Coreal
patreon
[Crossover] Ch 248: Guinevere & Lancelot
🕑 Added 2025-09-11 17:41:24 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Rome – Outskirts
A young girl approached the edge of the city.
She looked no older than twelve or thirteen, a white-skinned beauty with golden curls and a face so flawless it seemed like a master dollmaker had poured their whole soul into crafting her.
She wore a black dress that looked almost like mourning attire—hardly the kind of outfit for running—but she moved quickly across the grassland until she stopped at a patch where the grass was visibly pressed flat.
Behind her, a faint, cloaked figure appeared, like a mirage forming in the air.
"Stop here, Guinevere," the figure said. "This is the place."
"Yes, Uncle."
Guinevere halted, glancing around curiously.
"Did you sense something?"
The "uncle" she was addressing wasn't actually a man but a woman.
The cloak covered most of her figure, but honey-colored strands of hair peeked from the edges, and her silhouette hinted at a well-shaped body.
This was no ordinary woman. She was a goddess of war from an ancient era—the very prototype of the legendary Lancelot, the most powerful God of Steel.
But now, she was nothing more than a lingering shadow, a guardian left behind to protect Guinevere.
She could still wield a fraction of her former strength for a short time, but she was no longer her full self—and certainly no longer a god.
Lancelot's phantom prowled silently around the area before returning to the flattened grass.
"Guinevere, I can feel a strange power here... hard to put into words."
Guinevere's face fell slightly.
"So it's not my Lord's mark?"
Guinevere was the divine ancestor who served the King of the End.
She was the Queen Guinevere of Arthurian Legend—yes, King Arthur's queen—but that was just one of her masks.
In truth, she was the White Goddess of the ancient Mother Earth faiths.
She had sworn to follow the King of the End, the savior who would purge the world of Campiones, for as long as she lived.
But the King of the End had been gravely wounded during the last great purge centuries ago, losing much of his memory.
Since then, Guinevere had been wandering the earth, searching for any trace of his existence.
---
"..."
Guinevere stared at the grass, eyes clouded with longing. "My lord... where are you sleeping?"
"Guinevere—we've got trouble."
Lancelot's voice broke through her thoughts, sounding troubled.
"What's wrong, Uncle?" Guinevere asked, frowning.
"See this patch of grass? The one that's pressed down?"
The phantom pointed to the spot. It clearly looked like the shape of a person had been lying there, with faint footprints nearby.
"It's just grass... is that really a problem?"
Guinevere tilted her head, genuinely puzzled.
Her uncle wasn't just any guardian—she was the strongest steel war goddess aside from the King of the End himself.
Lancelot explained patiently, "I can feel Gascoigne's power here. Remember him? The God Slayer they call the Black Prince Alec."
Guinevere's expression immediately twisted, anger flashing in her eyes.
"That man who deliberately damaged the Holy Grail? As if I could ever forget his hateful face."
It had been more than a decade ago. Guinevere had used the Holy Grail in an attempt to divine the King of the End's location—only for the Black Prince to sabotage her ritual.
The disaster had cost her dearly. The Grail itself had been partially destroyed, and most of her power was lost with it.
How could she not hate him?
"Yes. It was him," Lancelot confirmed grimly, stepping onto the grass. "He was here—and he was defeated."
Guinevere looked down at the trampled grass again.
"Oh? So even that cunning man can lose?"
If she could, she would have happily put up a sign right there reading {Alexander Gascoigne's Defeat Site.}
Unfortunately, since he probably wasn't dead, she could only sigh and let the chance go.
"Yes. And it wasn't just a loss—it was a complete and utter defeat."
Lancelot's tone grew almost reverent as she examined the scene.
"The attack came from above. A flurry of kicks—thousands, maybe tens of thousands—landed in an instant. They overwhelmed him completely."
Her voice held a note of admiration.
"Whoever it was, they're even faster than the Black Prince. Their raw power was lower, though—it felt like they were holding back."
"That can't be. Uncle, that man's specialty is speed..."
Guinevere stopped mid-sentence, then asked quietly, "... do you think you know who his opponent was?"
Lancelot paused, frowning in thought.
"There's a trace of god energy. Probably a Campione. But... something feels off."
Guinevere hesitated before whispering, "Could it be my king?"
Lancelot gave a small laugh. "My instincts say no. But looking at the scene, the only one who could defeat a Campione in an instant would be him. It's... a contradiction."
She let out a faint sigh and shook her head. "Either way, we should be careful. I have a bad feeling about this. Whoever defeated Gascoigne may see us as enemies too."
"I see, so it's not him..." Guinevere muttered, feeling conflicted.
"Uncle, can't we at least try to approach this new Campione to make sure?"
"No. It's too dangerous."
Lancelot's voice turned stern. "Even putting aside his strength, his speed alone exceeds Gascoigne's. I can't guarantee I could protect you if he attacked."
"I understand."
Guinevere finally let out a soft sigh, giving up on the idea of making contact. "Then... let's leave Europe. We can search in the East instead."
Lancelot was silent for a long moment before answering. "My premonitions are rarely wrong, Guinevere. We are at a turning point."
Her words made Guinevere's eyes widen.
"You mean—the new Campione is already watching us?"
"Possibly," Lancelot admitted after a pause.
She thought for a moment longer, then made her decision.
"I'm going to take physical form as a Heretic God. My current power isn't enough to protect you anymore."
"Uncle, isn't that too risky?" Guinevere's voice trembled.
Lancelot's myth had already been twisted over the centuries.
Modern people no longer remembered her as the goddess of war.
Instead, they only saw Lancelot as the adulterous male knight who betrayed his king for the queen's love.
If she were to die now as a Heretic God, the next time she appeared she might not even be herself anymore. She'd truly become that version of Lancelot.
But the honey-haired goddess just smiled, full of anticipation. "My mind is made up. I can feel it—the one who did this is a powerful warrior. There's nothing in the world more joyous than fighting someone strong."
"Uncle..."
Guinevere bit her lip, then nodded solemnly. "In that case... let me help you."
"Good."
Lancelot's lips curved into a fierce smile.
.
.
.
