Chapter Eighty: Restoring the Glory of the Knights

Kim Bradley spent more than an hour in conversation with Artoria. During that time, Ivan Vanko wandered aimlessly around the courtyard, bored out of his mind.

What? Why didn’t he investigate the peculiar energies that permeated the entire yard?

Ivan Vanko could only say that Kim overestimated him. This was simply beyond his abilities. The energy in the courtyard—whether due to its extreme inertia or sheer density—remained utterly unresponsive to his efforts. He struggled for quite a while but failed to stir even a trace; at last, he had to give up.

“Let’s go. Stop crouching there studying spiders,” Kim Bradley’s voice called from behind.

Ivan Vanko turned around, only to be dazzled by the crown atop Artoria’s head.

Kim Bradley sighed at the sight of Ivan Vanko, exchanged a few words with Artoria, and then led Ivan Vanko away from the courtyard.

“Master, the negotiations didn’t go well?” Ivan Vanko ventured.

“Not very well,” Kim Bradley admitted, at a loss for words. The Round Table Knights were barely more than a name now, but the alchemists fared even worse—only the two of them remained, and even then, their status was ambiguous at best.

Unequal status was bad enough; unequal strength was the real issue.

Armed with Avalon, the Sword of Promised Victory, and the Crown of the Unsetting Sun, Artoria was more than legendary—she was something beyond legend. The blessings these artifacts bestowed upon her were staggering; among the known figures of the world’s mystical circles, only the very elite were not utterly eclipsed by her.

“Master, with respect, do we really have anything to negotiate with her?” Ivan Vanko voiced the doubt he had harbored for a long time. Whether it was cooperation or employment, one must have the means, and theirs scarcely grazed the edge of hers.

“The Round Table Knights are, in some ways, much like us—hardly any members remain,” Kim Bradley said, his heart heavy. He had come hoping to find camaraderie, but it seemed he’d end up working for others at best.

“They tried to take on the entire mystical world single-handedly?” Ivan Vanko exclaimed in amazement.

Kim Bradley stopped, turned, and looked at Ivan Vanko. “They weren’t foolish enough for that.”

“It’s just that they couldn’t bear to see the once-mighty Empire fade, so they broke the rules, forced their involvement, and were dealt with by the Supreme Sorcerer of that time. Coupled with severe internal conflicts, the Round Table Knights all but disbanded after that clash.”

“The only reason they still hold a seat in the mystical world is due to King Arthur’s personal might. Their influence has dwindled, and now Britain’s mystical community recognizes the Clock Tower more than the Round Table Knights.”

“King Arthur’s return is to raise the banner anew—and to settle old scores.”

Ivan Vanko sighed inwardly. He had thought only Russia’s mystical circles had declined so severely; he hadn’t expected others to be in the same plight.

“So are we heading back now?” Ivan Vanko asked.

“No, let’s find somewhere to sit and wait for King Arthur’s notice,” Kim Bradley replied, still somewhat reluctant, but accepting reality.

“Wait for notice? Didn’t the negotiations fail?”

“Cooperation failed. We’re now in a hired capacity. She’s returned alone, short of manpower, unwilling to borrow from the Clock Tower or Ouroboros, so she can only turn to us.”

As Kim Bradley and Ivan Vanko departed, Artoria walked slowly through the dilapidated halls, her eyes filled with memories of former glory.

When I saw the banner of the Round Table Knights fraying, their members dying or departing, the order utterly fragmented, I knew that image would forever haunt my mind.

At that moment, I thought: If I could have another chance, I would win—all of it!

Now, the opportunity is before me!

I must consider whether this is the last chance in centuries to restore the Round Table Knights!

As the leader of the Round Table Knights, as the ancient King of Britain, all decline is my responsibility, every mistake mine to bear!

Today! I, King Arthur—Artoria Pendragon—declare:

To restore the glory of the Round Table Knights! It is my duty!

Artoria gazed into the distance, the crown atop her head radiant in the sunlight, the Sword of Promised Victory at her waist humming triumphantly.

A dazzling burst of light coalesced in the air, forming a banner—the banner of the Round Table Knights!

Its tip pointed directly toward the distant Kamar-Taj London Sanctuary.

On a nearby street, the shadow of a longsword shot skyward, beneath which a shining violet alchemical array flickered.

Kim Bradley, borrowing Artoria’s radiance, likewise proclaimed to the mystical world: The alchemists who once walked the abyss have been cleansed and return anew!

Within the London Sanctuary, the stationed sorcerers were unnerved.

The commotion outside was enormous—what was happening? It felt as if their home had suddenly gained two mysterious adversaries.

And their presence was so overwhelming; clearly, they were not to be trifled with.

“Have you reported to the Supreme Sorcerer?”

“Yes! She told us to stay calm inside the Sanctuary—it’s a historical issue! She’s negotiating with them now.”

“Historical issue? I’ve never heard of sorcerers causing such energy disturbances before. And their bearing—it feels nothing like sorcerers, more like knights from a story.”

“You ask me, who should I ask? As if I’d heard of this before. Quickly, check the archives, see if there’s any record.”

“Do you think… could they be from the Clock Tower or Ouroboros?”

At that, the two managers of the London Sanctuary exchanged uncertain glances.

If that was the case, it would make sense. When they reported to the Ancient One recently, they hadn’t encrypted the message.

Mainly, they hadn’t thought it necessary; who would expect much from a secretive sorcerer’s guild?

“Maybe… I’ll contact the other Sanctuary sorcerers, see if anyone can spare a hand—just in case the Ancient One doesn’t have time.”

One fell silent for a moment before speaking; clearly, he knew the Ancient One would likely see through their intentions.

They had only acted arrogantly because no one could replace them. After all, if they were killed, the Ancient One alone couldn’t oversee the entire world—with Dormammu, Odin, Mephisto, and all.

But now, it seemed there really might be replacements.

“Let’s wait. If this continues tomorrow, I’ll contact them,” the other manager said, still reluctant to forgo potential benefits. If they called for help now and the plan succeeded, their share of the spoils would be further diminished.