroundings all this time?"

Guinevere repeated what Merlin had just said, and seeing him nod, her expression suddenly became somewhat strange.

She couldn't help but raise her right hand towards the sun overhead. Sunlight streamed through her outstretched fingers, hitting her eyes and causing a slight sting. Not long ago, this hand had been covered in smooth, black scales, and her fingers had briefly transformed into sharp claws.

Although that time when she was just a step away from becoming a monster is gone, it is still vivid in her mind. Especially because of a certain snow-white figure, this memory, in addition to the unease hidden in her heart, also contains a little bit of secret joy that she cannot tell others, as well as the guilt that follows.

She had initially thought that after passing the trials of the Arena of Fate, Fafnir's dragon power would be temporarily over and have no further impact. However, according to Merlin, the matter seemed far from over. At least in terms of utilizing this power, she appeared to still have many shortcomings.

“Completely lacking self-awareness? I suppose so.” Merlin smiled. After greeting the guards, she led Lancelot and Guinevere out of the camp and to a quiet, secluded open space. A gentle breeze blew, and only the woman’s slightly hoarse voice could be heard: “So let’s first briefly explain what this so-called pressure, or what people often refer to as aura, really is.”

"As we all know, regardless of the school of magic, any magic requires the use of magic power." Merlin raised his index finger and casually twirled it a few times in mid-air, still speaking in a leisurely tone: "And magic power is divided into two types: the great source that fills this world, and the small source that is generated within living beings."

"Except for a very few, the vast majority of magicians—whether human or non-human—draw magical energy from the world when performing magic, converting the large source of magical energy into a small source of magical energy that they can also use. Although it is not impossible to directly use small source magical energy, this practice is tantamount to suicide. Unless it is truly a last resort, almost no fool would do it."

Guinevere had already heard Terenas mention these things when she first received the Wind's Mark. Although Terenas approached her with ulterior motives, she was extremely serious and rigorous in her teaching of magic, rarely holding back. It was during that time that Guinevere gradually built up her foundation in this area.

Thinking of that figure, now only a memory, a slight pang of melancholy stirred within the girl for some reason. But she quickly regained her composure and continued listening to Merlin say, "However, the connection between the Great Source and the Small Source is not merely this—"

Following this, the female magician spoke of things Guinevere had never heard of before, nor even considered: "Magic is essentially life force. The Great Source Magic is the life force of this planet, this atmosphere, while the Lesser Source is the life force of an individual. Since this is the case, and since these two can be converted into each other to some extent, could we also do the opposite, using our own magic to influence the external Great Source Magic? Long ago, an unnamed magician proposed this idea, but over the long years, he and his many successors tried countless times, all ending in failure. And after the death of the last apprentice, this idea seems to have disappeared into the annals of history."

"However, by chance, I learned about this idea. Although it was full of all sorts of childishness and absurdity, it was undeniably an extremely interesting idea, so I spent a long time trying to improve it a little."

"The reason this idea failed at first was because the sorcerers were too fragile—even those with divine blood flowing through their veins, and those who were themselves fantasy species descended from the Age of Gods, could not directly influence the Great Source with their own small source of magic. There is a fundamental difference between the two, a world of difference, which cannot be easily made up for by any artificial means. After arriving at this conclusion, I tried to slightly change my approach."

Even though Merlin spoke in a relaxed tone, Guinevere, who had some knowledge of magic, could easily imagine the astonishing things the man before her had accomplished behind those seemingly casual words. Perhaps it was a high wall that had once kept countless brilliant minds out, but had been quietly crossed at some unknown time.

“It might be hard to understand just by saying it like that. Come on, Lancelot, demonstrate it for her.”

After the female magician finished speaking, she took a step back, making room. Lancelot frowned and glanced at Guinevere again. The girl, noticing this, immediately glared back defiantly. She certainly wouldn't bother giving a friendly look to someone so rude from the moment they met.

Especially since the other party is Lancelot.

What kind of "flower of knights" is this? Look at this face, he's much uglier than Gawain, not to mention the number one on her list of handsome men, "Two rabbits running side by side" Gaholis—he's obviously not suited to wearing a skirt.

She criticized the Knight of the Lake in her mind, completely based on her own opinion, while on the surface she just smiled. But Lancelot's expression changed as if he had seen some kind of monster, and he looked away.

It was as if he were looking not into the eyes of a beautiful young woman, but into a monstrous dragon baring its teeth.

“This mortal is quite insightful to know that he has reverence for our Lord.”

Clausolas's voice echoed in his mind, and at the same time, the sword at his waist vibrated.

"Shut up."

Guinevere, her face dark, reached out and silently shoved the small section of her sword blade back into place.

"Yes."

Hearing her own divine swords' methodical, calm, and unwavering reply, she shook her head. "None of them are easy to deal with..." the girl muttered to herself. When she looked up, she saw Lancelot slowly drawing his sword from his waist.

The sword was drawn, its fleeting, cold light seeming to chill the surrounding temperature. This sword is named Arondette, also known as the Lake of No Regrets. It shares the same origin as Gawain's Cycle of Victory and Artoria's Excalibur, all coming from the inner sea of ​​the planet. They are not ordinary weapons, but divine weapons forged by the planet itself.

Whether in the various legends of her past life or in the occasional stories she hears now, this sword always plays a significant role in tales of knights displaying their might across the sea. But seeing it in person is a first for her. Guinevere has close ties with the other two holy swords, one of which has been with her for many years. At this moment, upon seeing it, she immediately felt a strange sense of familiarity with Arondette.

The sunlight shone on the sword's edge, causing it to sway and ripple like a calm lake, revealing a captivating beauty amidst the subtle ripples.

With Lancelot holding his sword, his aura suddenly changed. If before he was just a slightly tall, seemingly unapproachable knight, at this moment, Guinevere felt she couldn't find a good word to describe that feeling.

His body remained standing in the same spot, but his soul, using the sword in his hand as a medium, expanded in the blink of an eye, covering the space from all directions, as if every slightest movement in this small world, every rustle of wind and grass, contained Lancelot's will.

Guinevere felt a chill run down her spine, as if she were surrounded by countless sharp swords, with no way out. She suddenly looked down at the green leaf pattern on the back of her hand—almost at the same moment Lancelot drew his sword, she had also lost her connection with the Wind Mark without warning.

A similar situation has occurred before.

It was when she was trapped on the shallows of Shichi, forced to fight alone against a gun-wielding shadowy figure resembling a Kuran Hound. It was then that she first revealed her hidden dual swordsmanship to Artoria. It seems like only a short time ago, yet in retrospect, it feels so distant, almost unreal.

But it's different from that time.

After losing her connection with the wind, Guinevere felt for the first time something truly permeating her surroundings.

"This is……"

It's unclear what method Lancelot used, but now this open space seems to have been completely incorporated into his domain, making the girl feel like she has thorns in her back and unable to move an inch. At the same time, another force is being stimulated and is stubbornly resisting this enormous pressure that has fallen from the sky.

Before she could completely loosen her grip on the hilt, she suddenly exerted force, causing the sword of light to sink downwards.

The wind blew her long hair up and down, making it shimmer like a golden ocean.

Then, the pitch-black flames silently ignited, enveloping the girl's petite figure before instantly turning into countless ashes and scattering away, revealing only her restrained pitch-black armor, her dark red cloak billowing high, and a fleeting glimpse of dark golden light in the position of her eyes on the dragon-shaped helmet.

Without Fafnir using it, the power he left behind activated on its own and transformed into a complete suit of armor.

Guinevere narrowed her eyes slightly.

In her eyes, one invisible ripple after another originated from herself and spread outwards, colliding with something in the air and stirring up layers of violent ripples.

"Try to break through Lancelot's suppression within five minutes—"

Merlin's voice had just rang out.

The two people present made their moves simultaneously.

……

P.S.: Unfortunately, I caught a cold again, and my brain is completely muddled. They say if you get a minor illness during the Lunar New Year period, you'll be healthy for the whole year—that should be a good omen… Achoo!

That's it. Let's see if we can resume daily updates. Remember to vote, vote, vote!

Chapter 160 The Self-Created Secret Sword (Part 2)

In both her lifetimes combined, this was the first time Guinevere had ever witnessed such an aura firsthand. Lancelot drew his sword, and like an invisible giant net, it enveloped her from all directions before she could react. However, in front of her, there were also rings of transparent ripples emanating from her, like prey caught in a spider web, struggling incessantly, yet becoming increasingly entangled and finding it harder and harder to escape.

This can't go on... A slightly anxious feeling flashed through her mind. Merlin seemed to have said something beside her. She heard it, but it hadn't entered her mind yet. However, the threat she felt was so urgent that her body and mind tensed up to the extreme in an instant. Her hand on the hilt of the sword sank down, and with a flash of cold light, the cracked blade slashed through the air in a dazzling straight line.

Lancelot, seemingly with a casual gesture, blocked the sword strike that seemed to pierce the sky. A sharp sound rang out, sparks flew, and Guinevere flipped her wrist, causing the sword of light to clash with Arondette once more. Then, she paused, spun around, and, seizing an opening, unleashed her third sword strike without mercy.

Although she didn't yet have a precise grasp of Lancelot's strength, there was no doubt that as one of the top Knights of the Round Table, he should at least be on par with Gawain and Artoria, and perhaps even a step above them. Add to that the invisible net that had already been laid out—though she didn't fully understand its function—and her subconscious vigilance was enough to make Guinevere abandon all reservations and go all out from the start. Although she didn't wield two swords separately, the three consecutive sword strikes—one forward, one backward, and one turn—were actually a killing technique personally taught to her by the King of Scotland.

Lancelot's gaze darkened slightly, and he also swung his sword twice. The first sword strike did not use much force, thwarting Guinevere's plan to use her strength. With no one to rely on, the third sword strike that followed was inevitably somewhat less fast and powerful.

And that's not all—the girl thrust her sword at the opening in her opponent's side, only to see Lancelot step aside, his sword held horizontally, steadily catching the swift, wind-like strike. The girl watched as her sword bent slightly from tip to back, then straightened perfectly. She retreated, a question flashing through her mind: "Just now, that spot should have been a blind spot…or did he intentionally create an opening to lure me into attacking?"

But that's a bit too presumptuous.

It should be noted that Leodogran's swordsmanship is renowned for its speed. Whether using a single sword or two, his movements are as swift as the wind and his style is flexible and unpredictable. Even if the opening is a trap intentionally set by the opponent, a barrage of attacks can often turn the deception into reality.

That's why, even Artoria doesn't dare to show any weakness during sparring sessions. Perhaps only when Gawain is under the midday sun and at his peak can he do so without fear of making a fool of himself.

Lancelot's sword, however, is quite different from the previous two.

He was tall and in his early twenties, the prime of his life. In a contest of strength, Guinevere seemed to be at a great disadvantage. However, after the girl unleashed the power of the dragon, although she was petite, in terms of strength alone, even if she could not compare with a real dragon, she was far stronger than an ordinary adult male. Every time the two swords clashed, she actually gained the upper hand.

For a fleeting moment, Guinevere clearly saw a hint of surprise on Lancelot's face, as if he hadn't expected to lose in terms of strength to a seemingly delicate little girl. But her advantage ended there; no matter how fiercely she attacked or how she moved to find openings, she couldn't completely overwhelm Lancelot.

The sword in the latter's hand, just like its well-known nickname—the Lake of No Regrets—was a silvery-white light that rippled like water, creating countless waves. No matter what incredible direction, angle, or timing Guinevere's sword attacked from, it could always get ahead and steadily block the inevitable path of the attack.

Seemingly unremarkable, her defenses were impenetrable and seemingly unbreakable. However, the more they clashed, the stronger the feeling of being bound became, until one moment, Guinevere's swordsmanship suddenly changed. Her previously swift and fluid attacks abruptly faltered. She struck again, her sword meeting Arondette's blade—

Then place it on the next floor.

"what?"

Lancelot was slightly taken aback, feeling a strange force transmitted through the exchange of swords, causing his body to sway slightly to the side, though not very noticeably. But the girl withdrew her sword and advanced again, and he raised his sword to block once more. The sunlight flickered, the shadows of the trees dappled, and the shadows of man and sword swayed constantly. That indescribable, strange force returned, and Lancelot took a half-step back, his center of gravity tilting even further.

"This is... a vortex?"

He realized what was happening and was about to retreat, but just as the thought crossed his mind, another sword came hurtling towards him. It wasn't too fast, but Lancelot's body hadn't recovered from the previous shock. Seeing the attack coming at him, he couldn't dodge it and could only raise his sword to parry once more.

With a thrust and a flick, the two longswords overlapped and then separated. Guinevere took a light breath and looked at her opponent, who had been caught in the "vortex." Just as she was about to continue her attack, the purple-haired youth in front of her suddenly swayed and somehow managed to adjust his center of gravity back. Aaron Dett swung his sword, whether intentionally or by chance, and struck a tiny opening that the girl had inadvertently revealed. She hurriedly parried with her sword, but caught off guard, she felt a sharp pain in her hand and her entire right hand went numb. A cold light flashed, and she had already retreated several steps, creating distance.

As the distance widened, Guinevere pursed her lips, refraining from further attack, and decisively sheathed her sword. She opened and closed her fingers several times until the tingling sensation finally lessened. As she sheathed her sword, Lancelot lowered his hands, sword tip pointing to the ground, and the inexplicable oppressive feeling around them vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.

A gust of wind stirred up the dust at her feet, scattering it far and wide, while a few leaves twirled and danced in the air. The girl watched this scene quietly, a hint of doubt in her eyes. "How much time has passed?" she asked after a moment.

Merlin smiled: "Exactly five minutes, no more, no less."

"What was that feeling just now?"

"Domain, or aura, you can choose any word you like to call this thing. As I said before, most beings, when using magic, first transform the unusable Great Source Magic into a Lesser Source Magic that resonates with them before they can cast spells. However, some people, led by that nameless sorcerer, attempted to do the opposite, using their own Lesser Source Magic—that is, their own life force—to influence the omnipresent Great Source. But as it turns out, this idea itself is not feasible, because the difference between the two types of magic is too great. Even dragons or the once-powerful gods could not influence nature with their own magic alone."

"This isn't a matter of quantity, but rather a difference in quality prior to this. But now that we know the reason, solving this problem isn't difficult—if individual magic can't influence the great source, then we'll rely on something that can. For example—"

"Arondette".

Gazing at the renowned sword, its gleam as clear as water, Guinevere answered softly.

"Exactly."

Merlin smiled and nodded: "After many attempts, I've discovered that divine weapons, or rather, the few divine weapons I've encountered so far, can all achieve this effect. Of course, even with this intermediary, not everyone can use this magic. Ultimately, those who can obtain and skillfully wield divine weapons are all heroes of their time, which diminishes the value of this magic somewhat. But at least, it's no longer an impossible fantasy."