King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

Noble Phantasm?

Skadi didn't know what that was.

All she knew was that there was an enemy in front of her.

If they were an enemy, then they had to be fought—and killed. That was all.

As for the roaring, dragon-shaped inferno surging toward her—formed by karmic fire, fed by tens of thousands of vengeful spirits, and painting the sky in flame—Skadi didn't think too deeply about it.

"Some kind of magic trick?"

That was her understanding.

Servants' so-called treasures were just another kind of magic. The kind of mysterious technique you didn't need to understand—only needed to destroy.

If it was magic, then it could be defeated.

Manaka had once told her: "When faced with magic you can't understand—strike it down."

Magic was mystery.

Noble Phantasms were no different.

And mystery, no matter how grand, always collapsed before a greater mystery.

In other words: crush pressure with power. Defeat magic with greater magic.

It wasn't her usual way of fighting—but since developing magical organs in her body, Skadi could channel vast amounts of energy and raise her power to an entirely new level.

And now, that power began to awaken.

The people's faith. The dynasty's blessing. Her naturally extraordinary body. All of it converged.

Magic power surged within her like a tidal wave. Even Manaka had once been shocked by its sheer density.

The black greatsword on her back shifted slightly.

And the sea responded.

Beneath her feet, the ocean convulsed. With a low rumble, three massive waterspouts formed around her—tornadoes of water that pierced sky and sea, spiraling violently upward.

"You said we're incompatible? Maybe so," Skadi said coolly, her eyes locked on the massive hellfire dragon above. "But this is the ocean. My home. In my domain, compatibility can be flipped on its head."

Yes. This was her battlefield.

The endless sea was her greatest weapon.

An 'ordinary' swordswoman just moments ago, Skadi now stood equal to—no, beyond—the spectacle Jeanne Alter had created with her Noble Phantasm and a legion of dead.

"Holding a giant sword, I cleave down all enemies. I become a destroyer, a scourge of giant beasts. I am Skadi, Knight of the Round Table!"

She took a deep breath. Her face was tense, her expression steely and cold.

Then, the greatsword in her hands began to glow.

A deep, brilliant aqua-blue light surged along the blade.

And she swung.

"Buzz——————!"

The night split open.

The sword's arc cleaved sky and sea alike. The ocean trembled. The very atmosphere was stirred, twisted, shaken.

The sea below her fractured into a canyon of air. Towering walls of water surged, then cascaded in crashing waterfalls as gravity reclaimed its hold.

Even before the sword-light struck, Jeanne Alter's fire-dragon was sliced clean through—cut down by a wave of compressed sword pressure.

It wasn't a beam.

It wasn't a spell.

It was pure force—mystery defeating mystery.

The dragon, a flaming beast conjured by karma and wrath, was still a beast.

And under Skadi's sword—the blade of the beast-slayer—all giant beasts were reduced to prey.

Then the true slash descended.

A catastrophic wave of force slammed into Jeanne Alter.

Every Knight of the Round Table possessed power equal to the divine.

The closer to the throne, the greater the legend—and the greater their potential.

Skadi, the third seat of the Round Table, was said to have exterminated every fantasy species on the island by herself. No other tale was more widely known. No other feat more feared.

If Lancelot held godlike strength with limited growth, then Skadi was the opposite: explosive growth, terrifying potential.

Even Gawain, radiant under the sun, couldn't match her in raw destructive power.

But—

Jeanne Alter's flag unfurled.

And everything changed.

The sword-pressure. The hellfire. The shockwave.

All of it was drawn in—compressed—bent around her as if distorted by gravity.

The overwhelming power gathered at a single point—then exploded outward.

Not as defense.

But as retaliation.

The energy didn't dissipate. It expanded—magnified—and roared back toward Skadi, now many times stronger.

A sea of magic surged.

A flash of judgment fell.

"...Did she just reflect my attack?"

Skadi's eyes narrowed.

She immediately realized: she wouldn't make it in time.

She couldn't intercept.

Couldn't parry.

She would be swallowed whole by her own magnified strike.

So—she stopped thinking.

She sheathed her sword.

She canceled her magic.

She entrusted everything to the only thing left—

Her body.

BOOM—!!

Light consumed everything.

The ocean recoiled. Tidal waves exploded outward in all directions. A vast ring of seawater blasted into the sky.

From that single impact, it was clear: both Rome and Britain would suffer massive tsunamis in the coming hours.

Joan of Arc Alter watched, her eyes narrowed, flag lowered—but her body still tense.

She hadn't relaxed.

She couldn't.

Skadi's last attack had rattled her to the core.

Even though she seemed to have won—even though Skadi had vanished beneath the waves—Jeanne couldn't shake the sense that her enemy wasn't done yet.

Skadi had released enough power to shatter an entire army.

If not for the unique defensive ability of her Noble Phantasm, Jeanne might have been the one destroyed.

Minutes passed.

The waves calmed slightly.

Five Roman warships remained—only five.

Everywhere else, the sea was littered with debris and half-drowned soldiers clinging to splintered planks.

And yet, Jeanne Alter finally let out a breath.

"I won... but did I really destroy her?" she muttered.

It didn't feel certain.

That woman's strength was terrifying. She didn't seem like someone who would die so easily.

Then—

"You worry too much, Your Excellency. Not even a god could survive what you just unleashed."

A hoarse voice called out.

The Roman general.

Dripping wet, clothes torn, he dragged himself aboard—barely clinging to life.

That he had survived such a clash was a miracle. Luck beyond reason.

But Jeanne Alter didn't care.

Her eyes narrowed.

Her voice snapped.

"Don't call me that disgusting name!"

She brushed past him with a scowl and disappeared into the cabin.

The general was stunned—but not offended.

After all, she'd just saved them.

That was enough.

And though Jeanne Alter stormed off, the morale of the Roman fleet had never been higher.

The soldiers did not see an arrogant, bitter woman.

They saw a savior.

Even with only five ships left...

Even with less than half of the original thirty thousand soldiers surviving...

They had won.

They had faced death.

Faced monsters.

And survived.

As the clouds cleared, sunlight broke over the waves.

It fell upon their bruised faces like a divine blessing.

"We survived!"

"God bless Rome!"

"God bless Rome!"

"God bless Rome!!"

The cries echoed across the water—raw, ecstatic.

They believed.

Victory belonged to the Roman Empire!

They believed that the gods of Rome had smiled upon them once again.

But—

Far beneath the sea, where sunlight could not reach, a pair of red eyes watched them coldly.

Then turned—

And began to swim silently toward the shore.

-End Chapter-

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