NOVEL WEB Chapter 151: Does It Matter?
Almost the moment Gawain and Artoria's dialogue broke down, the entire great hall erupted in chaos. The front doors were blasted to splinters; both side walls crashed inward; even the ceiling was torn away by giants under Nocnarei's banner. Simultaneously, a tidal wave of soldiers rushed toward Gawain—Percival, Gareth, Redra, Lancelot, Oberon, and a host of other fierce warriors he recognized (and some he'd only seen once or twice): the Diarmuid-faithful spearmen, Aiken the North Queen's lieutenant, plus scores of defected Queen's Knights. Even Artoria herself charged forward, brandishing the fabled Electro-Blade—the "Den Den Die" sword she'd reclaimed from the treasury.
Gawain watched them come, holding his bone-handled blade in one hand, his other lightly hooked at the crimson tether to his heart. He couldn't help but smile ruefully.
"My, you've gathered quite the crowd."
He pressed the line to his heart and recalled Woodworth's words:
"No matter how high the dust piles, it's still just dust."
As he finished speaking, an ear-splitting sonic boom rang out, and Lancelot—ever impetuous—blazed into view. Her magic-forged sword sheath flashed into a lethal spear, plunging dead center through Gawain's chest.
"Heh—"
Blood spurted. Gawain only laughed, spitting crimson into the air.
"Impatient, aren't you, Lancelot? As you say, no one likes a woman who can't let others finish speaking."
His face shifted in an instant, a grotesque metallic mask fusing to his features. From it sprouted a dagger-bladed appendage identical in shape to the greatsword he held. Lancelot twisted aside, the blade missing her skull by inches—but its oppressive aura froze her feet.
"I'm curious, Lancelot," Gawain whispered close enough that she could smell brimstone on his breath. "How much of your famed speed edge will you retain in close quarters like this?"
He reached behind her to seize her sword's sheath. Caught mid-slice, Lancelot was impaled by a brutal knee strike to the gut. She doubled over with a howl.
Gawain released her sheath just long enough to deliver a spinning kick that drove her through a shattered wall and into a giant's skull, splattering gore everywhere—her own body riding the momentum out into the courtyard.
Across the shattered threshold, the invaders hesitated. Oberon's voice rose above the din:
"Stand firm! He's only one man—he can't face all of us at once!"
Gawain laughed again, darkly amused.
"Tell me, Oberon—do you know what 'invincible' truly means?
Being 'the best' at something doesn't guarantee invulnerability. But invincible…
invincible means you have no chance, not one shred, against me, no matter who or how many attack you. Understand?"
Redra charged next, sword overhead—but Gawain casually parried with his bone-blade.
"Pathetic," Gawain muttered, then dashed behind him, slicing down.
Percival lunged to help, spear jabbing at Gawain's throat, but Gawain danced away, then spun to decapitate the knight with a single backward stroke.
"Stand down," Gawain called to the faltering lines behind him. "I am invincible. Leave it all to me—reduce your losses."
He slashed a path back into the hall, where Artoria crawled free of Gareth's arms, sword in hand.
"Gawain—" she cried, rushing at him. "Stop this! We could still—"
He barely flinched, casually flipping aside her strike, then plucked her Electo-Blade out of her grasp.
"You naïvely think you can cheat your way to beating invincibility?" He shrugged off her weapon. "Nice try, but it takes more than gimmicks to defeat me."
He stabbed forward, grazing her side; she winced but pressed on. Gawain scooped her up and slammed her into Gareth's shield, then kicked them both through the hole in the wall.
"Impractical games," he murmured, turning back to face the remaining assault.
The crowd surged again, shouting his name, but their ranged magic faltered—every bolt and fireball fizzled to nothing against the ban Artoria had cast.
"Clever," he acknowledged. "Now we fight face-to-face.
Close in—this is where I excel."
His greatsword whirled like a cyclone of death. Limbs were severed, bodies tossed aside.
Percival roared and feinted in, spear at the ready—only to be uphill in raw power. Gawain pivoted, gut-punching him so hard Percival collapsed in a heap.
A heavy voice boomed behind him:
"My lord, unleash my Domain!"
Commander Mirein's curse rippled through the hall. All fell under its weight—their attributes dragged down to the lowest tier.
Gawain straightened, the loss of raw power briefly shocking him. Percival charged, spear aimed for Gawain's neck.
"Hah!"
But Gawain's missing headless body intercepted the thrust—countering with that same unstoppable will, his severed form restored itself in a heartbeat. The spearhead slid harmlessly through his armor.
He rose, reassembled, and rejoined the fray—no less invincible.