The Greece Antagonist

At present, with the rebirth of the Goddess Danu, the Danu Gods have disappeared, and the mystery of Britain begins to fade, with the natural will gradually waning.

This monster also crawled out from the Abyss, took on a human form, and began to antagonize the spirits of Britain.

And the more lives that perish, the more resentment and filth he can absorb, and the stronger his own power becomes.

Until all things are annihilated and the World collapses, his mission will not be complete.

This is also why Vortigern is so cruel to his subjects.

He wants to build a staircase from the bones of the masses, thereby stepping into a higher realm.

Altria pursed her lips, clenched her fists, and asked:

"Teacher, is there really no one who can stop him?"

"Altria, you are their hope and also the Future of this World."

"I understand, I will grow as quickly as possible, pass your test, pull out that sword, and become the King of Britain!"

Luo En turned his head to look at his beloved disciple and asked:

"Because of [responsibility] or [mission]?"

"Neither."

Altria shook her head and said,

"As I have walked this path, I have thought a lot. You are right, one person's strength is ultimately limited; I am just an apprentice knight who has not yet passed the test, and I cannot save them all.

But if I become a knight like my brother, I can form a small team on my own, ensuring the Safety of a village or town.

If I become a lord, I can build high walls to protect a city from suffering;

If I become a king, I can unite all of Britain's forces to completely eradicate this Calamity!"

Pausing, the girl lifted her head, gazing earnestly and seriously at her teacher:

"This is the reason I want to pull out that sword, and this is the King's Way I want to follow!"

Hearing those resounding words and unwavering voice, Luo En revealed a satisfied smile.

After nurturing for so long, this empty shell has finally been infused with the Seed of Spirit.

Moreover, it is of the most noble kind.

Most kings, whether they cater to the will of the people or not, have elements of selfishness more or less. But Altria, it is not for power, not for wealth, not for fame. Her desire to become king is simply out of compassion for Life.

She regards saving the people as the goal itself, as the lifelong value of herself.

Although this path called [salvation] is full of thorns and hardships, regardless of the final outcome, she will be a great king.

"My little lion is growing up."

Luo En chuckled with emotion, spreading his hands to ruffle the girl's head.

The warm temperature in his palm seemed to ease Altria's confusion about her future path.

The girl pursed her cherry lips, looking up at that face under the moonlight:

"Teacher, I, no, [we] will stop all of this, right?"

"Yes, no matter when, I will always be by your side."

That voice was gentle and tender, seeming to have a magic power that reassured people.

Altria eagerly raised her charming face, her eyes full of energy:

"Teacher, should we first return to the town to draw out the [Chosen Sword]? Then recruit personnel to prepare for battle?"

"No rush, the journey is not over yet."

"Then what will we do next?"

"Look for some usable allies."

"Where to?"

Hearing that barrage of questions, Luo En chuckled wryly.

Indeed, there's a difference between voluntary and involuntary enthusiasm.

Then, under Altria's expectant gaze, Luo En playfully gazed towards the far-off wilderness:

"It seems they've already arrived..."

Under the cover of night, a troop of black-armored knights surged over the ground like a tide, casting sinister cold light with wielded longswords and lances as they easily cut through the bodies of refugees, taking their lives.

"Boom!"

Amidst the dull roar, the leading three Black Knights were upended, slowing down the pursuit.

Among the refugee crowd, a figure pulled off their cloak, shouting loudly:

"Disperse! Run south! Don't stop!"

That pale face still retained the contours of youth, yet the cheekbones were glazed with moonlit cold gloss. Facing a charge from a hundred Black Knights, it stood unmoved, like a Citadel rising from the wilderness.

The loose silver hair, stained with moonlight's solitude, bore a pale cyan tint like mithril oxidation at the tips, resembling icy threads hanging over shoulder armor in the cold night. The lily embossed on the breastplate was scorched with battle scars, while the star pattern flickered like dying campfire with each movement.

Clearly, this was a knight well-versed in battle.

But his left arm was conspicuously empty.

"Come on, you curs under the false king!"

Amid the increasingly intense vibrations of the ground, the one-armed knight gripped his broken lance tightly, his knuckles exuding an unnatural bluish-white aura, facing the sweeping black tide.