A Cardinal walked in from outside, his face looking rather stern and cold.
Barnard, ranked third among the Cardinals, was one of Grelio’s most favored subordinates, just like Owen.
Approaching Grelio, Barnard bowed meticulously and said, “Your Majesty, the envoy from the United States requests an audience with you.”
Grelio frowned impatiently. “Owen, you handle him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Owen nodded.
“Your Majesty, I think it would be wise to meet him. After all, our church activities in the United States rely heavily on their support. It would be prudent to show some respect,” Barnard reminded.
Grelio thought for a moment and then said, “Alright, let him in.”
Barnard bowed again and hurried out.
Shortly after, Barnard returned with a middle-aged man who was balding. The man had sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, clearly someone formidable.
“Honorable Pope, I am Boris, the envoy from the United States. It is a great honor to be granted an audience with you.”
“May the Lord bless you,” Grelio smiled faintly.
“Your Majesty, a terrifyingly powerful figure has emerged in the dark world. This is a significant threat to both the Western world and the Church. Therefore, on behalf of the United States, I earnestly request that you…”
Before Boris could finish, Grelio interrupted him, “I know why you’re here, but I don’t want any more bloodshed.”
“Pope…” Boris was getting anxious.
“Enough, I need to rest now,” Grelio’s face turned solemn again as he left abruptly.
Boris was left standing there, dumbfounded and with a bitter smile. “Lord Owen, Lord Barnard, what…?”
Owen and Barnard exchanged glances, both surprised that the Pope would show such disregard for the United States.
The smooth-talking Owen tried to ease the situation. “Lord Boris, His Majesty is in a bad mood today. You know, we just lost two brave and loyal Knights Templar.”
“I regret that as well. But precisely because of this, we hope the Pope will personally deal with that Atrarian,” Boris said directly.
“Boris, my friend, you don’t understand His Majesty,” Barnard sighed suddenly. “His Majesty is passionate about art and charity. He avoids war and conflict unless absolutely necessary.”
“So what do we do?” Boris looked frustrated.
“We’re powerless; His Majesty’s orders are supreme,” Owen shrugged helplessly.
Barnard thought for a moment and then said slowly, “Lord Boris, I do have an idea.”
“What idea? Tell me quickly,” Boris said eagerly.
Barnard mentioned a name, “Cedric!”
“Cedric!?” Owen and Boris exclaimed together.
“Yes, I heard Cedric has returned and is recuperating in Albion,” Barnard said meaningfully. “Now, besides the Pope, he’s probably the only one who can fight that Atrarian.”
“I asked Cedric for help during the siege, but he refused,” Boris said helplessly.
“You don’t understand Cedric. He was defeated by that Atrarian before and has been brooding over it ever since. With his proud and aloof nature, he would prefer to defeat his enemy honorably rather than join your group attack.”
“I heard Cedric’s abilities have advanced, and he’s gained even greater power. If you let him face that Atrarian alone, he’ll definitely agree.”
“Really? That’s great!” Boris clapped his hands in delight. “Thank you, old friend. I’ll head to Albion immediately.”
“Safe travels,” Barnard smiled.
Albion, somewhere remote.
This place was little known but had been rated by National Geographic as one of the world’s top fifty must-visit destinations.
It was quiet and beautiful like a fairyland, with elegant valleys and breathtaking landscapes blending seamlessly with water and sky.
At this moment, the sun was setting, casting golden rays across the scene.
By the lake, lush greenery abounded with grassy meadows and dense forests.
The serene lake water gently rippled, reflecting the brilliant sunset in perfect harmony.
The entire scene was poetic and picturesque; even the most troubled mind could find peace here.
On a towering rock by the lake sat a tall figure.
The figure sat motionless, golden hair flowing in the wind like waves of gold.
A powerful and majestic aura emanated from him, adding a sense of solemnity to everything nearby.
With a dignified face, clear eyes like water, and regal bearing… he was Cedric, the guardian of Albion!
Cedric lowered his head and gently caressed an ornate longsword on his lap as if stroking a lover’s smooth skin.
The sword was beautifully decorated with gems on its scabbard; it was none other than the restored King’s Blade!
Leo had allied with vampires to wage a fierce battle against Cedric and his twelve Knights of the Round Table in an ancient castle.
In the end, Cedric was defeated, and the King’s Blade was damaged. But now it had been restored.
As Cedric gently stroked the King’s Blade, he reminisced about that unforgettable moment.
Losing the King’s Blade had felt like losing his soul; he became a shadow of himself, living in constant fear and self-reproach.
King Arthur’s spirit inspired him; his incredible determination and perseverance helped him rise from adversity.
Lake Avalon, the sacred lake of the elven realm and gateway to the divine world-a mysterious place lost to time.
Cedric couldn’t remember how long he had knelt by Lake Avalon or how many prayers he had recited devoutly.
When Cedric’s strength was nearly exhausted, Lake Avalon finally opened its arms to him.
Cedric cast the broken King’s Blade and its scabbard into Lake Avalon.
An hour later, a surge of water sent forth a radiant and intact King’s Blade.
The reborn King’s Blade granted Cedric even greater power.
As Cedric immersed himself in memories, light footsteps approached along the lakeside path.
“Great King,” a young man respectfully addressed him beside the rock.
“What’s the matter?” Cedric asked sternly.
“An envoy from the United States named Boris wishes to see you,” replied the young man.
“Boris? The same one who visited me last time?” Cedric recalled.
“Yes.”
“What does he want this time?” Cedric pondered aloud.
“His intentions aren’t hard to guess,” the young man smiled.