Chapter 28: Tiny Blossoms

Such beautiful flowers. Although they are lovely, to be honest, I don’t dare to care for them, otherwise I definitely would. Ah…

“Huff… Huff… Gawain, did we make it out?” Lancelot, without a shred of dignity, leaned against a tree and addressed the other man lying on the ground.

“Yes, it seems we escaped.” His words were smooth, but Lancelot doubted that even if those monsters burst in now, this fellow would have the strength to stand. The sun had already set, and originally the two had planned to take advantage of Gawain’s strength—doubled before sunset—to pull off a stunt at the enemy camp. But now Lancelot was uneasy; he wasn’t sure if the knights under Toria’s command could defeat those monsters.

“Stop playing dead. We need to hurry and meet with the king.” Lancelot kicked Gawain before turning to leave.

“Do you need help?” At that moment, a voice appeared. The two, already on edge, immediately drew their weapons toward the source. But what emerged was a girl in tattered leather clothing; her face revealed she could never be an assassin. Lancelot even doubted she could lift a weapon at all.

“Who are you?” Although it was clear she wasn’t an enemy, Gawain asked with caution.

“I’m the daughter of hunters who live in the mountains. My parents went out long ago and haven’t returned. I came to find them and saw you.” Her voice faded after that.

“Do you know any secret way out of the mountains?” Sensing no strength in her, Lancelot decided to trust her. Though they had exchanged only a few words, for some reason she exuded an aura that inspired trust.

“My home has a tunnel that leads outside. Father built it to protect against thieves and for smuggling goods.” With that, she led the way forward.

“Shall we go?” Gawain asked.

“Isn’t that obvious? Do we have any other options? Besides, for some reason, I feel she won’t harm us.” He followed after her.

On their path, Lancelot noticed a field of flowers.

“Why is there a flower field here?” he asked casually.

“I planted them. After my parents left, only the flowers kept me company.” She said no more, and Lancelot’s expression grew solemn. She led them through the blossoms, stopping suddenly to pick two lilies, handing them to Lancelot and Gawain.

“For you.” She spoke, then continued ahead without another word.

“Lilies? But this flower doesn’t quite suit me.” Lancelot picked a red spider lily instead. The girl didn’t react, while Gawain kept examining his flower and his hands.

“No need to look. Our hands have never been stained by the blood of innocents. Whoever stands on the battlefield as a warrior, their battle is sacred.” Unlike Lancelot, who grew up in the army, Gawain was a true knight, but too strict with the code. To Lancelot, a warrior’s destiny was to die by the enemy’s hand on the battlefield. Even if his hands were soaked in blood, he never regretted nor suffered nightmares.

“Hope I see you again,” Gawain said solemnly at the tunnel entrance.

“But…” She seemed about to speak.

Gawain simply raised his lily and said, “I will avenge you.” Without looking back, he entered. In Lancelot’s eyes, she slowly faded away, but he saw both relief and tears in hers.

“Don’t be sad, Gawain. Remember, we are the King’s knights. What happened to this girl is not unique; that’s why I show no mercy to those filthy nobles.” This was the land of Britain. Though their enemies had gathered near the border for a year, the flower field’s size proved it couldn’t have grown in just a year. The cause could only be those “parasites.”

“For the first time, I understand how you could swing your sword against those pleading nobles. I always thought a knight’s blade was drawn only against enemies.” He gazed blankly at the lily in his hand.

“No need to look. That girl has probably entered the cycle of rebirth. Her wish depends on you to fulfill.” Gawain was so despondent he failed to notice Lancelot’s words said “you” instead of “us.”

“I never thought I’d receive a lily, symbol of purity.” He mocked himself quietly, then looked gravely at the spider lily—the flower of death. Gawain hadn’t noticed it, but Lancelot had. The meaning was clear.

“So, my time is ending here? How unwilling I am! But with Renhua’s power, if she wishes, I will certainly leave the stage. Let me compose a final note on this stage, belonging only to me, the ‘Blood Knight’!” The sorrow vanished, replaced by burning passion. Every recluse is a fanatic; for something in their heart, they can become someone else. For the girl who once moved him, he decided to go mad for her, not realizing his feelings encompassed more than kinship, admiration, or faint affection—he was also drawn by the King’s charisma.

He pinned the spider lily to his chest, then kicked Gawain hard. “You idiot, let’s go. If you want to stare, wait until we help the King truly become Britain’s ruler, then you can gaze as long as you want.” With that, he ran toward the torches ahead.

Gawain said nothing, only glanced back at the small cottage. The gentle look brought by the lily grew firmer.

“In the name of the Solar Knight, I swear to protect all whom I meet with my sword.” Gawain was a true knight; he would never swear to what he could not achieve. Whether it was his imagination or not, he felt a breeze brush his face.

With resolute steps, Gawain caught up to Lancelot.

———Enemy Camp———

“What did you say? They entered the ‘Field of Death’? Ha, they’re doomed. No one survives there.” A priestess sat in her chair, addressing the Roman commander before her.

“But…” “Enough. We will not go there. That place harbors the purest hatred. Even as creatures of darkness, we cannot survive it. The spider lilies would send us to the underworld. Only those whose hands have never been stained with innocent blood, never entangled by vengeful spirits, can leave. The Solar Knight aside, the Blood Knight’s hands are soaked in blood—he cannot live.” As she spoke of the flower field, the priestess trembled slightly and said no more. What she didn’t realize was that only those lacking conviction would be haunted by vengeful spirits. Lancelot’s unwavering belief in his “justice” made him immune.

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