“N-No! That’s impossible!”

Gwenhwyfar’s eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the scene before her.

The white-hot flames which represented certain victory were currently being pushed back through Medrauta’s sheer will.

Empowered by Viviane’s Crest, Medrauta’s thrust bore strength that far surpassed logic.That strength had once been great enough to bridge an impossible distance, and now it was capable of pushing back even the sun.

“Haaaah!” Medrauta pushed forward, the tip of her sword somehow unaffected by the flames that it was holding back. Perhaps the power of Viviane’s Crest extended to the weapon she wielded as well, but she did not know. Now was not the time to question such things.

Now was the time to advance.

“G-Gaaah!” Galahad winced as he struggled to hold his position. His arms shook violently as he wrestled for control of the beam even as its heat and energy was gradually being blown back toward him.

“Viviane! Now!” Medrauta shouted.

“Got it!” Viviane brought her bow to full draw and released, allowing it to sing its deadly song. A black-shafted arrow spat forth and streaked through the air.

“Aaaaaugh!” Galahad howled in pain as the arrow buried itself into his knee, causing him to buckle instantly. His stance collapsed and his arms faltered, the beam shooting up into the sky where it rapidly dissipated into nothing.

Galatine clattered to the ground beside him as he sank to one knee, fixing Viviane with a glare of anger and hatred. Not only had he lost as a knight, but he was also humiliated. Had it been Medrauta who caused him to drop his weapon and bested him, that would have been acceptable.

But to lose hold of his weapon and to be brought low by a noble who was but a mere duke’s daughter? It was absolutely unthinkable.

“K-Knight out!” Trista’s voice resounded over the stadium. “Lady Gwenhwyfar, do you wish to c—”

“SILENCE!” Galahad roared as he staggered to his feet. He had retrieved Galatine on his way up and wrenched the arrow free from his flesh through sheer will. “I will NOT be struck down like this!”

Despite his protests, his knee clearly did not share his resolve as he quickly collapsed again as soon as he attempted to take a step forward.

Medrauta paid the prince no mind. There was no need, and doing so out of pity would only exacerbate the situation. Instead, she looked upward at the dais where Gwenhwyfar still stood, stoic and silent.

She looked down upon them with a passive gaze, as if she was disconnected from everything that had just happened. No. As if everything she was seeing was nothing more than an illusion.

The two stared at one another without speaking for a brief moment, but it would be the princess’ voice that broke the silence between them.

Yet, her words were addressed to neither Medrauta or Viviane.

“Stand up, Galahad.”

In response, Galahad thrust the point of his sword into the ground and hefted himself up once more. Nothing but determination and rage remained in the man’s body. Even if he were missing all his limbs, he would continue to fight.

“Good.” The princess said. “Now fight.”

Galahad swung his sword.

Medrauta leaned backwards, and it sailed past her harmlessly.

“Gah!” Without anything to resist his massive sword’s momentum and only one working leg, Galahad was swept off his feet by the force of his own attack. He fell to the ground pathetically, his anger only growing.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“What are you doing? Get up, Galahad.” Gwenhwyfar commanded. Her voice was monotone and empty as if she had become nothing more than a doll.

Again, Galahad stood. Again, he swung.

And again, Medrauta dodged.

“Fight back, damn you!” Galahad shouted in fury, slamming his fist against the ground as he fell once more.

“No,” Medrauta replied. “I will not fight someone who cannot even stand properly. It is disgraceful to both of us. Your Imperial Highness, I beseech you to tell your sister to concede the match.”

“So in the end, even you will look down on me...”

“Wrong.” Medrauta’s voice was firm. “On the contrary, I seek to protect your honor. Look around you, Sir Galahad.”

The prince’s eyes widened. Even though he wasn’t the heir to the throne, it was rare that someone would address him so informally.

“Do you know why Trista addresses you as Sir Galahad and Her Imperial Highness as ‘Lady Gwenhwyfar’ while you are competing in the arena? It is because you are a knight, and she is your lady. Remember that, Your Imperial Highness. Right now, above all things, you are a knight.”

Ah... Galahad’s eyes widened in realization. His pride had been wounded, that much was true. But in the end, his actions were still foolish, and though Viviane had trespassed on what is normally sacrosanct to knights, she did not do so disrespectfully.

“And a knight must face defeat gracefully, Your Imperial Highness.”

For a moment, a stunned silence settled over the arena and its spectators. Standing there with her shoulder-length silver-hair glistening in the noonday sun, her poised and graceful stance, and the sword gently held aloft in her hand as she uttered those words made Medrauta the perfect picture of a knight.

It was like a beautiful scene out of a fairy tale.

At least, it was for a few seconds until a helpless peal of laughter echoed across the entire stadium.

“P-Pffft! Ahahaha! Wahahaha! Aluvsha save me! I can’t take it!” Trista cackled uproariously with absolute disregard for the voice-amplifying Crest that was still affecting her. “This can’t be real! Medrauta? Giving a lecture on knightly behavior? The Medrauta who’s known for her two-hundred loss streak and the tantrums that followed!? There’s no way!”

“O-Oi!” Medrauta shouted at the announcer’s box which sat with the tallest row of the stadium’s bleachers. “Shut the fuck up, Trista! I’m trying to be serious here!”

Trista’s response was forever lost to time as her noble immediately ceased bestowing his Crest, preemptively stopping any more unwarranted fits of laughter.

“A-Ahem!” Medrauta cleared her throat rather noisily. “As I was saying, look up at our spectators, Your Imperial Highness. Can you truly tell me that any of them wish to see me attack you while you are in this state?”

Galahad did as Medrauta asked, and indeed, he found that the spectators’ expressions were worry-stricken and even aghast. There was no mirth in them, not even in the section where they held an enormous banner with the words “Viviane ♡ Medrauta” painted on it.

They could not cheer. Not when he was in such a sorry state and still attempting to goad Medrauta into attacking him. It would be dishonorable for both of them and a disgrace to knighthood itself.

“To think I would be lectured by a knight who can barely resonate,” Galahad couldn’t help but laugh. “Very well, Dame Medrauta. I shall embarrass us no further. I yield.”

Medrauta nodded before turning her attention toward the figure on the dais. “And you, Lady Gwenhwyfar?”

“I...” A mixture of emotions seemed to flood through the princess. For a moment, it seemed as though she would break from their intensity, but she composed herself and wore that impassive mask once more. “I will not concede.”

“Then excuse me, Your Imperial Highness.”

At once, Medrauta leapt from her position, easily sailing over the princess’ head with a single bound. She landed behind Gwenhwyfar and raised her sword, swinging it downward in a vicious arc, only to gently tap the top of the princess’ head with the flat of her blade.

“I think we can call that a hit, yeah? What do you say, Trista?”

“H-Hit! Match over! Lady Viviane and Dame Medrauta are the victors of this bout!” Trista announced after her noble hastily restored the amplification effect on her voice.

Medrauta thrust her sword heavensward in an expression of triumph, and in response, cheering erupted from the bleachers, the spectators all standing from their seats to issue a thunderous round of applause. Though some of the onlookers were actually staunch supporters of the princess, they couldn’t help but offer their heartfelt joy at witnessing such an impressive match.

And only then did Gwenhwyfar allow herself to crumble.

Her heartless resolve that had commanded Galahad to stand now left her. Her stony mask and emotionless facade that she wore even when her knight had conceded no longer shielded her.

At last, Gwenhwyfar collapsed onto her knees...

...and bawled.