The symbol of London, London Bridge, was collapsing.

This tragedy wasn’t because of a monster’s attack, however.

No, the destruction of London Bridge was the fault of the Round Table, the organization that represented England.

“It was inevitable…” Merlin said as she looked at the collapsing bridge with eyes filled with sorrow.

Fatigue and melancholy flashed across her beautiful visage.

However, barring her, everything in the vicinity was soaked in red blood.

Drip.

Drip.

Everything, everyone was soaked in blood, one’s own blood if not the enemy's. Or even the blood of their comrades.

The members of the Knights of the Round Table, which used to number well into the dozens, had decreased noticeably.

“Lancelot…” Gawain whispered, lifting the knight up.

The knight had been torn to shreds.

His arms were shaking like leaves in the wind, and his eyes were unfocused.

“Did I fulfill my duty well…?” Lancelot asked.

While losing dozens of his comrades in the volatile confrontation, Lancelot had put his life on the line, rushing in to create an opening for those who fought beside him.

Although the battle had begun once Arthur had attacked and ended with the collapse of London Bridge, Lancelot had still done his duty well.

“Yes,” Gawain replied.

They had won.

With the city...