Blue-Eyes White Dragon: Adopted by the King of Knights [40]

It was an attack that shouldn’t have happened.

No one—absolutely no one—would have expected that, on a battlefield meant for mortals, someone would actually dare to raise a weapon against a god.

“…Must’ve slipped.”

“Yeah, had to be a slip-up, right?”

As the blood-red spear streaked through the sky like a meteor, headed straight for him, Bluey suddenly thought of a certain someone from his previous life—the legendary Indian third brother.

It was said that the "Rabbit" (a nickname for a certain country) had once declared: any attack on the Three Gorges Dam would be regarded as an act of nuclear war.

But if the one who launched the missile was that third brother… even the Rabbit would have to double-check before retaliating—Was this really a provocation? Or just another malfunction from that walking legend of failed launches?

Clink.

Still holding out hope that this was “just a misfire,” Bluey gently raised one of his foreclaws—and batted the red spear back down to the earth.

Thud—

The magic spear, which had just soared like a blazing comet, now plummeted just as swiftly. Bluey had gauged his strength perfectly—it didn’t shatter the weapon, but simply drove it deep into the dirt right in front of King Pellinore.

The king stared at the embedded spear, dazed, and stood silently for a long moment.

“…Go.”

He suddenly dismounted, picked up the fallen spear, and gave his horse a hard jab in the flank.

The steed neighed and bolted away, leaving King Pellinore standing alone on a battlefield where victory was no longer possible.

He looked around, eyes filled with a complicated mix of emotions.

Before him stood an invincible foe. Behind him, the remains of a broken army, bereft of will. He had no chance of winning—this had been clear from the very start.

And yet he had come anyway. He stood here now, upon a battlefield of certain defeat, to launch one final challenge—a hero’s challenge—against the mightiest existence of this era.

“King Arthur!”

He gripped his spear tightly and cried out the name of the Chosen King, all trace of melancholy vanishing from his face, replaced by wild, unbound fervor.

“I’ve heard that a noble knight, even when facing a weaker foe, will fight with all their might.”

“And you—O god in the heavens above—”

“Spare me your mercy, for what I seek is none other than your divine blood!”

[Ding. King Pellinore has issued you a challenge.]

[Do you accept?]

…

Pellinore’s roar echoed across the battlefield.

It was the roar of a lion—the voice of the king of beasts. So awe-inspiring that even Artoria and Bluey, both literal dragons, exchanged slightly uneasy glances.

They’d seen courage. They’d seen death-defying stunts. But this?

To charge Artoria head-on was already an act of suicidal bravery.

But now he stood there, shouting about how he wanted his opponent’s full strength, how he longed for the blood of the divine…

Was he just completely done with life?

Or was he hoping that a glorious death would earn him a place in the songs of history?

“…But regardless.”

“If he’s issued a challenge like this… then we’re obligated to answer it.”

Artoria’s expression turned solemn.

—She had planned to spare Pellinore after Lamorak had defected and joined her.

After all, putting politics aside, King Pellinore was undeniably a brave warrior. A remarkable ruler in his own right.

But now, with such an open demand for her to fight at full strength… showing mercy was no longer an option.

Up above, Bluey—having clearly registered this as a direct provocation—began to charge the blazing white energy of annihilation within his jaws.

As a Blue-Eyes White Dragon, a being who revered head-on confrontation and the aesthetics of overwhelming force, he was more than willing to help this so-called Hero cement his legacy.

—Even if it meant ending that legacy with death.

And yet…

Despite knowing he's doomed, why is there still a spark of hope in his eyes?

What is he waiting for?

…

The attack began.

From the sky, a torrent of blinding white energy burst forth—while on the ground, Artoria's sword swept out a wave of incandescent heat.

Two cataclysmic blasts, converging on the lone king who stood at the center of the field.

And yet Pellinore didn’t flinch—he didn’t even blink.

Thump. Thump.

It was the sound of his heart, beating fiercely in his chest.

In this moment between life and death, time slowed to a crawl. The noise of the world faded away into silence.

All he could hear was the heavy, thunderous rhythm of his own pulse.

With courage behind it, his heartbeat now sounded like a war drum—deep, steady, powerful.

“AAAAAHHHHH!”

With a roar, Pellinore raised his spear high.

He wasn’t waiting to die. He was fighting. Facing down an attack that could wipe a city off the map, he hurled his blood-red spear once again—straight at the divine being above.

BOOM—!

But his assault was futile.

That spear, crafted from the finest enchanted materials, was obliterated instantly. Swallowed whole by the searing light. Not even ashes remained.

And yet—this was exactly what he had hoped for.

“O God—”

Staring into the twin beams of radiant death now bearing down upon him, the hero closed his eyes at last, his strength fully spent.

“Was my life pleasing to you?”

…

King Pellinore died.

Before the eyes of thousands, he was struck down by two beams of divine judgment.

No one could survive such an attack—not even a speck of him was left behind.

But no one mocked him.

Because this was Britain—the land of the Celts, where reverence for heroes was woven into the soul of the people.

Even Artoria, his enemy, offered the highest respect to a king like Pellinore.

And yet—

“…No.”

“The battle isn’t over yet.”

“So this is what he was doing all along?”

As the battlefield—empty just moments ago—slowly became enveloped in a strange, gray mist, realization dawned.

Bluey, who was deeply familiar with this kind of aura, suddenly understood why King Pellinore had done what he did.

This is the scent of that Island of the Dead, isn’t it?

A realm hidden on the far side of the world, surrounded by black sea. A place where only the dead may tread.

And on that island… lies a city.

A city that welcomes only heroes.

There, the souls of the brave may finally find peace, under the watchful protection of a mythical Heroic Legion.

As for the name of that legion’s commander—

Wait a minute—why did that magic spear look so damn familiar just now?!

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This is a fan translation of 综漫：青眼幼龙，被骑士王捡到了 by 歌冰丽月. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!