CHP 62: Rightful Monarch (Patreon)

Tristan stared at the servant before him in silence, his eyes calm but forced open by the sheer oppression radiating off a newly arrived force, "You are... Sir Aston, right?" He asked slowly, fingers resting against Failnaught's strings. It felt as if even if they were careful, a single wrong movement could bring calamity on their heads.

Even Gawain seemed to understand, firmly gripping Excalibur Galatine should the need to use it arise.

They couldn't fail their King again, not after they were graciously granted a second chance they didn't deserve.

'Tyron' didn't respond to his question, a ruler needed not repeat himself, "Will you resist? Do men not understand words in this age?" Words aside, he had just destroyed an entire army with a gesture, "Will you deny me my ambition? A land that is rightfully mine?"

The two knights stayed silent, they didn't know how to answer a question like that.

"Very well..." For a moment, Tristan could swear 'Tyron' grinned at their reluctance, "It has been long since I last felt nature's embrace. I wish to stretch my arms." The darkness shrouding his form retreated into crevices of pitch black lined with gold to reveal a mass of metal that towered over even Tristan.

Two crimson eyes peered out of a helm that had horns both above and beside it and tattered dark cloth draped from his hip guard, revealing steel mail underneath.

It was an armour similar in colour to Aston's, but that was where the similarities ended. The 'armour' was also horned and didn't 'feel' like armour, instead it was as if that was his body.

Metal shifted and clanked as he raised an open hand to them, beckoning them to come at him.

"You... are outnumbered." Gawain spoke sternly, getting ready to attack. He had accepted the bitter truth that Tristan was still processing, this wasn't Sir Aston. If it was, it wasn't the one they were acquainted with but something else entirely. Tristan cast a surprised glance at him before nodding in tacit understanding.

They would have to fight now that a clear challenge had been issued.

What was stopping him from using the same tide against them if they ran away after refusing the opportunity he'd given them earlier.

"And you... are outmatched."

Without pause or hesitation, Gawain rushed Tyron, Excalibur Galatine held out to the side, and swung at the unidentified servant... only for him to grab the sword that carried the heat of the Sun with a bare hand and lean his head forward, "You brandish a weapon created by my people against me? Foolish."

"What?!"

He pulled back his free hand, balling it up into a fist, and smashed it into the knight's face, tossing him into the air before appearing above him faster than he could perceive and slamming his battleaxe into his unguarded back hard enough that the knight met the ground at a speed akin to a meteor, blowing a crater into the Earth.

At the same time, Tristan ran his fingers through Failnaught's strings, firing off dozens of invisible arrows in a symphony. Again, all it took to render the attack completely useless was him raising a hand in it's direction. A dark vortex emerged from his palm, swallowing up all arrows.

Tristan didn't stop however, and attacked again, this time releasing arrows that diverged at different points. Tyron only swiped his battleaxe, releasing a gust of wind that instantly transformed into a full blown sandstorm, taking all Tristan's attacks with it while burying Gawain under a mountain of sand.

"I see, you are not Sir Aston." Tristan spoke calmly, barely fazed by the sandstorm that had blown into his face, "May I ask what you mean to do to those who would hinder your 'feat'?"

Tyron closed his free hand and in response, the very Earth below them shifted, hardening and morphing into steel, steel that formed swords of all sizes. A guttural hum left the servant's throat before he spoke, gracing him with an answer that affirmed his suspicions,

"Trample and break, ruin and destroy, starve and rip apart."

With a snap of his fingers, the weapons shot at the still standing Tristan but never reached him. The temperature skyrocketed as light welled up from under the ground, heat seared even the sand, melting through it as a pillar of light ascended to the sky, "I see. I can not allow you to leave here then." Gawain's visage became majestic, his form massive and enveloped by the light of a star.

Tyron seemed to pause at his words and remembered something, "What are you here for then? Do you not wish to conquer the land in the name of your King? What do you think you will do to accomplish that?" In a war that used humans, many would lose siblings, parents, friends, and lands would be raided for supplies, it was why he had refused to accept the aid of people who took up arms for him, "Leave, naive fools. You are not worth my time. I must reclaim my treasure."

Just like that, without explaining further, Tyron simply turned around as darkness once more came seeping out of the crevices in his armour and walked away, not bothering to cast even a cautious glance at them.

"And what is that meant to mean? Face me, co-..."

Tristan held up his hand, stopping Gawain from talking further, "He spoke truth, we are outmatched." The man had brushed off Excalibur Galatine and Failnaught combined, overpowered Gawain at the peak of his strength, and changed the very landscape with mere gestures, "It would take sacrifices our King can not afford at this time."

The Knight of the Sun reluctantly lowered his sword, accepting the bitter truth, "It would take us all combined to stand a chance." He put a hand over his bleeding and dislocated jaw, "That strength is unlike anything I have ever seen." The gallant White Knight of the Round Table did not even think to berate or underestimate his enemy, even when he'd been insulted and injured.

"Yet, his words grate at my nerves." Gawain continued, "What does he mean in calling us naive fools?" They had lived and grown up in war, faced it all their lives, gained and lost comrades along the way.

"Ah... Think of it, Sir Gawain. Tragic we are, true, but neither of us are common men nor conquerors. You were born to a King, I too. A sorrowful fact but a fact nonetheless, we might never truly understand what a common man went through in our time."

"I see. I must ask Sir Ast-..." Gawain paused midway and pursed his lips, in defeating one enemy, they had lost one of their own. He did not possess the wit nor the mind to make sense of what had appeared before them and what it had done but their fellow knight, the one who rose from commoner to the Round Table was gone, "... We must report this matter to our King."

Tristan stared at his back for a moment, before letting out a prolonged, sorrowful sigh, "His absence will be noticed." And reacted to harshly by his students.

"It pains me to ask this but... Can we refrain from telling Gareth?" Strangely, it was Gawain who proposed the option, "I will appeal to the King myself... I trust Sir Agravain and Lancelot will understand, I fear for what would become of..."

"I see not even you are exempt for the love one holds for a sibling." Tristan smiled with closed eyes, nodding in acceptance, "Sir Aston never did stay at the Capital long even during life so I doubt it would be difficult to cause confusion for a while."

At memory of his sister, a refreshing smile formed on Gawain's lips.

The Knight of Atrocity was always off somewhere.

It was a bitter occurrence, but both of them had lost comrades before.

Gawain had lost brothers, Tristan had lost the love of his life.

They did not mull in the loss, believing it to be a disrespect to their fellow knight.

-

The flavour and lore text for all powers displayed in this chapter and the chapter before it where he destroyed the crusader army,

Tyrant's Ambition A: To those of lesser mind, Tyron is incomprehensible. The words of Tyrant can only promote fear, his presence submission and his gaze petrification. Localised as Charisma A+.

Master of the Primaeval Curse A: Once bathed in and molded by Britain's Primaeval Cursed energy, Tyron later went on to make it submit to him, aided by his spouse, and now weilds it freely. It can mend, corrupt and destroy as he wills it. A powerful vortex-like tide that can change the face of the Earth itself once released.

Nega-Salvation: The Saviour of Mother Earth, Tyron is the one who will force man into an age of endless peace and stagnation. Create a world where the Age of Steel will never come to be, for man will never feel the need to progress further, nor be allowed to. A skill that rejects the progress of man and creates a field where all but basic technology is forcibly destroyed. Provides resistance to the machninations of man as well as noble phantasms.