While the overall situation was settling on this side, Joan of Arc on the other side quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Her two subordinates had gone in two different directions to attract the attention of others, including the King of Scotland, to cover her escape. She had good reason to believe that so many decoys would allow her to get away.
She knew, of course, what fate awaited her if she fell into the hands of the people of Camelot. After seeing innocent women, accused of treason by the Scottish army, being gang-raped for two days before dying, she already knew that this era had gone mad! This was a crazy era! She couldn't think of any way to stop it!
She didn't want to be like that woman, stripped of her clothes by common soldiers, then pressed onto the scorching hot stubble of wheat, with soldiers lined up behind her, one after another, taking turns, their faces twisted in sneers, venting themselves on her.
Just thinking about that situation was a terrifying prospect, for any girl... Joan of Arc knew the true nature of these soldiers. Without military discipline and superiors to restrain them, they were a pack of hungry wolves—and these wolves must never be unleashed!
But Camelot had not only unleashed the hungry wolves but was also training waves of young wolves. She would never forgive Camelot.
Clenching her fists, Joan of Arc looked towards the canyon, where the sounds of battle still raged, and the scent of blood grew thicker.
Frowning slightly, Joan of Arc walked along the path ahead without looking back. There lay the road to freedom; there lay the future for a resurgence!
Joan of Arc's heart pounded as she passed through the narrow, ambush-prone path, finally seeing the open fields. Her spirits immediately lifted.
"Joan of Arc... Miss," a gentle voice reached her. Joan of Arc jumped as if electrocuted, truly agile.
Two people sat on a large rock about ten meters to her left.
One woman had blonde hair, just like her, and they bore a faint resemblance to each other.
The other man had enviable silver hair, smooth and long, and he leaned on a long staff with a transparent crystal at its tip. His large, green, amber-like eyes looked at her with a gentle smile. Dressed in white and blue, they looked like a match made in heaven, sitting there together without any sense of incongruity.
"That battle just now, I presume you were the one who commanded it?" The white-clad youth gave Joan of Arc a different feeling than any other noble. Nobles often looked down on you with arrogant disdain, their heads tilted sixty degrees and their eyes lowered forty degrees. This youth, however, possessed an elegant and detached grace; every movement of his made one feel comfortable and compelled to trust, or rather, to be convinced by him.
"A truly splendid battle." Hearing such praise from him made Joan of Arc feel a touch of pride, despite her face remaining calm and resolute. Yet, a small sense of triumph truly existed in her heart.
"I have a question for you." The youth raised his hand, his silver hair swaying, looking very romantic in the breeze.
"Have you received any military training?" Kayal's question made Joan of Arc ponder for a moment before shaking her head: "No."
"Haha... how wonderful." The youth clapped his hands as if he had seen something beautiful and interesting.
"Who are you?" Joan of Arc still had a sword, hidden behind her, but now it could no longer be concealed. She slowly drew it out, looking at the two with a vigilant expression.
"King of Camelot, Arthur." Artoria looked at the girl, who bore a faint resemblance to herself in her features, and proudly spoke the name.
Seeing the other party's incredulous gaze, Artoria also felt a surge of secret satisfaction.
"Now we are here to offer you a surrender." Kayal activated his Charm Aura.
"What if I don't surrender?" As Joan of Arc spoke these words, her heart felt a blockage. When she closed her eyes, she could see the scene of the farmer's daughter, whom she had known since childhood, being gang-raped by over fifty knights... "Capture you... right?" Kayal tapped his forehead, saying with a troubled, uncertain tone, "Your value is too great... Hmm, if things go wrong, it could even pose a powerful threat to Camelot... If we cannot capture you, we will do everything in our power to eliminate you."
Kayal's tone was gentle and refined, like a knowledgeable scholar, but the words he spoke sent a shiver down Joan of Arc's spine, making her hands and feet cold.
"So..." Artoria stood up, brandishing her golden longsword, and declared, "Fight for your own destiny!"
"If you defeat her, we will swear by the Code of Chivalry to let you go, and we will not pursue you again... as long as you do not oppose Camelot." Kayal's words made Joan of Arc's face light up with joy.
But the words that followed made Joan of Arc's expression change.
"Of course, you should know that we have dismissed our guards, knights, and other retainers to show our sincerity for a fair fight. And if the wager is accepted, then if you lose, you naturally must pay the price." Kayal's words made Joan of Arc hesitate. "What price must I pay...?"
"Absolute loyalty to His Majesty, loyalty to Camelot." Kayal smiled. Joan of Arc's value was not political; the King of Scotland's value was political, while Joan of Arc's value was military. If she were trained by him... The thought of having a capable assistant who could stand on her own and one day scheme against Alexander filled Kayal with immense excitement.
"These are the most basic conditions for your fair duel. Do both of you have any objections?" Kayal asked with a smile. People of this era valued honor. Joan of Arc was at a disadvantage, but he had'slightly' made it fair. After losing, she would certainly not go back on her word.
In that case, everything would naturally fall into place.
"Then let's begin," Artoria said, her gaze sharp as she looked at Joan of Arc.
Joan of Arc held a mixed-metal longsword, using silver as an auxiliary material to enhance its toughness (the craftsmanship of this era hadn't developed beyond silver for good soft metals). In other words, this finger-width longsword was not only both rigid and flexible, but one also had to be wary of Joan of Arc's martial arts!
The two exchanged dozens of blows, yet neither gained an advantage. Kayal, after a quick glance, felt relieved. Although Artoria was quite unaccustomed to Joan of Arc's back-and-forth soft sword thrusts, she had clearly been tempered by more than a decade of facing high-speed swords and numerous other fast swords. Artoria had long developed her own method: first, steadily holding her ground for the initial dozen or so moves, then systematically counterattacking.
This rogue-like fighting style, even when facing Teresa, would give her quite a headache, so Joan of Arc immediately found herself in a predicament...