Chapter Twenty-Two: The Knight of the Lake

Toria wanted to meet the figure spoken of in legend, and both she and Lancer were people of action. The night before, Toria had just informed Lancer of her intentions, and at dawn, before the sun had fully risen, the two set out together.

“It’s getting foggy,” Merlin mused as he watched from atop the magic tower, observing the pair galloping past on horseback. For reasons unknown, he commented on the weather, though curiously, the area around the magic tower remained completely dry, with not a hint of mist.

— Dividing line by the lakeshore —

When the two arrived at the lakeside, the surroundings shifted subtly. A faint mist enveloped them, unnoticed at first; Lancer kept his hands on the weapons at his waist, ever wary, yet even he could not detect the enchantment cast by the Lady of the Lake herself. By the time they realized, the fog had already surrounded them completely.

“What’s going on?” Lancer and Toria stood back-to-back, aware that no dark creatures would lurk on the Lady’s territory. Despite their confidence—Toria, now grown, and Lancer, seasoned in battle—neither let their guard down.

“I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time.” A voice drifted to their ears, coming from Toria’s direction. Lancer spun instantly, shielding Toria behind his cloak. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

Gradually, the mist dissipated, revealing a handsome man clad in purple armor before them.

“Who are you?” Lancer had already guessed the man’s identity. In the realm of Zero, Lancelot had once revealed his face; though the visage before him was not twisted, Lancer felt certain this must be him.

“My name is Lancelot. I live here, studying under my teacher.” Without the madness imposed by Command Spells, Lancelot was not only strikingly handsome, but spoke with the manner of a true noble.

“Teacher?” Toria recalled from Merlin’s words that the lake deep within this forest was the Lady’s dwelling. So the teacher Lancelot spoke of…

“I already know your purpose from my teacher. If you wish for me to follow you, you must defeat me first.”

He drew a silver-white longsword from his back, inscribed with elven runes like those on the Sword in the Stone—reminding that in Celtic myth, elves and gods were nearly indistinguishable. Lancer stepped aside, realizing he could not assist Toria in this trial. Even if he defeated Lancelot, and the Lady insisted, without Lancelot’s true approval it would sow seeds of future discord.

Yet Lancer was not idle. He kept his eyes on Lancelot’s sword, known as the “Sword of Contracted Victory,” sister to his own blade. He was deeply curious, for this sword, after slaying Gawain’s brother, had fallen and become a demonic blade; only now did it retain its sanctity as the “Holy Sword of the Lake.”

As for the duel itself, little could be said—both were the strongest swordsmen of their era. Lancelot’s challenge wasn’t about physical defeat, but spiritual conquest; as they crossed blades, Lancelot would pose questions, leaving Toria no time to ponder. Each response drew a faint smile from Lancelot’s lips, marking his growing certainty about her identity.

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Bored, Lancer wandered away after a while, for he sensed his time was running short. Toria had just ascended the throne, and already five of the twelve most crucial knights had appeared; more would come with time. Arthur’s son was about the same age as Lancelot’s, meaning the Battle of Camlann would erupt in twenty years or so. Could Lancer truly remain that long?

Lost in thought, he found himself back at the lakeshore.

“Are you troubled?” A gentle voice reached his ear as he pondered. For the second time in days, something had slipped past his vigilance—the first was the mist, but this time was even more unsettling; someone had approached without him noticing. He drew his sword and leapt back instantly.

“No need to be wary. I am the spirit who dwells in this lake.” A sphere of water emerged from the lake, morphing into a humanoid form.

“The Lady of the Lake!” Though no book described her power, she had forged several holy swords and foretold Toria’s future—clearly not someone Lancer could contend with. And since Toria relied on her, Lancer showed respect, bowing though not kneeling.

“I’m curious—who are you, really? You do not appear in my prophecies, and since your arrival, even I cannot foresee the changes that now unfold. How fascinating.” She seemed to marvel at this anomaly.

“May I ask what…” Lancer was eager to learn where the change had occurred.

Yet the Lady paid him no heed, continuing, “Since you choose to follow that maiden, you will face other dangers. I know you possess weapons from the East, but here their power is suppressed, and you cannot wield them to their full potential. So I shall grant you a weapon—will you accept it?”

“What’s going on? Why would she…” He couldn’t fathom this generosity, until her next words clarified her intent.

“This weapon once belonged to a man named Mark Roy. He sought to rescue his closest friend, Cú Chulainn—you know him, I presume—and ultimately fled his own army. By inheriting this sword, you also inherit his tragedy. Are you certain?”

From the lake rose a peculiar longsword. Its hilt was plain, but its blade, besides elven runes, shimmered with crackling lightning. Up close, Lancer felt an inexplicable sense of belonging—as if this was his own. Its appearance surpassed any sword crafted by elves. The Lady gently floated the blade to him.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to accept. After all, even the “Seed of Oni God,” something as foul as that, had been purified by Lotus Flower; surely this weapon’s curse could be lifted as well.

He took the sword in hand, instantly feeling his right hand go numb. At that moment, he saw its attributes:

Sword of Hunger, Caladbolg (Kaladbolg)

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Rank: A-
Type: Anti-Army Noble Phantasm
Attack Range: 1–40
Maximum Targets: 600
Significance: Lightning’s steadfastness, a strike swift as thunder

In Celtic myth, this was the sword of the hero Fergus Mac Roich, belonging to the same lineage as the demonic spear Gáe Bolg, both hailed as magical weapons. Legend held that Caladbolg was imbued with the force of heavenly lightning, forged by the elves of the divine realm.

Fergus was a lifelong friend of Cú Chulainn. During the battle for the Sacred Cow, Fergus sided with the witch Medb, leading the anti-Ulster alliance. Yet he wished not to fight his countrymen, especially Cú Chulainn, whom he’d known since youth. He entered enemy lines unarmed, striking a pact: if Cú Chulainn withdrew today, Fergus would do so next time, both feigning battle. Cú Chulainn agreed and retreated, and Fergus claimed victory and departed. The next day, Fergus did not return to the field, but Cú Chulainn survived; none of Medb’s warriors could defeat him, and the conflict stagnated.

Medb began to berate Fergus, even cursing his weakness. Unable to evade, Fergus led his men into battle, but, true to his word, abandoned the fight and fled. His soldiers, demoralized by their leader’s desertion, suffered heavy losses. Fergus even thwarted a sorcerer who tried to attack Cú Chulainn from behind, aiding his friend. Afterward, Medb lost all trust in him, and his reputation for abandoning his troops spread throughout Ireland. Henceforth, he was no longer celebrated in legend, and the sword vanished along with him. (Gáe Bolg: “Brother, your only mistake was choosing the wrong side.”)

“A demonic sword of thunder… Though its master was forsaken, I will restore his honor. I will make your name renowned once more.” As if in answer, the lightning on the blade danced ever more fiercely.

“Now, return. Lancelot has acknowledged the maiden; you will also go back. I hope we meet again.” With these enigmatic words, the Lady of the Lake vanished before Lancer’s eyes.

Following the mist-free path back, Lancer found Lancelot and Toria’s contest had ended. He saw Toria, breathless, holding Calibur to Lancelot’s throat.

I must confess—I did not wish to write the battle between Lancelot and Toria, for describing combat is truly awkward. My apologies.

The Sword of Hunger in the story is not new; it was once wielded by Red A, though it has since changed. You should be able to guess what it is.

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