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

"Just call me Alaric. I am a knight of the Lion King," Alaric said openly, revealing his identity. Before his words had settled, Cursed Arm Hassan's expression changed instantly.

"What! You're with that guy!"

Visible hostility filled Cursed Arm Hassan's eyes.

"Serenity! Why are you working with him?! They're no different from the Crusaders—still slaughtering our people!"

Cursed Arm shouted.

"It seems Mr. Cursed Arm has met Sir Gawain. His approach to dealing with the rejected is rather... direct," Alaric replied, calling Cursed Arm Hassan by his true name, taking the initiative.

"The Lion King's Round Table Knight—Gawain. Judging by your reaction, Mr. Cursed Arm, you've already witnessed the brilliance of his solar light. Tell me, how many people do you think you could save from him?"

Though Alaric's words flowed smoothly, inwardly he was calculating the risk of fighting two opponents at once.

Both Hassans were experts in stealth. In direct combat, Alaric might hold his own for a while, but the Noble Phantasms of Servants could easily turn the tide of battle in an instant.

Cursed Arm Hassan's Noble Phantasm, Zabaniya: Delusional Heartbeat, used his right arm—an arm infused with the malignant spirit Shayṭān. With just a touch to the enemy's chest, it would create a false heart that destroyed their life force.

In simple terms: touch equaled death.

This was what Alaric feared most. The threat posed by Cursed Arm was too great; recklessly starting a fight would only end in Alaric's demise. Avoiding combat and engaging Cursed Arm Hassan verbally was necessary.

"What do you mean by that?"

Cursed Arm asked, his expression wary, ready to disappear into the shadows at any moment.

"The new king who has replaced the Crusaders and taken over this land—the pure white Lion King—is about to hold a Holy Selection. Those with pure souls will be chosen to move forward into the future, while the rejected will mostly face death. You've already witnessed this, haven't you? Of course, if Mr. Cursed Arm can defeat Gawain, then it wouldn't be a problem."

"Or, you could make a deal with me. I'll save the rejected, and Miss Serenity can testify."

After a brief moment of thought, Alaric realized that Serenity's situation complemented Cursed Arm Hassan's perfectly. Serenity had hesitated to accept Lancelot's protection of the rejected—wasn't that hesitation due to a lack of comparison? The slaughter by Gawain and the protection by Lancelot were undoubtedly stark contrasts.

While the two Hassans exchanged information, Alaric's mind raced.

From Alaric's perspective, the only reason he could convince the two Hassans was because he held the upper hand. But this tactic wouldn't always work.

"Is your true goal really to meet the First Hassan?"

Cursed Arm Hassan asked, now standing not far from Alaric after his conversation with Serenity. Information from Serenity had slightly altered his view of Alaric.

"Indeed. It's an equal transaction. I wish to visit the First Hassan, while you wish to protect the people of this land. We both get what we want."

"As to whether you trust me... Mr. Cursed Arm, I believe you've already made your judgment, no?"

Alaric confidently met Cursed Arm's gaze. Though he couldn't predict others' reactions, he was certain he could sway Cursed Arm, whose love for this land was unmatched.

"I hope you keep your promise," Cursed Arm said slowly, prompting Alaric to smile.

"I won't make things difficult for you, Mr. Cursed Arm. Just tell me the sanctuary's location. I'll go there myself."

"You seem to know us well," Cursed Arm noted.

"I've heard a little."

With the deal confirmed, Cursed Arm took on the task of guiding Alaric toward a barren mountain. Soon, Alaric realized how treacherous this mountain range was. The steep, desolate landscape was devoid of vegetation.

"Who's there?"

Alaric sensed something, turning his head at the same time as Cursed Arm.

A group of robed figures rushed down from the hills on both sides, their eyes filled with hunger as they gazed at them.

"Refugees?"

Alaric's expression remained calm, and he glanced at Cursed Arm. "Please avoid taking their lives—"

Bang!

Several muffled thuds followed as the refugees who had charged at Alaric were instantly knocked unconscious.

"They've been driven into the mountains..."

Alaric observed the emaciated people on the ground, pale and gaunt. Their plight was easy to imagine—they had barely survived after being driven out by Crusader atrocities.

"Lord Alaric, we cannot continue together from this point," Cursed Arm said, looking at the starving refugees.

"I will tell you the sanctuary's location."

Alaric nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Cursed Arm. Take this horse to help them back."

He dismounted, leaving the black horse he had taken from the Crusaders. After obtaining the coordinates of the sanctuary, he set off alone.

...

One hour later

Alaric stood before towering mountains, fierce winds howling around him. In the distance, a magnificent wall of light rose.

"Is that... the end of the world?"

The sight was beyond imagination, akin to the celestial wheel—a real, tangible boundary of the world. Before Alaric could marvel any further, shadows burst from below the cliffs, stirring up fierce winds.

"Wyverns?"

Clutching the rocks, Alaric watched as three green wyverns circled overhead, their blood-red eyes fixed on him as if he were prey.

Roar!!

With deafening cries, the wyverns dove, unleashing torrents of blazing fire!

Buzz!

With a single resonant hum, the flames were instantly extinguished. Alaric launched himself skyward, and in an instant, he was face to face with one of the wyverns.

Slash!

A swift, decisive strike cut through the wyvern's tough scales effortlessly, dispatching it. The other two wyverns scattered, one even attempting to flee!

But Alaric was faster.

Using the falling wyvern's body as a springboard, he closed in on the fleeing creature, piercing its death line, and sent it crashing to the ground.

'One more.'

Alaric locked onto the last wyvern, but before he could strike, a massive force slammed into his side, sending him flying.

With no foothold, Alaric plummeted, but the next wave of attacks was already upon him!

Blazing flames surged from behind, engulfing him with a force that would melt gold and iron.

A burst of red mana flared, and a terrifying aura, like that of a red dragon, swept out.

"Roar!!"

The green wyvern recoiled, retreating instinctively.

"Too late!"

With just his grip's strength, Alaric crushed the wyvern's scales, his arm piercing straight into its abdomen!

The tide of battle turned instantly. Alaric didn't hesitate—punch after punch rained down, reducing the wyvern to a bloody mess in moments.

"Surrender, or die!"

With one foot, he stomped the wyvern's head, looking down with fierce authority.

Alaric's draconic aura caused the green wyvern to tremble in terror, and finally, it submitted, lowering its head.

With the wyvern under his control, Alaric mounted it as it flapped its wings, carrying him into the sky.

As the wind whipped through his hair, Alaric's black locks streamed behind him.

"Hahahaha!"

His wild laughter echoed through the mountains as he soared toward his destination.