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

ROAR!!

A deafening bellow sent shockwaves through the air, causing the roaring inferno to sway and falter.

"Enough of this incessant noise—it's driving me insane!"

Mordred's lips curled into a sharp grin as she charged forward, wielding her gleaming sword. The blazing inferno, burning at thousands of degrees, seemed utterly insignificant to her. Against the towering wall of flames, Mordred's diminutive frame—standing at a mere 1.5 meters—looked almost laughable.

Even clad in heavy armor, her presence was like a drop in the ocean compared to the raging fire.

But with a single step forward, Mordred unleashed an immense force. The ground beneath her feet cracked and exploded outward in all directions, tearing the inferno apart as if it were nothing more than paper. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the flames split before her, revealing a path in their midst.

Beyond the firestorm loomed a colossal chimera, their massive forms crowned with various beastly heads. Flames danced along their bodies, pooling and flowing like liquid fire to create a sea of flames beneath their feet.

Alaric stood motionless, observing from afar. His gaze fell on the sword in Mordred's hand—a radiant weapon of legend, Clarent, once safeguarded in King Arthur's armory as a symbol of royal succession.

Reputed to shine "brighter than any silver," this holy sword was said to rival the splendor of Excalibur itself.

For Mordred, however, the chimera was no match. With every swing of her sword, another beast fell—severed, mutilated, or killed outright.

In mere minutes, a dozen chimeras lay lifeless on the ground.

Alaric, still calm, covered his mouth and nose as he surveyed the charred remains of the fallen monsters.

"They're... dissolving."

He noticed the chimera corpses melting rapidly in the flames. Their towering forms, some standing over seven or eight meters tall, vanished within seconds.

From the fiery sea where their remains dissolved, new chimera emerged, rising slowly to their feet. It was an eternal cycle—a grotesque loop of life and death.

"Is it the flames' doing?"

Scanning the inferno, Alaric pondered. The signs pointed to something unnatural—perhaps a magical ritual or the Crusaders' Workshop that had been mentioned.

Before he could confirm, Mordred's defeated chimera returned, their numbers slightly diminished but their magical energy and power significantly enhanced.

Understanding dawned on Alaric.

"So, it's like raising venomous insects... A trial by fire."

Gripping his sword, the Sword of End, Alaric stepped forward. A colossal shadow loomed ahead, accompanied by another deafening roar.

ROAR!!!

Crackling red lightning arced along Alaric's blade, its energy coiling like a serpent.

He paused, lowering his stance. With his left arm pulled back and his right extended forward, he prepared to strike.

Sensing danger, the chimera charged—massive bodies propelled by muscular limbs. The inferno surged toward Alaric as well, an overwhelming tide of fire and beasts.

Unfazed, Alaric waited until the red lightning peaked at his blade's edge. Then he thrust forward, releasing a spear-like surge of lightning that pierced through fire and chimera alike.

In a single stroke, one chimera was annihilated. Alaric turned his blade, ready to strike again, but the chimera was already upon him, flames clinging to their forms.

Undaunted, Alaric moved into their ranks.

A pitch-black blade sliced through the air, splattering blood across the battlefield.

Boom!

In mere moments, two chimeras were cleaved in half. Their remains were kicked beyond the flames, out of the inferno's reach.

The last chimera disintegrated under a torrent of red lightning, reduced to ash.

Landing smoothly, Alaric examined the battlefield. The slain chimera dissolved again, fueling the fiery sea with their remains.

"...Curse."

Driven by curiosity, Alaric reached out toward the flames. The moment his fingers touched the fire, a strange force tried to invade his body.

"As expected—a curse. Either Mordred is too reckless to care, or the flames can't affect her."

Retracting his hand, Alaric noted the familiar wave of Berserk Curses attempting to twist his mind—a signature of the Crusaders' enslavement spells.

As for Mordred...

Alaric glanced up. She had plunged deep into the chimera horde, like an untamed hunting dog reveling in the chaos.

It was clear the curse did not affect her—likely thanks to the Lion King's Blessing, a divine protection far beyond the curse's reach.

Despite eliminating several chimeras, Alaric realized they would endlessly regenerate so long as the fire remained. Fire and chimera sustained each other in a deadly cycle.

A plan began to form in his mind—a simple but decisive one.

"Mordred! They're endless! We need overwhelming firepower to wipe them all out in one go!"

His shout echoed across the battlefield, loud enough to pierce Mordred's bloodlust-fueled frenzy.

"Huh?"

Mordred turned, baffled.

"What the hell? Why are there more of them now?"

Only then did she notice the regenerating chimera forming an impenetrable wall between her and Alaric. She could barely see his silhouette, but his voice carried clearly through the flames.

"Either you unleash your Noble Phantasm, or I will! Who's going to do it?"

"Are you stupid?!?"

Mordred yelled back, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"You're even dumber than Gawain!"

Despite her scolding, Mordred leaped back, creating space between herself and the chimera. Violent magic surged around her, radiating upward like an eruption.

"I am no king, but I follow in the king's path!"

She crouched low, red lightning crackling around her. The radiant Clarent in her hands darkened, transforming into a blade of black and crimson.

Hate-fueled lightning erupted from the cursed sword.

"I will destroy all that I must to bring the king peace!!"

As she chanted, the chimera charged toward her, intent on tearing her apart.

But the red lightning surged forth, ripping through the firestorm and shredding the beasts.

"Clarent Blood Arthur!!"

Unleashing her Noble Phantasm, Mordred swung her sword with unrelenting fury.

A crimson torrent consumed the battlefield—a storm born of her bottled rage, obliterating everything in its path.