As Scáthach stepped forward, a wall of Vortigern's soldiers loomed ahead, but none dared to challenge her. The power radiating from her spear quelled any thoughts of resistance. Vortigern gritted his teeth, frustration consuming him.
"Almost… just a little bit more," he thought, determination surging within. "If only my speed were greater or my strength more formidable, I could strike down Scáthach. I must become stronger—stronger than everyone else."
But his inner vows meant little now; he faced the bitter fruits of his ambitions.
Above the city wall, Altria beamed with pride. "Your Majesty, we've eliminated all enemies that entered the city! We've secured another great victory!" Her joy was infectious, but it wasn't just the victory that thrilled her. Half of her happiness stemmed from the prospect of a grand feast.
Bedivere had not only led the army but had also brought along the cook. Lott had promised a grand meal after their victory, and now Altria eagerly anticipated the delicious dishes awaiting them. She reminisced about the sumptuous meals shared with her brother-in-law and sister in the past, savouring not just quantity but quality.
"Indeed, we've won a great victory!" Lott and Morgan echoed, their faces lighting up with triumph. Yet Lott's expression quickly shifted as he regarded King Marko, now firmly in his grasp. A pressing question loomed: what to do with the defeated king?
If King Marko were any other enemy, Lott would have struck him down without hesitation. But this was Tristan's uncle and adoptive father. History suggested that Marko would eventually betray Tristan, leading to dire consequences. However, that future remained unwritten, and Lott couldn't bear to condemn him without considering Tristan's feelings.
"Are you going to surrender?" Lott asked, hope tinged with caution. After several encounters where Marko had escaped rather than fought, he anticipated a different response this time.
Marko's reply was swift and defiant. "You'll never get me to surrender! I would rather die!"
Lott raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Why are you so stubborn today?" he pressed, inching the tip of his sword closer to Marko's throat. "I'll give you one chance to reconsider. Will you say the same thing again?"
Marko's expression hardened. "Fleeing doesn't mean I'm not willing to fight. Even if I run, I'll always oppose you. Surrendering would mean trampling my dignity."
Lott paused, reflecting on Marko's words. He felt a surge of understanding. Morgan, noticing the tension, pulled Lott aside to discuss their next steps.
"Let me suggest something," she whispered, sharing her ideas. After a brief exchange, Lott nodded, satisfied with their plan.
He approached King Marko again, who had closed his eyes, bracing for death. "Come on, just see if you kill me, and I won't even flinch," Marko taunted.
But Lott didn't strike. Instead, he ordered, "Tie him up first. We'll talk to Tristan and see what he thinks we should do."
Marko's eyes widened in disbelief. "King Lott, if you're still a knight, you should kill me with one swift stroke! Don't even consider talking to that traitor!"
"This matter isn't for you to decide," Lott replied, turning away as his soldiers bound Marko.
King Marko yelled after him, frustration boiling over. But soon, exhaustion overtook him, and he fell silent, closing his eyes in weary resignation.
Just then, Lott and Morgan returned, their expressions tinged with a faint sadness. "What's wrong?" Marko asked, sensing their solemnity. Had Vortigern's forces truly defeated Camelot after all?
Lott approached Marko and, to his surprise, loosened the ropes binding him. "Congratulations, King Marko, you're free," he said lightly.
Marko blinked, confusion spreading across his face. "What are you doing?" he asked, puzzled by the unexpected turn of events.
Lott's expression grew serious. "Your nephew Tristan is willing to die for you. He said that the hatred between us originated with him. Therefore, he chose to commit suicide."
Marko's face turned ashen. "What did you say? Tristan… committed suicide?" He grasped Lott's armour tightly, desperation flooding his eyes.
"Yes," Lott confirmed, feeling the weight of the news. "He wanted to eliminate all hatred, so he chose to end his life."
Marko stumbled back, shaken, as the reality of his nephew's decision crashed over him like a wave. "Tristan had always been so pessimistic," he thought. "Could he truly choose to take his own life?"
His expression shifted from shock to despair. "He actually died…" Marko whispered, his heart heavy with regret. Memories flooded back—his bitterness toward Tristan for stealing his fiancée, the embarrassment he had endured, and the loss of someone he once cherished.
The truth settled like a stone in his chest, and he sank to his knees, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. Marko realized that the enmity he had harboured had only deepened the wounds between them, and now he faced the consequences of his stubborn pride.