[Due to the effect of the Morning Star · B skill, your incitement effect is further enhanced.]
[The Round Table soldiers, immersed in grief and having already laid to rest their long-deceased friends and comrades, have harbored their anger for some time and are roused by your call.]
[All of them despise the lord in Salisbury, who presents a glorious façade but carries out dark deeds in secret.]
[Under your incitement, every soldier joins your vengeance force.]
"Now is not the time for this, everyone. Please calm yourselves—do not let hatred cloud your judgment..."
[Worried that soldiers consumed by rage and fanaticism might go too far, Percival attempts to stop your vengeful action.]
[As a companion of the Chosen One of Prophecy and the strongest warrior in Britain, the Savior of Norwich, and having trained these Round Table soldiers during your stay in Lentinien, your reputation among them is extremely high—second only to Percival.]
[Due to the Morning Star · B effect, your leadership is further boosted; guided by their hatred, almost all Round Table soldiers ignore Percival's entreaties and choose to continue following you in this revenge mission.]
[You begin marching toward Salisbury.]
[Although you are furious, your remaining reason tells you that after a forced march from Oxford to Lentinien, fighting the fire through the night, and then burying the dead, the soldiers are at their physical limit; another forced march would utterly exhaust them.]
[You arrange reasonable supplies and rest so their stamina recovers as much as possible.]
[Even so, when you reach Salisbury a day later, they remain in poor shape—supported only by hatred and anger.]
"All right, never mind. Since I alone consumed the funds meant to support you, let me repay you with this display of valor!"
[You order the Round Table Army to form ranks just outside the city, then charge in alone.]
[Since your Strength has reached grade B, your power check succeeds.]
[With raw force, you smash through Salisbury's East Gate and slay the guards there single-handedly.]
[Then you lead the Round Table soldiers into Salisbury.]
"Barbarian executioner Guinevere, who repaid kindness with betrayal, leads the rebels from Lentinien to protect Lady Aurora! We cannot allow these rioters to harm Lady Aurora!"
[As you break through the gate, you hear the Wind Clan faeries spreading such rumors by wind-magic.]
[Then the residents and guards of Salisbury stand in your way; you notice most of those guards are human.]
"At this point, do you still try to twist the facts and deceive others..."
[You attempt to negotiate with Salisbury's people blocking you, but lacking any negotiation skills and given Aurora's long cultivation of her reputation—your Persuasion check fails—you cannot convince the residents or guards.]
"For Lady Aurora!"
Only these words are heard before a javelin is thrown at Guinevere, which he swiftly catches.
[They attack you first.]
"You... fine, fine!"
Exhausted by the events thus far, Guinevere's eyes are bloodshot and his reason nearly spent.
"We are barbarians, right? Our Round Table Army has fought so humanity won't be oppressed by faeries any longer; we've struggled till now, yet we must fight faeries and still be stabbed in the back by fools like you?!"
"The ones who attacked Lentinien originally were those who, after receiving a bit of favor, blindly trusted Aurora and turned their blades against their own kin!"
"All right! Fine!! Very well!!!"
Facing those fanatics deceived by Aurora, now her accomplices, Guinevere—already beyond fury—erupts on the spot:
"You're right! I am indeed the barbarian executioner!"
Guinevere shouts:
"Kill with me!"
Then he leads the way, charging into the crowd before him; blood erupts and flesh is torn.
Behind him, seeing the torrents of blood, the Round Table soldiers' eyes redden, and they join the slaughter.
—Had Percival led the Round Table Army, they would never have come to this.
He would have tried everything to avoid battle and seek peaceful dialogue when facing troops deceived into protecting Aurora, sparing unnecessary bloodshed.
—His spear would only target the truly guilty.
But would the truly guilty stand before Percival to be slain?
Deceiving the people with a splendid, gentle façade, using others as shields—no matter what, a righteous army led by Percival could not kill Aurora.
Yet Guinevere does not consider such nuance, nor does he hesitate.
Not because he fails to see it, but because from the start, he understands hatred is hatred and the enemy is the enemy; he will not distinguish between truly evil foes and those merely misled.
Holding such naive beliefs would have gotten him killed long ago if Percival's unmatched valor had not protected him.
War is war, and slaughter is slaughter.
Once one takes up arms, one must accept a fight-to-the-death mindset; naive fools oblivious to this do not deserve the battlefield.
Thus, there is only one answer:
"Kill them all!"
Amidst the sea of corpses and blood, Guinevere—stained with gore—roars.
[Although the Round Table soldiers are already weary, thanks to the Morning Star · B effect, the attributes of those following you rise, barely offsetting exhaustion's negatives.]
[But given the vast difference in quality between Round Table soldiers and Salisbury guards, combined with your heroic combat, you break through like a tempest, tearing apart every foe who stands before you.]
[Moreover, as more enemies fall, by some point no one stands to block you any longer.]
.............
"Has the commotion outside ceased? Coral."
No matter how loud the shouts and clashes outside reach the heavens, in Salisbury's Great Cathedral lord's bedchamber, Aurora remains composed and leisurely.
"No, the situation is grim: the East Gate has been breached, and the Round Table Army is flooding in..."
Inside the lord's bedroom, opposite the dazzling Aurora, the pink faerie Coral reports calmly as possible:
"With respect, Lady Aurora, the Round Table Army's plan is too reckless. We have no real conflict of interest with them; continuing like this is..."
"No, what are you saying, Coral? The Round Table Army is tearing itself apart already, isn't it? Though unfortunate, their inexplicable internal strife only shows they are a mediocre army."
Unperturbed by her deputy's warning, Aurora sips her afternoon tea and remarks lightly:
"Even if one has such troops, it means the Chosen One is nothing special. Though lamentable, she can hardly shine as brightly as I do—what a pity. I had hoped she could be as dazzling as me."
—Although Coral has officially served as Aurora's deputy for some time and realizes her leader is not as sincere as once thought, Aurora's calm delivery of such lies still shocks Coral.
Yet she forces herself to remain composed and continues:
"Even so, Lady Aurora, the situation is critical now. I believe it's time we packed up and retreated."
"You are too anxious, Coral," Aurora says gracefully, still holding her teacup:
"No need to panic; this time too we will get through it successfully."
"Not just this time: last time, the time before that—over two thousand years, I've seen many grand scenes like this. Without exception, each time resolves the same way."
Indeed, she need not worry; she only needs to shine. If anything, she simply removes anyone more brilliant than herself. As long as she is the most radiant, she will pass through challenges smoothly.
"...Why is that, Lady Aurora?" Coral asks.
"There is no why—because it has always been so, there is no problem. In the end, things always turn out for the better."
Aurora smiles as she responds to her subordinate's doubt.
Her words leave Coral bewildered. She even wonders if Aurora truly understands what she just said. Surely Aurora has not survived two thousand years purely by luck?
At that moment, the bedroom door suddenly bursts open.
"Who goes there?!"
Coral instinctively positions herself before Aurora, demanding loudly, but the intruder kicks her in the chest, sending her flying.
Before Aurora can react and raise her hand, that person swings a sword, severing Aurora's wrist.
"How—"
Staring blankly at the bloodied Guinevere before her, Aurora's mind stalls for seconds. Then the excruciating pain from her severed wrist forces a piercing scream.
But before she can scream longer, Guinevere's fist slams into her face, smashing down her nose bridge; blood pours from her nostrils as her face rapidly swells.
"How can—"
Yet Guinevere's assault does not stop. He seizes her hair and drags her over, then slams her heavily onto the floor. When he lifts her head again, her teeth lie scattered on the ground.
Still unsatisfied with her battered state, Guinevere continues, holding her face and smashing it repeatedly onto the floor, each blow cutting off more of her anguished cries, until her visage becomes horrifying beyond belief. Only then does he cease.
As a clan chief, Aurora's physical resilience is far less than he imagined; after such a beating, she is already at death's door.
This sight forces Guinevere to restrain the last of his murderous intent.
"Too easy for you to die like this, creature."
He says, dragging the barely conscious Aurora by her hair toward the window.
But after a few steps, looking at her like a dead carcass, he shifts course: he carries her to the mirror in the bedroom, forces her eyes open, compelling her to look at her current reflection.
Sure enough, though extremely weak, upon seeing her own hideous appearance, Aurora utters an unbelieving wail, tears streaming from her eyes.
"De...mon..."
The trembling word escapes her lips. At the same time, as if her reason for existence is denied, her wings—once shining—fade swiftly.
"This is nothing yet? You think this makes you a demon?"
Seeing her state, Guinevere laughs through his rage:
"Don't worry; this is only the beginning."
He again drags Aurora toward the window. After looking down, he throws her out, and she crashes to the ground like sludge with a splat.
Realizing she is finally away from that demon, Aurora musters her last strength to crawl to escape. But when she raises her head, she finds herself surrounded on all sides by soldiers whose eyes bristle with hatred.
"Have you heard of lingchi?"
Then, from above, she hears that demon's voice:
"This is an ancient punishment from my homeland, also called a thousand cuts. You use small blades to slice the flesh piece by piece, up to three thousand cuts, before allowing the condemned to die... Unfortunately, that punishment must be carried out by professionals, so the subject endures three thousand cuts yet does not die."
"But never mind: you faeries are good with miracles, aren't you? I've captured some of your Wind Clan faeries. I imagine they, desperate to live, will be quite willing to cast healing miracles on their chief?"