Triumph after triumph, Uther Pendragon gradually secured the allegiance of Guinevere's father and nearly unified all of Britannia under his banner.
Whether it was restoring the lost territories of Camelot, repelling the constant invasions of the Saxons, or subjugating neighboring territories like Gwynedd—which threatened rebellion at any moment—Uther's campaigns were relentless.
He even managed the infamous Morgan le Fay to surrender, a feat that brought the territories of King Lot, which would later be known as Scotland, firmly under his control.
His conquests didn't stop there. Uther managed to seize the Holy Island, a land that had long been the domain of the Fairy King Oberon, who had fallen at the hands of the Eclipse Princess.
Now, Britannia had only two rulers of significance: Vortigern and King Uther.
These two giants of their age were known as the Titans of Britannia, the Gigachads of their era, and the visionaries who sought to unify the island under their dominion.
However, such monumental titles did not come without a cost.
In this saga of power, ambition, and bloodshed, there was one simple, immutable truth: the loser would be branded a villain, their legacy erased or reviled, while the victor would ascend as the Eternal King, immortalized in song and legend.
Both men knew that only one could emerge alive if Britannia was to have a single ruler, and the clash between these titans was inevitable.
The final showdown loomed on the horizon.
Even Morgan le Fay, as cunning and powerful as she was, could not hold Londinium under siege for long.
Vortigern's furious counterattacks forced her to retreat, abandoning her holdings in Scotland as they were consumed by Vortigern's unrelenting vengeance.
Morgan regrouped with her father, King Uther, and set out for Camelot with her loyal Fairy Knights.
Along the way, she made a fateful decision: she merged with Vivian, solidifying her power in preparation for the decisive battle that would determine the true ruler of Britannia.
However, this war for Britannia's soul was anything but simple.
The struggle for the island's future took a sudden, dramatic turn when Emperor Lucius of Rome threatened to tip the balance of power.
As if that weren't enough, Queen Medb of Connacht, along with a coalition of warriors from the Irish Isles—and their wild, bloodthirsty mad dog, Cú Chulainn—declared their intention to join the fray.
Their goal was clear: to exploit Britannia's internal chaos, preventing any chance of unification.
Faced with this unprecedented external threat, King Uther and Vortigern were forced to put aside their hatred for one another.
Though their enmity burned as fiercely as ever, both men understood the stakes.
For the greater good of Britannia, they agreed to a truce, redirecting their fury toward the invaders instead of tearing each other apart.
This unexpected alliance sent shockwaves through their enemies.
Emperor Lucius and the Irish coalition had gambled on Uther and Vortigern's inability to cooperate, assuming their mutual hostility would make Britannia easy prey.
Instead, Britannia roared back with fiery determination. Uther and Vortigern marshaled their forces, forming an ironclad alliance.
Together, they prepared to strike down both Rome and the Irish invaders, turning the tides of war in a way no one could have anticipated.
This fragile, begrudging alliance of mortal enemies was a testament to their shared determination: Britannia would either stand as one or fall into ruin.
The stage was set for an unprecedented campaign of vengeance and ambition, where Britannia's future would be forged in the crucible of battle.
Meanwhile, in Camelot, Uther Pendragon paraded the captured Dead Apostles, their naked bodies exposed to the jeering crowd.
Thick iron chains were wrapped tightly around their necks, dragging them along like disgraced animals as they were forced to endure the humiliating stares and jeers of the gathered masses.
In this era—and even more so in the distant future—they would be known as vampires, creatures of fear and revulsion.
But here, they were Dead Apostles, captured and broken under the relentless interrogations of Artoria Pendragon and Sir Kay, both acting under the strict orders of King Uther himself.
The sunset bathed Camelot in fiery hues, the sunlight acting as an unrelenting instrument of torment for the undead prisoners.
Their pale skin blistered and sizzled under its merciless rays, each step a fresh agony.
Rotten tomatoes, muddy straw sandals, and even foul dog excrement were hurled at them from every angle, splattering against their battered bodies.
The knights of Camelot, stoic as ever, did their best to maintain order.
Yet, they didn't intervene as the barrage of filth continued—King Uther himself had silently sanctioned this public humiliation.
The Dead Apostles had brought ruin to the people's homes, and this display was as much for the crowd's satisfaction as it was a warning to any would-be enemies.
At the execution grounds, the prisoners were forced to their knees.
Cloth was stuffed tightly into their mouths to silence them, preventing any words—or spells—that might slip past their cursed lips.
They were left to kneel in disgrace as Uther Pendragon sat tall upon his imposing warhorse, clad in gleaming armor that reflected the dying light of the sun.
His presence was larger than life, a king born to inspire awe and fear in equal measure.
Raising a gauntleted hand, he commanded silence, his voice booming as he addressed his people.
"Folks, lend me your ears!" His voice was unrelenting, cutting through the tension like the edge of a blade.
"This is justice! This is my solemn promise to you! No matter who you are, no matter your religion, your status, or your position, you shall have justice in Camelot!"
He gestured to the prisoners with his sword, Excalibur, its legendary blade gleaming in the sunlight.
"Vampires have invaded our lands! They have murdered your friends, your neighbors, your families. But I tell you now—no more! No longer will these creatures of darkness plague our kingdom! In the face of the might of Camelot, they are nothing! Nothing!"
With a roar, he lifted Excalibur high above his head, its golden blade catching the light like a beacon of hope.
"All hail King Uther!"
"All hail King Uther!"
"All hail King Uther!"
The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers.
The streets rang with their shouts of approval, their rage against the vampires palpable as they screamed for blood.
The memories of lost loved ones fueled their fury, and their gazes burned with unrelenting hatred toward the kneeling Dead Apostles.
As the crowd quieted once more, Uther lowered his sword and thrust it into the ground before him with a resounding clang.
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with anticipation as he spoke again.
"Yet, once again, our sovereignty is challenged! The Queen of Connacht has declared war upon us! The Roman Emperor himself dares to march upon our lands!"
The crowd muttered in anger, their hatred redirected now toward these new enemies.
"But, they forget who we are!" Uther's voice rose again, his tone filled with fiery conviction. "We have defeated gods! We have repelled dragons! We crushed the Saxons beneath our boots! Time and time again, we have been outnumbered, outmatched—but every single time, we have prevailed! We have won! And we have taken back what is rightfully ours!"
The crowd began to cheer again, their spirits ignited by his words.
Uther's voice grew louder, drowning out all other sounds as he pointed toward the horizon.
"Now, they will pay! Just as these vampires pay for their sins today, so too shall our enemies pay for daring to challenge Camelot!"
His gaze turned to the Dead Apostles, and with a swift, commanding gesture, the executioner stepped forward.
The crowd fell silent as the sharp edge of the axe glinted in the sunlight.
His war cry echoed across the field. "Men of Camelot, to war!"
"To war!"
"To war!"
"To war!"
The crowd roared in unison, their chants echoing across the kingdom.
As the first head of a Dead Apostle rolled across the blood-stained ground, the deafening beat of war drums began to fill the air.
The knights of Camelot mounted their warhorses, the sound of hooves thundering against the cobblestones as they began their march.
Uther led them, his massive frame radiating authority and power.
The sunset painted the sky blood-red as Camelot's forces rode out toward the unknown, prepared to meet their enemies on distant fields.
For their kingdom, for justice, and for their king, they marched into the horizon, leaving behind the blood-soaked execution ground and the cries of a people united in purpose.
...
Note: Okay, lads, here we go! The unification of Britannia is near. You will see Morgan le Fay, Scathach, and Queen Medb soon enough.
Then we will move to Rome, and after that, the world.