—It was impossible to comprehend.
Tristan's scarlet form melded with the shadows, streaking across the tent like a blade of living blood. She carved apart everything in her path, yet her strikes and movements were always but a hair's breadth away from Gawain's.
—Speed impressive, but not so great that I can't react.
A colossal, blood-red arrow of pure magic tore through the air, obliterating the throne at the center of the tent. Its only effect on Gawain was to shred the hem of his tunic.
—Strength… impossible to gauge. But from her style, she's not a pure power fighter—certainly nowhere near Woodworth's level.
Tristan plucked her harp like a bow, its strings trembling. From it, countless threads of enchanted energy spun out to ensnare Gawain. If not for the faint scarlet glimmer whenever that magic coalesced, he might not even have noticed the assault until it struck.
Still, once he recognized the attack, he dodged several streams of glittering threads—only to find himself cornered, sword held aloft as his sole defense.
Yet, when the magical threads struck his blade, they felt almost weightless.
—I can't fully parse her technique, but each individual strike isn't lethal. A couple of glancing blows won't kill me.
—Most crucially, I have more battle experience.
Gawain inhaled, stepped forward, and narrowly slipped past the sudden extension of Tristan's boot heel. In that same heartbeat, he closed the distance to her side. The unexpected proximity froze Tristan's momentum—her heel still extended, her balance thrown entirely off.
A flash of steel as Gawain slashed past, and a pained scream cut the air behind him.
—She's a novice. Her reactions are scattered—panic flares as soon as she's struck. Compared to the two knights at the tent entrance, she's hopelessly inexperienced.
—At this level, even Percival couldn't touch her, let alone Woodworth. Why, then, did she kill him?
That question gnawed at Gawain as he realized—in this moment—he truly could win.
"You bastard!"
Tristan roared, and a visible wave of arcane force rippled from her, hurling Gawain backward several paces. The sheer weight of her magic made his lungs seize.
"Why—why won't you stay down?!" She slammed her fist into the earth, fissures spider-webbing out from the point of impact. Magic crackled like lightning across the ground, shattering massive chunks of bedrock into powder.
Gawain had his answer. That was Tristan's raw power.
"Why can't I land a hit?!"
She thrust her hand deep into the earth, then heaved upwards. A slab of rock several feet across shot aloft, hurtling straight for Gawain.
—Heavier than anything I could hope to lift. I can't stop that.
Gawain dove forward, skimming the ground in a desperate roll. The boulder thundered overhead, just grazing him as he slipped beneath it.
"Can't you learn some manners and just die already?!"
No sooner had he twisted free than a rain of crimson-cored spell-arrows descended: an unrelenting bombardment designed to leave no gap in his defense. Gawain's heart sank.
[Although you quickly subdued Faery Knight Tristan, her raw power far exceeds yours. Her frenzied, indiscriminate assault drives you to the brink of defeat.]
Indeed, Tristan's fighting instincts may have been crude, but her base attributes—strength, magic, ferocity—were unrivaled, second only to Percival. In her madness, she now relied upon sheer force: rock-shattering blows and wholesale magical arrows. Gawain could not stand against it.
Just as the spell-arrow barrage threatened to shred him alive, a vivid blue light swept past, cleaving every arrow in front of him. Then that same azure glow bathed Gawain's wounded body.
"Don't underestimate me!"
At the edge of the battlefield, Artoria—who had quietly slipped her bonds—leapt to her feet, brandishing her simple staff and glaring at Tristan.
"I—I'm here too! I won't let you harm him again!"
[At the critical moment, Artoria frees herself and aids you, pulling you from death's door.]
"Bravo, Artoria!"
Recognizing Artoria's support enchantment, Gawain sprang up and charged at the staggered Tristan. Thanks to Artoria's magic, his battered body surged with renewed energy; his wounds knitted closed far more quickly.
"Why are you still alive—"
Gawain hushed Tristan's words before she could finish. In one swift motion, he drove his blade through the knight's midsection.
[With Artoria's aid, you deal a devastating blow to Faery Knight Tristan.]
"It hurts…!"
Tristan shrieked again, then whipped a fist toward Gawain. He braced his spear to block—but her sudden explosive strength shoved him backward with crushing force.
"Bring the tent down!"
Unable to finish her off in a single strike, Gawain roared and leapt back just as Artoria hurled several shimmering blue magic spheres. They smashed into the last few supports of the tent.
Moments later, the entire structure collapsed. Gawain grabbed Artoria's hand and pulled her clear, while Tristan lay trapped beneath tons of fallen canvas and timber.
By the time Tristan tore herself free, Gawain and Artoria were long gone—disappearing into the night, two distant silhouettes racing away.
"You can't run from me! I will kill you both!"
Tristan's scream rattled the air, her entire form trembling with rage. She raised her hand, and in a flash, a single blood-red arrow flew toward Artoria, who lagged behind Gawain.
[Tristan unleashes a full-power magic arrow at Artoria.]
[The attack occurs too suddenly for thought; your reaction is driven by your bond with Artoria.]
[You shove Artoria out of the way—she takes the arrow instead.]
[You lose all action.]
"No…!"
Gawain, watching the screen, leaped to his feet in alarm. He had just saved Artoria—now she was hit instead!
He could only pray she reacted with reason: that she'd push him out of the way and flee.
[Artoria refuses to abandon you; she pledges to live and die by your side.]
Gawain slapped his palm to his face, heart pounding.
Just when I thought we were safe…
But then hoofbeats thundered on the ground suddenly.
[At the crucial moment, a member of the Tooth Clan appears to aid you.]
[His name: Rhedra Bitt.]
[Having escaped his imprisonment amid the chaos you unleashed on the New Darlington camp, he chose to come to your rescue.]
"You won't escape! Don't think running away saves you this time!"
Behind Gawain's back, Tristan's voice boiled with rage.
"Even if you elude me this once, the next time I will kill you—no, not just the next time, every single time! I will find you again and unmake you limb by limb!"
[Overwhelmed by his injuries, you lose consciousness. The last sensation you recall is Tristan's hateful curse—but her final words blur away before you can hear them.]
[You plunge into a deep sleep.]
[Half-dreaming, you sense being carried far overland in a cart, your body tossed on straw.]
[When you awaken fully, you see a face you never could have imagined.]
On the screen, the image shifted. A regal, beautifully sculpted face gazed down at Gawain. She was instantly memorable—an imposing vision that struck him with shock. Fine, symmetrical features framed by golden hair that draped over her shoulders. Upon her head, crystalline spikes arced like a crown, luminous as cut diamonds.
And then there was her scale: a size that dwarfed any normal faery, so large that her very presence overwhelmed the senses.
"Y—You…!"
Gawain tried to bolt upright, but the woman pressed a single hand to his shoulder. Her arm was as immovable as granite; lightly resting on him, it pinned him completely still.
"I've heard of your courageous deeds against the Darlington forces, warrior." She studied his eyes, speaking with solemn respect.
"Though I suspect you already know who I am—allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Gawain, Lord of Manchester and Faery Knight."
"You are now within my domain of Manchester. Rest assured, your safety here is guaranteed."
[You have encountered Faery Knight Gawain.]
[From her words, you learn that you have reached Manchester.]