Lancelot And The Knights Of Britannia

“This is bad…”

Lancelot frowned as he watched the Britannian knights in the distance.

The battle that followed had truly begun by pure chance; during the festival, a Desert Person who had been grumbling about drawing watch duty had spotted Britannian knights scouting and, mistaking them for Arthur-sama’s companions, called out to them.

The Britannian knights had attacked in response, the sentry had fled, and as a result the approximate location of the Desert People’s village had been exposed.

“You are a knight of Britannia too, aren’t you? Can’t you persuade them?”

“That will be difficult; their lord is Rod-sama, and I belong to a different faction, so they will not listen to what a mere knight has to say.”

“You people from Britannia sure are a pain; we swear loyalty only to our chieftain…”

“When there are more people, more things happen—and besides, look at me now.”

Lancelot shrugged; he had removed his armor, was dressed in the traditional garb of the Desert People, and at his waist hung one of their curved blades, a scimitar.

Even an outsider who knew nothing would never guess he was a knight of Britannia.

“If they have come searching for Arthur-sama, that would be fine enough… but if this is retaliation for the Golden Wheat, then we are in trouble…”

In the former case, he simply had to bring Arthur-sama to them, but in the latter, Lancelot—famous for better or for worse—would almost certainly be ordered to help them without any room for argument.

If he disobeyed, he might even be accused of treason.

“I could defeat them easily enough in a straight fight, but that would cause trouble for Arthur-sama and leave behind lasting resentment…”

That was another reason he was currently disguised in the Desert People’s clothing.

“Then hey, can’t you have your leader, Arthur-sama, talk them down for us? He came here to make peace between us and Britannia in the first place, didn’t he?”

“Mm… That would indeed be the best option…”

Arthur and Rod’s poor relationship was well known even in the castle; or rather, it would be more accurate to say that Rod, the first prince, was jealous of Arthur-sama, who stood out thanks to his healing powers, and constantly picked fights with him.

“In the worst case, they might even use this situation to get rid of Arthur-sama.”

That, at least, had to be prevented; to Lancelot, Arthur-sama was the hope that would let him fulfill the dream he had shared with Lyra—no, more than that, he might be the very man Lancelot was truly meant to serve.

“All right, first I will go and gather information on the enemy.”

“Huh? What are you planning to do? There are about ten of them, you know?”

When Lancelot drew his scimitar and started toward the knights as casually as if going for a stroll, the Desert Person cried out in surprise.

“It is only ten to one, is it not? That sort of odds is nothing to me; just make ready the sandworms while I go and take a few prisoners.”

“Wait, you have never used a scimitar before, right? Can you really fight with a weapon you are not used to?”

Ignoring this very reasonable concern, Lancelot kept closing the distance until the knights noticed him.

“You there… Are you one of the Desert People!?”

“Good, just who I wanted; there are some things I wish to ask you.”

“And what does it mean that you put your hand to your sword when you claim to want to ask questions? It seems you know nothing of proper manners.”

Even as Lancelot chided the knights, who were clearly ready for battle, they only snorted.

“Hah! A mere Desert Person thinks he is the equal of us proud Britannian knights?”

“You cheeky wretch; we will make you talk nice and polite!”

The knights charged at him with utterly condescending attitudes, but it was not as if they were uniquely awful.

Knights of Britannia, the greatest power in the region, believed they were superior by default, and Rod-sama’s followers—who loudly championed noble supremacy—were often third sons of noble houses, men well used to being part of a privileged class; this too was one of Britannia’s many dark sides.

“How lamentable… You would do well to learn from Arthur-sama.”

“What?”

Lancelot deflected the first knight’s blow with his scimitar, then drove the pommel hard into the man’s jaw, and as the next knight slashed at him he sent him flying with a kick to open up some distance.

He had completely mastered the Desert People’s fighting style of toying with the enemy while fighting in light gear.

“Hmm… so you turn aside the enemy’s blow while striking at their openings; it certainly suits a desert where heavy armor cannot be worn—but it is difficult to strike with the flat of the blade, and the edge is so thin it might break if you take blows on it, so it is not an easy weapon to handle.”

Even though several knights still had him surrounded, Lancelot ignored them and simply muttered his impressions of the scimitar.

Just by gripping this unfamiliar weapon, he had already worked out how to use it, but the knights, who still thought he was one of the Desert People, failed to realize how impressive that was.

“Well, no matter; Sir Tristan or Sir Gawain would be troublesome opponents, but knights of your level are no challenge at all.”

“Don’t you dare look down on us!!”

Enraged by the provocation, the knights moved with drilled precision to surround Lancelot as they all slashed at him.

“I am not looking down on you; I am merely stating reality.”

With movements even more polished than before, he swung the scimitar, and the knights fell one after another.

“Hmm, I do not need this many prisoners… Sorry, but could you carry them somewhere safe? Once I finish the questioning, I will go and report to Arthur-sama.”

“Y-yeah… you’re seriously strong, huh.”

“I learned that there are those you cannot save without strength, so I just worked desperately hard to improve.”

Remembering the past, Lancelot gave a wry smile and was about to leave when—

“Wait… if you are going to take prisoners, then please make it me.”

“You are…”

Hearing the voice of a knight who, unlike the others, had not fought and seemed to have been hiding in the sand, Lancelot’s eyes widened in surprise.