Bedivere was in an abysmal mood, a tempest of emotions churning within him. This distress had nothing to do with insults or mockery from some haughty male knight.

  With his gentle features, Bedivere often found himself mistaken for a female knight upon first meeting, which led to doubts about his prowess and resentment over his high standing in the Knights of the Round Table.

  Yet, through years of warfare, he had more than proven his mettle. As a knight, his strength was on par with any of his peers.

  His outstanding military achievements silenced every doubter, and he had risen to become one of the thirteen esteemed Knights of the Round Table.

  He was among those privy to King Arthur's disappearance. While other informed knights left Camelot to search for the missing girl, Bedivere remained in the city with the magician Merlin, working to maintain order.

  That morning, when the girl returned safely to Camelot, Bedivere's heart, which had been in a state of constant anxiety, finally began to ease.

  His taut nerves, frayed from days of worry, could at last find some reprieve. He mounted his beloved horse and left the royal palace.

  With Altria's safe return, he anticipated that the news of the Knight King's recovery would be announced to the public that afternoon.

  Then, the following day, the knights would, as was customary, pay their respects to the King of Britain.

  As one of the thirteen knights who would stand at the front, Bedivere couldn't afford to appear in a slovenly state.

  As he exited the royal palace, Bedivere caught a glimpse of a figure dressed unlike the others. Standing at the gate with two long swords strapped to his back, the man's gaze was fixed on him.

  The stranger wore a set of exquisitely crafted leather armor.

  Bedivere couldn't determine the exact animal skin it was made from—perhaps bear, though the feather adornments suggested it could be from some other bird.

  He knew that certain animal skins, once cured, could withstand sword and knife strikes, and in many parts of Britain, militiamen commonly wore leather armor.

  A faint scar ran across the man's left cheek, starting from his forehead, partially hidden by gray hair, and extending down to his chin.

  Rather than making him look menacing, the scar added a certain rugged charm.

  "Knight Bedivere?" The man, Zelin, stepped forward to greet him as soon as he emerged.

  The king was still in the kingdom, and Merlin was eager to learn about her adventures.

  Before heading to the palace that afternoon, Zelin feared he might not get another chance to see Altria.

  So, he decided to use this time to learn more about the land she ruled and about her.

  "Yes, that's me." Bedivere reined in his horse, dismounted, and asked, "May I inquire who you are and what brings you to me?"

  In Camelot, there were few nobles. The Knight King led her knights in governing the land, adhering to principles of courtesy, justice, and helping the less fortunate.

  Whether it was a wealthy merchant or a humble commoner seeking their assistance, the knights treated everyone with respect, for anything less would violate the knightly code.

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  "You... don't hail from Camelot, do you? Are you from the empire? Or the south?"

  "Correct. I'm from elsewhere and just arrived in this city today."

  Zelin nodded but offered no details about his origin.

  As an outsider, he was wary of revealing too much without understanding the lay of the land. Disclosing his identity prematurely could lead to unnecessary complications.

  "It's a beautiful city, truly remarkable. I didn't spot a single beggar or gang on the streets. That's quite rare."

  "Here, everyone contributes, so no one needs to beg for survival," Bedivere said, unable to hide a proud smile at the compliment.

  "As for gangs, rest assured. Regardless of what happens elsewhere, in Camelot, those who break the Knight King's laws have no place to hide. "

  "But speaking of eye-catching things, I'm more intrigued by those two swords of yours. I've never seen anyone carry two at once. Are you worried the first one might break in battle?"

  "Not at all. As you said, everything has its purpose. These two swords serve different functions in combat," Zelin scoffed. "There's no difference between my dual - sword approach and a knight wielding a lance on horseback."

  Although the School of Griffin is not as specialized in swordsmanship battles as the School of Cat or the School of Bear, the School of Griffin prefers to fight using Signs.

  Just as the School of Viper specializes in potion-based battles and is known as the alchemists among Witchers.

  The School of Griffin can be regarded as the Witchers who are specialized in spell-based battles.

  Even so, Zelin's sword skills were masterful.

  The School of Wolf, on the other hand, seemed proficient in every aspect of a Witcher's arsenal.

  "Interesting. I might have to try carrying an extra sword myself. But enough of that. What do you want from me?" Bedivere smiled and steered the conversation back on track.

  "If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. This is Camelot, and we ensure fairness for all requests."

  "I'd like to ask you about Her Majesty the Knight King." The moment the words left Zelin's mouth, Bedivere's hand instinctively flew to the hilt of his sword.

  Zelin offered a half - smile and glanced pointedly at the knight's hand.

  "Relax. I'm no spy. Have you ever seen a spy openly approach a governing knight to ask questions?"

  "Better safe than sorry. Some spies might try the unexpected," Bedivere replied, releasing the hilt but remaining on high alert.

  Zelin could sense that the knight was ready to draw his sword at the slightest provocation.

  Then again, in the confined space of the palace entrance, Zelin could easily use the Axii sign to gain control over Bedivere before the knight knew what hit him.

  "I entered the city with your Knight King this morning," Zelin explained. "If I'm not mistaken, a magician named Merlin has already met me."

  "Ah, so it's you!" Bedivere sighed in relief upon hearing Merlin's name and extended his hand.

  "Are you the mercenary Mr. Merlin mentioned, the one who protected our king and brought her back? Your name is Zeli, right?"

  "Zelin, actually, assuming Merlin didn't run into someone else with a similar name," Zelin said, shaking the offered hand.

  "And there's no need to test me. I just want to know more about the person I protected."

  "Anglo spies also claim to have innocent motives. Oh, don't take it personally. I'm just stating a fact. And your eyes—they're quite unique."

  "An unfortunate fact I've grown accustomed to," Zelin said flatly, withdrawing his hand.

  "Don't worry, 'lady.' I'm not offended."

  As a Witcher, he was used to such misunderstandings.

  On his home continent, humans and non - humans often regarded each other with hostility, and Witchers, being human mutants, were no exception.

  In diverse cities, this tension frequently boiled over into large - scale conflicts.

  Blaviken, for instance, was a place Zelin avoided at all costs; without intervention, the racial strife there could easily escalate into a bloodbath.

  "La... lady?"

  Bedivere was taken aback, then sighed.

  He removed his iron glove and tossed it at Zelin.

  Fixing the bewildered Witcher with a serious gaze, he declared, "I'll teach those who misjudge me a lesson through a duel. Don't worry. With those two swords of yours, I'm sure you're up for a friendly match."

  "A duel? Is that common here?"

  Zelin inspected the glove closely. "Fine craftsmanship. Made by a skilled blacksmith. You want to duel using this? How about we follow the customs of my homeland instead?"

  "Your homeland's customs? Agreed," Bedivere replied confidently.

  Ordinarily, he wouldn't challenge someone to a duel over a simple misgendering. But this was an opportunity to assess the man who claimed to have escorted the Knight King.

  Was he a formidable warrior or a charlatan? If Zelin proved weak, his story would lose all credibility.

  Altria was a talented knight and a powerful fighter, but Bedivere, having served her for years, knew that in some areas, she could be surprisingly naive.

  He wasn't about to let her be deceived.

  Zelin, for his part, considered himself both a warrior and a bit of a gambler.

  "Very well. Let's find a more suitable place," Zelin sneered, seeing the unsuspecting knight walk into his trap.

  "Trust me, you won't stand a chance against me."