Lancelot stood at the edge of the grassland connecting to the mountain. His clone perched on a tall tree nearby, observing.
Lancelot's lips curved into a smile as he watched Aisha and Taiyor sprint toward him.
He closed his eyes and sent his consciousness into his Lightning Spirit Core. When he reopened them, his body was fully clad in white armor with a black wing. The eye sockets of the armor glowed with white lightning, sparks dancing across his entire form. A spear of pure lightning materialized in his hand.
Spirit Core Combination Move: White and Yellow Lightning Knight
Lancelot raised the spear, attempting to strike—but his body froze.
He reverted to his knight uniform, suffering a violent backlash. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing uncontrollably as blood streamed from his mouth, eye sockets, and nose.
Why can't I move? Damn it… not now. I can't afford to lose consciousness here. I still need to kill all of you… It hurts… it hurts! His body trembled violently.
A sharp pain tore through his mind, as if something inside him had snapped. Dizziness clouded his vision. He tried to stand, only to collapse back onto his knees.
The Lancelot clone observing Aisha and Taiyor frowned. Turning toward the main body, it asked in a cold tone, "Do we retreat, or do you have any means to win?"
Lancelot stopped coughing and laughed, a hollow, shaking sound.
My soul is injured, my mind is weak… I have no strength left… hahahaha! He laughed and laughed.
The clone stared, puzzled and confused. "Why are you laughing? What's so funny? Can't you see the predicament we are in? Have you gone mad from refining Feral Souls?"
Lancelot shifted his gaze from his clone to the approaching Nigerians. He smiled. "You don't have to worry about me… Let's just bet on that legendary Feral Soul."
The clone's eyes narrowed. "That's not possible… Are you saying you refined that legendary Feral Soul in one try?"
You are a mere clone… you cannot comprehend the greatest Lancelot, the Knight of Britannia, he thought inwardly and chuckled.
Even if I wound the legendary Feral Soul, even if I cannot repair it, even if I lose it after one use, I will not regret it. What matters is survival. As long as I make it back home, hope remains. So what if I lose the Illusion Feral Soul after one use? Will it stop me from pursuing my goals?
Those who fear loss are the ones who end up defeated. If you cannot let go of what you already have, how can you achieve greatness? Lancelot reflected inwardly.
He injected his snow-white spirit essence into his Rank 3 Thunderbolt Feral Soul.
His body transformed into a thunderbolt. The clone leapt onto Lancelot, and together they flew from the grassland hill toward the mountain road.
They landed near Aisha and Taiyor. The clone jumped down, and Lancelot reverted to human form. His eyes were bloodshot, golden hair disheveled, covering his face.
Aisha and Taiyor locked their eyes on him.
She spoke calmly, "Just surrender, and I might let you live… I have witnessed your strength. If I bring you back, my country will accept you as compensation for the loss of my comrades."
Lancelot injected snow spirit essence into the Illusion Feral Soul. The faint rainbow light at the bottom of his Spirit Sea brightened, illuminating the entire Spirit Sea.
He swept his gaze across the surroundings: grassland and forest on one side, rocks and mountains on the other.
In a soft voice, he said, "Since the beginning of time, humans have always ruled over plants, animals, and themselves. A person's worth is not determined by beauty or kindness alone. Wisdom, strength, and reputation—humans rely on them to rule and conquer. These three complement each other; one cannot prevail without the others for long. Without strength, wisdom, or reputation, one is no better than a cow—a mere domestic animal unable to defy fate."
He chuckled and recited:
To seek immortality, I would sail across the sea, find new lands,
Chasing horizons where the sky dissolves into eternity.
I would tread upon foreign lands, find the unknown.
Across the blue abyss, atop the clouds, I laugh at mortals below,
Let storms devour the weak, let waves test my will,
For only through ruin does true ambition stand still.
I will become a reflection of the sun, unyielding, supreme,
Not bound by the cycle of death, nor shackled by dreams.
A sovereign existence above heaven and earth.
I walk my own path to supremacy.
Defy fate.
Defy destiny.
Defy heaven.
...
Taiyor's eyes narrowed. After three seconds, he murmured, "Is he insane? Did stealing the corpse damage his brain… or has he always been mad?"
The last words of Lancelot's poem echoed in his ears:
Defy fate.
Defy destiny.
Defy heaven.
...
After five minutes of silence, Aisha broke it, her voice sharp with rage.
"So what if you defy the heavens? Look down on mortals? Dream of becoming a replicate of the sun? I don't care. The only thing that matters now… is feeding your corpse to the wild fishes in the blue sea."
Lancelot smiled. The time for his illusion to begin had arrived.
He and his clone attacked Aisha and Taiyor.
They crossed paths seamlessly, passing through each other so perfectly that, for an instant, even Aisha lost track of which was which.
Both Lancelots struck. Taiyor barely blocked in time, forced backward by the synchronized blows.
Two figures leapt in opposite directions—one rolled.
Lancelot and his clone fought in perfect harmony, one attacking high while the other went low, switching roles without signals, without hesitation. Taiyor adapted instantly, shifting his blade between strikes, extending it into a spear.
Lancelot formed a sword of condensed lightning essence in his right hand. The clone formed a spear. They attacked together.
Bang! Bang!
Blades clashed. Taiyor blocked the sword, twisted aside from the spear, and countered with a sweeping slash that forced Lancelot back two steps.
Aisha closed in. Fire wrapped around her fist as she punched. Lancelot was sent flying, but his clone caught him mid-air.
Lancelot frowned and deactivated the illusion.
The Lancelot who was frowning and the clone who held him dissolved, and the scene shifted.
...
Lancelot now sat under an umbrella, atop a duvet. Three baskets of fruit lay beside him as he ate a green apple.
Taiyor scanned the surroundings. Behind him, Aisha saw Lancelot having a picnic on a rock slab.
She pointed, mouth opening and closing, trying to form words. In the end, only stammering emerged:
"Ho… ho… how… is… thh… this… hap… happ… ponning…"