Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Lancelot, regaining his composure, straightened his posture, his gaze returning to calm as he pondered in quiet contemplation.

"To sacrifice himself to save others, to save Britain, was his choice, and it is the glory of a knight. There is nothing to be sad about."

The Knight of the Lake paused, his expression turning serious.

“His mission is complete. Now it’s our turn. Only by finding the thing that accomplished all miracles as soon as possible will his efforts not have been in vain. Therefore, please allow me to participate in the next operation and complete this unfinished great undertaking together!”

Lancelot pounded his right fist on his chest, pleading respectfully and resolutely. His chiseled, handsome face remained as still as a solidified marble sculpture, showing no sign of wavering.

It seems that Galahad's self-sacrifice did not move the Knight of the Lake much.

However, Artoria noticed that the fingers gripping the red-hilted sword had unknowingly dug their nails into their palms, leaving a thin line of crimson blood on the hilt.

The goddess hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a silent sigh escaping her lips.

The generation born into this world, including her, are largely isolated from normal families and most of them grew up in distorted environments.

Gawain, Agravan, Gahoris, and Gareth were sent to Morgan's side for education from a young age; Tristan lost both his parents at a young age; and Lancelot was an abandoned child raised by fairies.

The Knight of the Lake had never been a father before and didn't know how to get along with this unexpected son.

Therefore, to outsiders, Lancelot and Galahad are a very awkward father and son.

But some things are hard to say, and even more impossible to say.

Artoria gathered her thoughts and, under the guise of making arrangements, ordered her comrade, who was putting on a brave face, to go back temporarily and adjust his state of mind.

"In that case, Lord Lancelot, I would like to trouble you to return to your residence and recuperate. You will lead the team to set off early tomorrow morning to search for the Holy Grail."

Upon hearing this, Lancelot did not insist. He curtsied, then turned and left, clutching the red-hilted sword in his hand.

Under the dark red sunset, the figure, which was gradually lengthening in front of the steps, appeared lonely and desolate.

Afterwards, having escorted the Lesser Grail to Camelot, Bose and Percival, weary from their journey, were taken away by court servants to rest so they could recharge and join the procession the next day.

As night deepened, Artoria sat at the round table, quietly looking at the note that Percival had given her before his departure, in the flickering candlelight.

The Holy Grail, the covenant war for creation and rebirth...

Avalon, an ideal paradise secluded from the world...

The answers to everything are there.

So that's why you gave it to me, teacher...

The goddess's fingertips traced the ornate scabbard on the table, her golden-green eyes revealing a hint of something unreadable, and she murmured something as her lips moved.

As silence fell over the main hall, the night wind that had been swirling withered leaves outside the window also stopped at some point, and even the chirping of birds and insects ceased, leaving the courtyard eerily quiet.

Like a frozen painting...

Eee...

Under the cool moonlight, a graceful figure stood before the palace gate, seemingly out of nowhere.

"You came."

Artoria closed the scroll, her calm tone suggesting she wasn't surprised.

The visitor, arriving late at night, did not answer. His face was ashen as he stepped across the threshold, bringing a chill to the hall.

The surrounding space then visibly distorted, and the towering solitary tower transformed into a silent birdcage.

The goddess looked up and gazed quietly at the face that mirrored her own in the moonlight, her eyes clear and bright.

"Sister Wang, thank you for setting aside personal grudges and restraining your forces during this time."

"Thank me? Haha..."

Morgan's lips curled into a cold smile, and the surging ether stirred up a chilling airflow within the hall.

"If I hadn't been patient until now, I'm afraid I wouldn't have even been able to get through the palace gates."

Camelot boasts over 200 exceptionally talented Knights of the Round Table, along with tens of thousands of Chaste Knights, and the divine Lion King himself, making it virtually impregnable.

However, nearly 80% of the Knights of the Round Table are now scattered on expeditions in search of the Holy Grail.

Even the strongest, Lancelot, was sent away because of his grief over the loss of his son.

Now, this once towering building, surrounded by admirers, is isolated and empty.

The witch surveyed the deathly silent hall and the empty courtyard with a mocking expression.

The goddess sensed the surging malice, and her eyes revealed a clear understanding.

"So, you came here to..."

"kill you!"

The witch's eyes flashed with murderous intent, and her chilling whispers were like curses from the deepest hell. The magic wand she slammed to the ground unleashed a surging tide of ether.

Instantly, amidst the flashing light patterns, the air behind Morgan rippled like a mirror, and four fully armed figures passed through the teleportation spell, stepped onto the stairs, and proceeded side by side.

Clang…

The blade's sharpness was drawn inch by inch, its frost-like edge reflecting the cold moonlight!

The next day, outside the city.

The team, which had assembled early in the morning, began to check supplies and manpower in an orderly manner, confirm the route once again, and make final preparations before departure.

Looking around, the lineup is quite impressive, including most of the thirteen members of the Round Table, led by Lancelot, as well as several advisors, including Bedivere.

With the sun high in the sky and everything ready, a team of a hundred people was poised to set off.

Having completed his inspection, Lancelot rode his horse up the slope, tightened the reins with one hand, clenched his fist and pounded his chest with the other, and bowed his head towards the city's tower as a final farewell.

"All, move out!"

Then, the Knight of the Lake drew his fiercely sharp holy sword and swung his right arm forward.

The procession, in pursuit of the Holy Grail, galloped past in a mighty procession, stirring up clouds of dust.

On their way to Avalon Island, Tristan, Gawain, Agravivan, and several others who had been dispatched earlier had received Camelot's message and, traveling light from various locations, joined the team at the designated meeting point.

Along the way, the army continued to grow stronger.

It can be said that the essence of the Knights of the Round Table has been almost entirely encompassed.

Camelot's emphasis on the Holy Grail is self-evident.

After all, if they could not improve the situation in Britain, their only option was to launch a campaign against Rome to solve the food and land crisis.

The miracle brought by the Holy Grail is the last vine that this nation, which is undergoing a transformation, can grasp before it falls into the abyss.

Finally, after several days of trekking, avoiding human habitation, and traversing mountains and valleys, the group, under the setting sun and through the thin twilight, arrived at a lake shrouded in clouds and mist. They stopped and gazed at the center of the lake.

However, as far as the eye could see, there was only a vast expanse of darkness.

Lancelot pursed his lips, paused for a moment, and then took out the golden cup that shimmered faintly from the sealed box. He bent down, filled it with water, and tilted his head back to drink it down.

As the contents of the cup flowed down my throat, the water seemed to transform into a mellow wine, spreading throughout my internal organs. Every pore in my body seemed to open up, a cool, refreshing breeze blowing in from all directions.

Lancelot immediately felt as if his body, from the inside out, every muscle and every pore, had been washed clean by this strange power, becoming clear and refreshed.

At this moment, the fog that had been obscuring the view dissipated, revealing the outline of the island in the middle of the lake.

An ideal paradise isolated from the world, accessible only to the innocent.

According to Percival's account, Galahad's sacrifice, though not comparable to that of the Founder, was still a noble virtue that temporarily suppressed their evil, allowing them to pass through the gate and search for the Holy Grail lost on that ancient battlefield.

Seeing that the ritual's correctness had been verified, Lancelot turned back to his companions, nodded, and silently handed over the golden cup in his hand.

In the silent solemnity, the knights first bowed respectfully, then stepped forward one after another, picked up the cups with both hands, filled them with lake water and drank deeply, feeling the cleansing effect on their bodies and souls.

After several hours, the queue, which had been formed in a self-organized manner, finally completed its turn.

The knights paused for a moment, then bowed their heads and beat their chests in unison, paying silent tribute to the man who had sacrificed himself.

The knights then waded through the water, broke through the fog, and set foot on the island in the center of the lake.

The island was quite desolate, riddled with potholes and uneven surfaces. From a high vantage point, one could see almost everything at a glance, and there was clearly no Holy Grail to speak of.

That is because, according to revelation, the Holy Grail is not on the surface of the earth, but in the inner layers of the world.

The crowd then scattered, searching for the final door leading to their destination.

Moments later, a mournful whistling arrow shot into the sky, followed by a sharp explosion, and the knights immediately gathered at the source of the sound.

In the center of the island, a half-storied tree stump, seemingly struck by lightning, stood silently, its shape twisted and grotesque, emitting a faint glow. Beneath the rubble, gnarled roots spread like pythons, covering almost the entire island.

The marks left by this giant tree reveal just how magnificent and spectacular it must have been when it was growing.

We've finally found it! The gate leading to the inner side—the remains of a branch of the World Tree!

So now, only one last step remains.

Amidst the excitement and attention, Lancelot, as the leader, stepped back, pounded his chest with his right fist, and knelt on one knee in full view of everyone, silently contemplating a certain spot in the group.

"My king, we have arrived..."

Click...

Accompanied by the crisp sound of metal scraping and a series of astonished glances, an unremarkable dignified knight in the group removed his mask, letting his long golden hair fall loose, revealing a stunningly beautiful face.

His Majesty was actually in the ranks!

The knights were shocked by the unexpected appearance of the lonely king, who should have been residing in the tower.

"Sir Lancelot, thank you for your hard work. Leave the rest to me."

Ignoring the stares of others, the Lion King stepped forward and helped the inexplicably weary Lancelot to his feet. Then, he walked past the procession and stood solemnly before the charred tree stump, his right hand gesturing in a gesture of respect.

As the ether trembled, Artoria slowly pulled the sheathed golden-blue holy sword from the magic circle and inserted it into the tree stump, silently chanting in her heart.

The primordial void, without walls, cities, or nations; the primordial star shining deep beneath the earth; Avalon, the realm of reality—our ideal land, let it open!

The moment the sheathed holy sword pierced the remains of the World Tree, the earth trembled violently, and the dormant ley lines were instantly activated.

hum!

As the fairy script on the scabbard flickered and appeared, the gathered star breath and the surging stream of light rose up like a geyser, forming a gate of light in front of everyone.

The goddess, leaning on her sword and bathed in starlight, turned back in contemplation, her eyes calm and honest.

"My lords, ahead lies the battlefield of the gods, the place where the Holy Grail was lost. The dangers there are still unknown. If you do not wish to come with me, you may choose to withdraw."

"I swear to follow my king to the death!"

The knights solemnly pounded their chests and responded without hesitation.

Artoria pursed her cherry lips, said nothing, and immediately drew her sword and stepped into the radiant gate.

The knights followed closely behind, heads held high and chests puffed out.

Gods or demons, this body is my sword and shield, I shall clear the way for my king!

As the last figure disappeared into that light, the band of light that stretched across the sky and earth on Avalon Island gradually twisted and dimmed until it vanished into nothingness.

Meanwhile, Camelot.

As the last rays of the setting sun sank below the horizon, the deep darkness of night spread out.

A figure as dark as ink entered the main hall, paused for a moment, and then walked step by step up the steps. Its outstretched fingers grasped at the faint light emanating from behind the jade throne, and a silent sigh flowed between its lips.

It's time for everything to end.

However, just as the fingertip was about to touch the beam of light, the shadow suddenly stopped and slowly turned its head to look to the side.

"why are you?"

The witch emerged from the shadows, her face filled with disbelief.

"Can I not answer this question?"

The shadowy figure sighed and spoke helplessly.

"You're lying to me, Samael!"

Morgan pursed her lips, roaring with grief and anger.

Under the cold moonlight, the face of the "dead man" was clearly reflected.

Chapter 121 Reversal of Attack and Defense (1/5)

“Answer me, Samael, is everything you’ve said a lie? Is there ever any Holy Grail?”