The Helmut estate sat within the very heart of Camelot.
In less than ten minutes, Artorius arrived at the front of the manor with his contingent of knights. The high, thick perimeter walls loomed over them like a miniature fortress.
Though situated within the Royal City, the estates of these high nobles were all designed as secondary citadels. No sooner had Artorius reached the gates than a shout erupted from atop the high wall.
"What is the meaning of this?! This is the Helmut—"
The man never finished his sentence. A knight behind Artorius drew his bow and released in one fluid motion. With a sharp whistle of displaced air, the sentry's body toppled from the heights and crashed into the mud below.
Artorius raised his black sword. A vortex of wind began to coil around the blade, and he swung it toward the heavy, reinforced manor gates.
The howling gale tore forward, obliterating the thick timber and iron fittings in an instant.
"Leave none alive."
The knights behind him flooded into the estate like a breaking levee. Within seconds, the frantic shouts and agonized screams of the Helmut servants and soldiers echoed from within.
Artorius waited until the last of his knights had entered before stepping into the manor himself. The grounds were already a charnel house. The bodies of servants, soldiers, and even knights were strewn across the courtyard; the torrential rain was unable to wash away the thick, cloying scent of blood that pooled on the cobblestones.
"Artorius, how dare you—?!"
A man's furious roar erupted from a short distance ahead.
Artorius, who had been looking down at a corpse, raised his head. A Helmut knight was locked in combat with one of Artorius's men, screaming at him even as he parried.
The roar was cut short. Ryan appeared behind him, swinging a massive axe downward. The blow cleaved through the knight's neck and shoulder, sending his head spinning into the air.
The head bounced twice and rolled to a stop at Artorius's feet.
While the Helmut family's overall influence was greater than that of Sir Ector's house—and their total number of knights far superior—the Helmut lands were far from the capital. Jayn had only brought a small portion of his personal guard for the Selection Ceremony. In terms of raw numbers currently within the city, Artorius held the absolute advantage.
Moreover, with the knights brought by Lucan and Bart joining the fray, the three combined forces were utterly steamrolling the Helmut resistance.
"Young Master!"
Artorius, looking down at the man's head—whose eyes were still wide with a lingering glare—casually kicked it aside. He looked up to see Moore running toward him.
"Yes?"
"We found that dog, Jayn!"
A short while earlier, inside the Helmut Manor.
Jayn, already clad in his armor, was pacing the living room with frantic, agitated steps. Every few seconds, he glanced out at the curtain of rain falling outside.
Initially, everything had gone according to his plan—perfectly, in fact.
He had facilitated the Saxons' entry into the city. Because of the storm, no one had noticed their arrival, and even if they had, no one dared speak up. When the battle broke out, the suicide squads he'd dispatched and the small Saxon raiding parties caused enough chaos to successfully block Lucan's reinforcements.
As for the other nobles, most had barricaded themselves inside to save their own skins.
The few who remained loyal to the late King—those with courage and hot blood—were paralyzed by the lack of clear information. They wasted precious time sending scouts, far too much time to intervene.
Even the reinforcements coming from Ector's territory had been delayed by a combination of Jayn's private assassins, bandits he had bribed and fed for years, and pre-set roadblocks.
Artorius was supposed to be isolated. With such an overwhelming numerical disadvantage, he should have been defeated quickly.
Even when Artorius had charged out with his knights to decapitate the Saxon leadership, Jayn hadn't felt panic. He felt excitement. Twenty-five men against a thousand? It's impossible.
But reality had slapped him across the face. Artorius had succeeded—or nearly so. He had almost killed Loren, until Loren used some foul sorcery to draw the gaze of the White Dragon Queen to the battlefield.
At that moment, the Scrying Magic used by the magus Jayn had hired at a great cost was shattered. The magus himself had suffered a severe backlash from the White Dragon's presence; he was currently unconscious and bleeding from his eyes.
Now, the crimson vertical pupil in the sky had vanished.
Jayn had been forced to rely on the old-fashioned way—sending out runners to gather news. But a long time had passed, and none of his men had returned.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the rain. Werner, his head guard, stepped inside.
"What's the word?!" Jayn rushed forward. "Is Artorius dead? What is the state of the battle?"
Werner shook his head grimly.
"The first wave of scouts is dead. It looks like the work of a magus. As for the second wave, reinforcements from Ector and Lucan arrived. They didn't dare get close enough to observe."
Werner paused, his voice heavy. "Regardless, the plan has failed. For your safety, Master, we must take you back to Loharin immediately."
As one of the top-tier noble families in Camelot, the Helmuts held a vast fiefdom, no smaller than the kingdoms of some minor lords. They guarded the western frontiers of Camelot. Loharin was the capital of the Helmut lands and the seat of power for Jayn's father, the old Duke Helmut.
"Yes, home!"
Jayn's eyes lit up with desperate hope. "Home! We leave now!"
To hell with Guinevere. To hell with Morgan. To hell with pulling the sword and becoming King!
The moment he had seen those eyes in the sky, all his ambitions had evaporated. Even if he became King, he could never be a match for that White Dragon monster. Jayn just wanted to survive.
"I've already had the carriage prepared. Young Master, you—"
Werner was cut short by the sound of a building collapsing in the distance.
"Protect the Young Master! Get him out of here!"
Werner growled, grabbing the terrified Jayn—who was now shrinking behind him—and pulling him into the rain. They hadn't gone far before several servants came running toward them in a panic.
"Lord Werner, it's a disaster! Sir Ector's foster son has broken in! Lord Eller and the others... they've all been killed!"
Werner's heart sank. He was about to shove the servants aside to make a break for it when he caught a flash of silver in the rain.
He drew his sword instantly. With several successive clangs, he batted away the arrows that had been aimed at Jayn's throat.
"Who's there?!"
As Jayn shrieked in terror, two fully armored knights wielding greatswords burst from the mist-heavy rain. They launched an assault on Werner simultaneously.
At the same time, before the other knights protecting Jayn could move to assist, dozens of figures emerged from the surrounding rain. In grim, heavy silence, they fell upon the Helmut guards.
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