Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King's Personal Knight

Zzzap!

Alaric spun sharply, just as the invisible tendril dissipated. In a flash, he shot off like an arrow released from a bow!

Red lightning surged, and the distance of several hundred meters vanished in an instant!

Boom!

A delayed sonic boom echoed across the vast desert, rippling across the sands.

"What?!"

A startled voice cried out, but before the speaker could say more, they were abruptly silenced by a crushing force.

Alaric, grinning wickedly, left the magus no time to react. He slammed his palm over their face, driving them hard into the ground and dragging them along the sand for dozens of meters before stopping.

As they came to a halt, Alaric sensed a surge of obscure magical energy. Without a second thought, he flung the magus forward with a powerful motion, tossing them like garbage.

The magus flew through the air like a broken puppet, crashing into the sand several dozen meters away. When they finally crawled out, they were far from Alaric.

Cracking his knuckles, Alaric walked toward the magus with confident strides.

"I wondered why I couldn't find you. Turns out you were hiding here!"

As Alaric closed the distance, he kept a sharp eye on his surroundings. He confirmed there were no bounded fields or traps—the magus seemed to have avoided setting up any detectable magical disturbances.

"So, it's remote manipulation magcraft? You've been following those Crusaders all this time?"

"Then it must be that an accomplice dragged Nitocris into some bounded field. Otherwise, how could she have disappeared so suddenly… could it be a Reality Marble?"

The thought made Alaric click his tongue in annoyance. He still didn't know how many enemies he was dealing with. How could there be so many magus lying in ambush?

The news of his obtaining the Holy Grail hadn't even gotten out—had it?

In just a few breaths, Alaric had once again closed the gap between himself and the magus. But with their hood obscuring their face, he couldn't see their features.

The only thing visible was a pair of narrow, phoenix-shaped eyes.

As he approached, he noticed the magus glaring at him with intense hatred. Though he didn't understand why, he sensed the magus gathering magical energy, clearly preparing a spell.

Zing—

The sword left its sheath, arcs of electricity dancing along the blade.

Alaric's eyes, now transformed into vertical pupils, locked coldly onto the magus.

"I'll give you one chance—surrender now, or die."

The magus response was—

Zzzap.

"Magic bullets, loaded!"

With a sharp cry, intricate, multi-layered magical circles appeared before the magus. Dozens of magic bullets shot forth, whistling through the air toward Alaric!

"A cursed Nordic spell!"

Recognizing the ominous magic bullets, Alaric decided not to face them head-on. With a swift sidestep, he created some distance.

When he turned his gaze back to the magus, he was surprised by what he saw. The magus, no taller than 1.6 meters, had pulled a massive two-meter-long broadsword out of thin air.

"A sword?"

Alaric, holding his sword in one hand, was puzzled by the magus choice of a Western-style greatsword. But what the magus did next almost made him laugh.

The magus assumed a stance as if they were seriously planning to engage Alaric in close combat!

Though amused, Alaric remained cautious. He was certain the magus had used powerful reinforcement magecraft to enhance their physical strength.

From their initial encounter, he hadn't intended to kill the magus outright—he'd aimed to incapacitate them. But during that brief clash, he sensed the magus body was incredibly resilient, like a seasoned warrior's.

The magical fluctuation he had sensed wasn't from activating a spell, but from canceling one.

"Are you stacking buffs before we start?"

Alaric asked politely.

The magus remained silent, charging at Alaric without responding.

In an instant, both figures vanished from their spots, their swords clashing with sharp, metallic clangs that echoed like a storm of blades.

Sparks and drops of blood filled the air.

When Alaric reappeared a hundred meters away, he was completely unscathed. In contrast, the magus stood nearby, battered and bloodied.

"You think you can fight me in close combat?"

Alaric rested his sword on his shoulder, studying the magus with interest.

At first, he had been wary of this magus, who had remained hidden and undetected for so long. Magus were unpredictable, and their threat level was hard to gauge. Unlike warriors like Lancelot, magus often posed the risk of sudden, overwhelming danger.

But Alaric hadn't expected the magus, after a single feint with the charged bullets, to choose a direct melee fight.

The problem was, the magus's swordsmanship wasn't even on par with his own before he'd trained with Lancelot.

"Next time, I'll take your arm," Alaric said, shaking his sword and pointing at the magus's right arm—the one holding the sword.

Panting heavily, the magus glared at him, a fury that puzzled Alaric.

"Look, I'm about to kill you. Shouldn't you at least tell me why? You haven't said a word."

The magus's gaze made him feel as though he were the one at fault. It was utterly absurd.

"Heretic!"

The magus's voice was as clear and cold as a flower blooming in a desolate valley.

Alaric raised an eyebrow.

"So, you're with the Crusaders!"

In this singularity, he hadn't encountered anyone besides the Crusaders who would call him a heretic.

"Why are you attacking me?"

Alaric asked again, still scanning for other magus.

"The sacred relic has been stolen by a heretic like you! We, the holy disciples, have every right to take it back!"

The magus's voice burned with righteous fury, as though questioning why he'd betrayed them.

"So it's true. These Crusader remnants can track the Holy Grail. They must have realized I took it out of the Holy City!"

Alaric's expression darkened. If he didn't eliminate the remaining Crusaders, they would continue to hunt him, forever after his prize.

He couldn't keep guarding against them day after day—but they could always strike.

Honestly, if he knew the Grail had fallen into someone else's hands, wouldn't he go to any lengths to take it himself?

"They're too dangerous!"

At that moment, he no longer cared about the magus's impressive magecraft. His only focus was eliminating the threat.

"Betrayer! Fallen into heresy, what face will you show the Lord?"

The magus, seeing his resolve, cursed him.

"How do you know I was with the Crusaders?"

Alaric's expression hardened. When he had awakened, he'd encountered the Lion King, and all the Crusaders who had been with him were dead. His identity should have died with them—no one should have known.

Yet this magus knew he'd once been a Crusader.

This revelation forced him to raise his guard.

Whooosh—!

A gust of wind blew past, pulling back the magus's hood.

Exposed was a youthful face, still bearing traces of innocence. A gray ponytail was stuffed haphazardly into the cloak, and despite her anger, the magus's delicate features were unmistakable.

There was no doubt—it was a young girl, just on the cusp of adulthood.