Unknownfate
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Chapter 67
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 03:35:28 +0000 UTCAs Mordred landed on the tournament grounds, the cheers of the crowd roared around her, a wave of anticipation and excitement surging through the stands.
Gawain stood across from her, resting his sword on his shoulder, his breath still steady despite the grueling battle he had just fought. His golden armor shimmered in the sunlight, his confidence unshaken.
Sir Blessed, as ever, was in his element, his voice rising to a fever pitch.
"AND NOW, THE FINAL BATTLE OF THE MELEE! TWO OF THE STRONGEST KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE STAND BEFORE YOU! GAWAIN, THE LION OF THE SUN! MORDRED, THE KNIGHT OF REBELLION! WILL THE SUN CONTINUE TO SHINE, OR SHALL THE REBEL CAST A SHADOW OVER IT? PLACE YOUR BETS, DEAR CROWD, FOR THIS WILL BE A BATTLE TO SHAKE THE VERY EARTH!"
Mordred smirked, gripping Clarent in both hands as she took her stance. “Why don’t you just give up? I have beaten you before, it won’t be any different today.”
Gawain chuckled, rolling his shoulders as he planted his feet, his blade resting in his palm. “Last time, the sun had gone down by the time you won, and right now, it is at its peak, you won’t win again.”
Gawain had looked forward to this; the reason he fought as hard as he did was just so he could fight against Mordred once more. Just so he could avenge himself.
Mordred let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she lifted Clarent slightly. “And you think that makes a difference? I will defeat you and then challenge Father.”
“I won’t let you reach the king, not this time.” Gawain said, with a voice as firm as strong as him.
Sir Blessed raised a hand, his booming voice cutting through the eager roar of the crowd.
"KNIGHTS, READY YOURSELVES!"
A tense silence fell over the arena.
Mordred tightened her grip on Clarent.
Gawain lowered his stance, his golden armor glimmering under the midday sun.
Then—
The horn sounded.
Gawain moved first.
He exploded forward like a comet, his blade flashing with golden light as he brought it down toward Mordred with all his might.
Mordred caught the strike with Clarent, but the sheer force behind it sent her skidding backward, digging trenches into the dirt.
The crowd gasped.
Sir Blessed laughed heartily, throwing his arms wide.
"WHAT A START! GAWAIN WASTES NO TIME, STRIKING LIKE A FALLING STAR! BUT MORDRED STANDS HER GROUND!"
Mordred gritted her teeth, shaking off the impact. "Tch. That all you got?"
She lunged forward, her sword glowing crimson, slashing at Gawain’s exposed side.
Gawain twisted, barely avoiding the strike as Clarent cut through the air, leaving a faint red arc where it passed.
“Would you really allow Morgan to return to Camelot if she came here?” Agravaine asked while the others fought.
“You almost sound like you are against it, and here I thought you cared about her.” I said, already feeling where this was going, and not looking forward to it.
“Morgan was a vixen; she spoke poison, seeking power everywhere; she shouldn’t be trusted.” Agravaine said coldly.
I nodded slowly, my gaze still on the battle below. "And yet, despite all that, she never turned against her own children."
Agravaine's jaw tightened. "That doesn’t mean she should be welcomed back with open arms. You, more than anyone, should know what she is capable of."
Mordred and Gawain clashed fiercely, their blades striking with enough force to send shockwaves rippling through the ground.
Sir Blessed’s voice thundered above the fray.
"OH, WHAT A SIGHT! THE SUN MEETS THE REBEL’S BLADE, AND NEITHER YIELDS! IT IS AS IF HISTORY ITSELF IS WATCHING!"
Mordred dodged a powerful downward strike, rolling to the side before swinging Clarent at Gawain’s legs.
Gawain barely managed to leap over the attack, his golden armor catching the sunlight as he brought his sword down once more.
Their fight was a brutal dance—Gawain’s raw, overwhelming strength against Mordred’s speed and cunning.
I turned back to Agravaine, my voice calm. "She was always ambitious. Always reaching for more power, yes. But she gave me my greatest knights, I would gladly deal with her plans and tricks if it meant getting more like you, like Gawain, like Mordred.”
Agravaine scoffed, folding his arms. "You say that, but how many of those plans and tricks were aimed at your downfall?"
I exhaled through my nose, watching as Mordred barely dodged another crushing blow. "Enough that I know how she operates. And yet, in the end, she never took the final step."
Agravaine’s brow furrowed. "You mean she never struck you down herself."
"Exactly."
The clash of swords below intensified, the two knights exchanging strikes faster than the eye could follow. The crowd roared in excitement, fully caught in the spectacle.
Sir Blessed’s voice rang through the air once more.
"ASTONISHING! GAWAIN STRIKES LIKE A SOLAR FLARE, BUT MORDRED TWISTS AND DODGES LIKE A SHADOW IN THE MIDST OF FIRE! WHO WILL BREAK FIRST?!"
Gawain pressed forward relentlessly, his blade glowing with the sheer radiance of the midday sun. His strikes became heavier, faster, fueled by his legendary solar strength.
Mordred gritted her teeth, shifting her footing, her own strength pushed to its limits against the onslaught.
Then, with a sudden movement, she ducked beneath a downward swing, pivoting behind Gawain and slamming Clarent’s pommel into his exposed ribs.
A loud clang echoed across the arena as Gawain staggered, his golden armor dented from the impact.
Sir Blessed erupted into laughter.
"OH-HO! MORDRED FINDS AN OPENING! GAWAIN, MIGHTY AS HE IS, CANNOT SIMPLY RELY ON STRENGTH ALONE!"
Mordred smirked, stepping back. "You’re getting slow, sunshine. Is the heat getting to you?"
Gawain let out a sharp breath, steadying himself, his grin unshaken. "Not slow. Just testing how much fight you have in you."
Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he surged forward again.
I turned back to Agravaine, watching his expression.
"You don’t trust her," I said plainly. "That’s fine. I don’t expect you to. But I trust all of you, to keep me safe, never forget, that while my knights were united, she never dared make any move against me.”
Agravaine was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the battle below. Mordred and Gawain clashed once more, their blades sending sparks flying, their strikes reverberating across the tournament grounds like the tolling of a great bell.
“Mordred’s very birth is the result of her moving against you. If she hadn’t done that, isn’t it possible that Guinevere wouldn’t have gotten together with Lancelot? So isn’t everything Morgan’s fault?”
I could only sigh at his words. He really didn’t like women, not after everything that had happened. I was fairly sure that the only ones he accepted were myself and Gareth.
I exhaled slowly, my gaze still on the battle below. “Agravaine, if we keep tracing every disaster back far enough, we can always find someone to blame. But where does that end? Should I blame my father, Uther, for the way he treated Morgan? Should I blame Merlin for allowing things to unfold as they did? Should I blame the gods themselves for weaving such a tangled fate for us all?”
Agravaine scoffed, his expression hardening. “You sound like you’re trying to excuse her.”
I shook my head. “No. I acknowledge what she did. She manipulated, she schemed, she tried to bring Camelot down from the shadows. But she never struck the killing blow. Others did that. We did that.”
Agravaine said nothing.
Below, the duel raged on.
The two fought without pause, yet, as they continued, as minutes passed by, Mordred started to slow.
Strong as he was, Gawain was unstoppable, and given that Mordred was forbidden from removing her helm, she couldn’t use her noble phantasm, not that such was allowed. But without it, she had only one chance.
If she could last until the sun went down, then she would have a chance. But it was unlikely that she could last that long. Even though Gawain had only just finished fighting Lancelot, he was going strong.
Mordred gritted her teeth as she barely managed to block another crushing strike from Gawain, her feet digging into the ground as she was pushed back once more. The weight of his blade, enhanced by the burning midday sun, was relentless. Every clash rattled through her arms, sending sharp tremors up to her shoulders.
She needed to hold out. She needed to last.
But Gawain wasn’t giving her that luxury.
With a fierce battle cry, he swung his sword in a wide arc, the sheer force of his swing creating a gust of wind that whipped at Mordred’s cape. She leapt back, narrowly avoiding the strike, only for Gawain to lunge forward, closing the gap between them before she could properly recover.
Damn it, he's faster than before!
The moment she landed, his sword was already descending.
She barely raised Clarent in time to block, but the impact sent her knees buckling. The ground beneath her cracked from the force.
Sir Blessed bellowed over the roaring crowd, his laughter booming through the air.
"THE LION OF THE SUN CONTINUES TO ROAR! CAN MORDRED HOLD HER GROUND, OR SHALL SHE BE OVERWHELMED BY THE KNIGHT OF MIDDAY GLORY?!"
Gawain pressed harder, bearing down on her with everything he had.
Mordred felt her muscles strain under the pressure. Damn it, this is worse than I thought.
Gawain’s voice cut through her thoughts, his tone steady, unyielding.
“You can’t keep up forever, Mordred. You know it.”
Mordred gritted her teeth. “Then I’ll just have to take you down before that happens.”
Gawain’s lips curled into a confident smirk. “Try it.”
Their blades locked for a second, and then—
BOOM!
Gawain pushed forward with an explosive burst of power, knocking Mordred off her footing. She staggered, trying to regain balance—
—but he was already moving.
His sword flashed, a golden arc descending toward her exposed side.
She had no choice.
Mordred twisted, letting the blade scrape against her armor rather than taking the full force of the hit. Even so, the impact sent her flying, her body crashing against the dirt with a thunderous impact.
The crowd erupted in shock.
Sir Blessed roared.
"GAWAIN STRIKES TRUE! THE KNIGHT OF REBELLION HAS BEEN SENT TO THE GROUND! COULD THIS BE THE END?!"
Mordred groaned, her vision spinning.
Her fingers twitched around Clarent’s hilt.
She wasn’t done. Not yet.
But—
She barely had time to push herself onto her knees before Gawain was upon her.
His sword, blazing with the full radiance of the midday sun, descended one final time.
Mordred raised Clarent instinctively— but she was too slow.
With a resounding clang, Excalibur Galatine struck true.
A single, decisive blow.
Mordred collapsed under the weight of the strike, her sword slipping from her grasp as the force of the impact pinned her to the dirt.
Silence.
Then, a heartbeat later—
The horn sounded.
Sir Blessed’s booming voice rang out, shaking the very air.
"IT IS OVER! THE KNIGHT OF MIDDAY GLORY STANDS VICTORIOUS! GAWAIN WINS THE MELEE!"
The crowd erupted in a deafening cheer, the stands shaking from the sheer force of the celebration.
Gawain stood over Mordred, his breathing heavy but steady, his grip on Excalibur Galatine still firm.
I could hear Agravain hold his breath; My knights grew nervous. All of them thinking, fearing that Gawain might continue, that he might kill Mordred.
And who could blame him? Who would? Mordred had once killed him, so he was justified in doing so; my knights could understand his feelings.
As could I, which was why I wasn’t worried.
And indeed, Gawain proved himself as he stepped away from the downed form of Mordred, and raised his sword high in the air, and accepted the cheers of the crowd.
Sir Blessed, ever the master of spectacle, did not let the moment pass quietly.
He threw his arms wide, his deep voice booming across the arena.
"REJOICE, YE HONORED GATHERING! FOR YOU HAVE WITNESSED A BATTLE WORTHY OF THE ANNALS OF HISTORY! TWO TITANS CLASHED, AND NOW A CHAMPION STANDS! GAWAIN, THE LION OF THE SUN, HAS PROVEN HIS STRENGTH AND SKILL! LET THE ROAR OF YOUR VOICES SHAKE THE VERY FOUNDATIONS OF CAMELOT!"
The response was deafening.
The crowd erupted, their cheers rising into a frenzied chant of “GAWAIN! GAWAIN! GAWAIN!” The name echoed across the battlefield, bouncing from stone walls and banners, growing louder with every voice that joined in.
As the roaring voices of the spectators finally began to settle, his voice took on a tone of reverence.
“AND NOW, WITH THE MELEE CONCLUDED, WITH ALL WHO SOUGHT GLORY HAVING FOUGHT AND FALLEN, THERE REMAINS BUT ONE QUESTION…”
The air grew tense.
All eyes turned toward Gawain.
“GAWAIN, VICTOR OF THIS GRAND CONTEST, YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR MIGHT BEFORE ALL. AS PER THE CUSTOMS OF ALBION, THE CHAMPION OF THE MELEE MAY CLAIM THE HIGHEST HONOR… THE RIGHT TO CHALLENGE THE KING OF KNIGHTS HIMSELF!"
His words once more turned the crowd crazy; they screamed and cheered at the top of their lungs, wanting to see the legendary King Arthur in action; for a moment, they forgot his last demonstration.
Mordred, still lying in the dirt, clenched his fists hard, he had wanted that, wanting to fight his father once more, but now, that honor would belong to Gawain instead.
Gawain, however, did not move.
He remained silent for a long moment, Excalibur Galatine still raised high.
Then, slowly, he lowered his blade.
He turned to face the royal balcony, where his king, his liege lord, watched from above.
And then—
Gawain knelt.
In one fluid motion, he dropped to one knee, bowing his head in deep reverence. He placed Excalibur Galatine before him, its tip touching the ground in solemn respect.
The crowd fell silent.
Sir Blessed, ever the showman, knew when to let the moment breathe.
Gawain’s voice, steady and filled with unwavering devotion, rang across the battlefield.
"I decline."
Gasps rippled through the audience.
Gawain did not waver. His golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, his expression serene, absolute.
"There is no higher honor than to serve my king. To raise my blade against him, even in sport, is not something I desire. I have fought today to honor my brothers, my sisters, and the land we have sworn to protect. But my sword belongs to Albion… and to you, my liege.”
He raised his head slightly, meeting my gaze.
