Chapter 316: Final Battle, Delivering the Sword

"King, Gao Wen is dead."

"......"

Arthur King's body suddenly stiffened, as if struck by an invisible heavy hammer.

His fingers gripping the sword hilt tightened instantly.

The surrounding deafening shouts of battle and clashing weapons seemed to fade away at that moment. In the air remained only a suffocating deathly silence.

For a long time, for a long time.

Only then did he slowly, with great difficulty, turn his head, his gaze falling on Bei De Wei Er's bowed head.

His voice was low and hoarse, as if each word bore a thousand‑pound burden, and contained an immense, incomprehensible, unacceptably confusing pain:

"Why?"

He repeated, his tone bearing an almost stubborn probing,

"Bei De Wei Er, tell me, why?"

He did not understand, and no matter what could not comprehend.

Gao Wen, one of the bravest knights under his command, bore the title "Sun Knight," whose power at noon could even be called invincible.

Even though it was not noon now, with Gao Wen's strength, he should never, could never fall on such a chaotic battlefield!

Bei De Wei Er lowered his head further, his voice faint yet like a cold dagger piercing Arthur's heart: "Because... because the grievous wounds from his previous duel with Lan Si Luo Te... never fully healed... left a fatal hidden injury... in today's battle, the old wound... erupted..."

"... was taken advantage of by Mo De Lei De.........."

Bei De Wei Er said no more. It was no longer necessary.

"Hidden injury..."

Arthur King muttered the two words repeatedly.

He recalled the tragic duel between Gao Wen and Lan Si Luo Te, sparked by Guinevere, which led to the Round Table's split.

All the roots seemed to point to that betrayal and the ensuing chain reaction.

Now, this bitter fruit, finally at the cost of his most loyal knight's life, he swallowed with his own hands.

Endless remorse, anger, sorrow, and the feeling of fate's ruthless mockery flooded this aged ruler like a raging tide.

He abruptly closed his eyes, inhaling deeply a breath mixed with blood and gunpowder.

When he opened his eyes again, in those emerald irises all confusion and pain were suppressed, replaced by a resolve as cold as ten‑thousand‑year ice, and a fierce momentum willing to perish together with fate!

He straightened his weathered yet unyielding spine, and strode toward the frontmost edge of the battlefield beyond the camp.

His steps were heavy, each footfall seeming to tread upon everyone's heartbeat.

Until he reached the formation's front, facing the direction of Mo De Lei De's troops, he let out a roar like a lion's bellow.

That voice pierced the entire noisy battlefield, clearly reaching every person's ear:

"Go tell Mo De Lei De—!"

"I, Arthur Pandragong!"

"I will duel him one‑on‑one!!!"

At the center of Camlan Plain, an invisible force seemed to delineate a deathly duel arena.

All around roared the earth‑shaking slaughter, the sharp clang of metal, dying wails and warhorses' whinnies interweaving, yet within this central zone a strange silence and emptiness prevailed.

The soldiers of both sides tacitly avoided this spot, leaving the final stage to each side's king.

Dust rose slightly as Arthur King and Mo De Lei De faced each other.

Arthur's armor bore many battle scars, the King's Sword angled toward the ground, its blade reflecting his graying temples and a face marked by fatigue yet still dignified.

He looked at the opposing middle‑aged, powerful black‑armored knight, whose eyes burned with wild fire and some deeper emotion, and asked the question that had long hovered over his mind, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hoarseness:

"Why, Mo De Lei De? Why betray me?"

He paused, and in those world‑weary emerald eyes showed genuine confusion and a hint of pain,

"Is it... where I did not do enough? Or did I wrong you?"

Mo De Lei De listened to his question, his face beneath the helmet indistinct, only the heavy breathing indicating his inner unrest.

After a long while, he finally spoke in a tone suppressing complex emotions, slowly revealing that fatal secret:

"Morgan... my mother, is Morgan."

Those words rang out like a startling thunderclap!

Arthur King's expression froze, his pupils suddenly contracting.

In an instant, countless past fragments snapped together in his mind—Morgan's complex, inscrutable gaze, Merlin's warning long sealed by time, the prophecy about "the end brought by the closest bloodline"... all were confirmed at that moment.

A profoundly bitter, almost self‑mocking smile appeared on his face, his voice bearing a fated heaviness:

"So... it's you. You are the one from the prophecy..."

He lifted his head, gazing at the grayish sky, as if conversing with the Grand Mage who had guided his life,

"Merlin Grandpa's prophecy... indeed, never erred..."

He had thought that as he aged, the person of the prophecy had yet to appear, perhaps this time would be an exception.

Unexpectedly, fate at the twilight of his life sent his terminator in such a cruel way.

Arthur turned his gaze back to Mo De Lei De, trying to explain the origin of that mistake:

"It was your mother... who deceived me that night... I did not intend..."

His tone carried a hint of helplessness,

"I have no fault toward her."

Mo De Lei De nodded, his tone unexpectedly calm: "I understand."

But immediately, his voice rose sharply, like a long‑pressured volcano erupting, laden with endless grievance, anger and accusation:

"But you have wronged me—!!!"

His words that followed surged out like a breached flood.

He recounted being raised in the Church since childhood, watching other children enjoy parental love and family care, while he could only ever be a shadow, an unknown.

He yearned for a family, for a respectable identity, and not……

He shouted hoarsely, denouncing the stripped‑away kinship and sense of belonging; each word was like venom soaked in loneliness and resentment.

One after another, each phrase echoed across the empty duel arena.

Arthur King listened in silence, without interrupting.

The ruler who had endured countless glories and betrayals now seemed merely a wordless father, bearing questions from the other end of his bloodline that arrived decades too late.

His wrinkled face bore a complex, inscrutable expression—guilt, pity, perhaps a hint of helpless sorrow.

When Mo De Lei De finally poured out all his pent‑up fury, his chest heaving violently, Arthur spoke slowly, his voice low and clear:

"…I'm sorry."

Yet the apology failed to quell Mo De Lei De's rage; instead it ignited the final fuse.

"I don't need your apology!" Mo De Lei De roared, abruptly raising the Clarent in his hand—a symbol of royal authority and peace, now wielded as a rebel's sword,

"All I desire—identity, glory, the Royal Throne! I will seize them with my own hands!"

"Now, I claim this throne!!"

Before the words finished, Mo De Lei De shot forward like a loosed arrow, bearing relentless resolve and a destructive aura, launching a Frenzy attack at Arthur King!

Sword Light flashed sharply, each strike lethal, brimming with unending madness!

Arthur King swung the King's Sword to block, the heavy clash booming.

In this life‑or‑death clash, the aged king, in a daze, seemed to traverse time, returning to years past, to the battle he once fought with Perinor.

Back then he was youthful and vigorous, his martial skill at its peak, endlessly dueling a formidable opponent, only to meet his first defeat.

Now, the opponent is his own blood‑bound son, and the setting has become this plain doomed to tragedy.

Though the sword in his hand remains the King's Sword, he himself is no longer that youthful, vigorous ruler.

Weariness, wounds, and a fate as heavy as a mountain press clearly upon his blade's edge.

When he finally regained his senses.

He had already been gravely wounded by Mo De Lei De, collapsing to the ground.

And Mo De Lei De had also perished beneath his sword.

"King!"

Bei De Wei Er shouted, rushing forward to his side.

But he heard him say: "Bei De Wei Er."

"I want you to do something."

"King, please give your command!"

"Find my master and deliver my sword to him."