Unknownfate
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Chapter 31
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 00:26:31 +0000 UTCNathan Garrett was frustrated by how everyone had overlooked Camelot. What could the Stark boy possibly compare to his legacy? Stark paled in comparison to Camelot, yet the absence of recent news had caused public disinterest.
All his efforts to gain legal access to the city had been thwarted; the government had foolishly rejected his rightful claims to that legacy.
They continued to exclude everyone, and even worse, the inhabitants of the city seemed satisfied with their confinement, much like lowly prisoners! If they were too fearful to venture out and share the glory of the Round Table, then he, as the heir to Sir Percy—the brilliant individual who had become the Black Knight without that cursed sword—would take matters into his own hands.
Garrett retrieved a sleek, black gauntlet from his workbench, its metal shimmering in the dim light. It was a prototype of the suit he had designed—a blend of ancient inspiration and advanced technology. As he slid it onto his hand, he flexed his fingers, the servos emitting a soft hum.
“They believe they can ignore Camelot? I will prove them wrong. I will seize the city, the throne, and ultimately, claim England itself.” He muttered, his voice laced with a touch of madness as he donned his armor.
Gradually, Nathan Garrett transformed beneath the guise of the Black Knight. Since his last visit, he had enhanced his gear, recognizing the need for a more powerful invisibility unit, ensuring he could conceal his mount without depleting the equipment.
After all, he didn’t want to be distracted by fending off guards. Instead, his focus was on the knights of the Round Table, especially Mordred, the slayer of the original Sir Percy and King Arthur.
Therefore, once again, on this dark night, the Black Knight soared through the sky, heading towards Camelot—the city of legends, a symbol of chivalry and honor, a radiant testament to the goodness of humanity.
But now was the time for a new era, an era in which the Black Knight would claim his rightful place as ruler.
As the city came into view, he descended silently, his cloaking device shielding him from the guards. He landed in a large open area, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The city was stunning; it far surpassed the portrayals from satellites, which clearly could not capture its perfection—this was his city, a true masterpiece.
He landed in a spacious square, ample for people, horses, and carts, but his attention was drawn to the fountain in the center. It was a breathtaking sight—a massive stone statue of the young King Arthur, having just pulled the sword from the stone.
For a moment, the Black Knight forgot his mission, wholly captivated by the beauty before him.
Fortunately, the city was mostly deserted; only a few patrols of knights in silver and blue moved through, allowing him time to admire the artistry.
"It's magnificent,” he said, his voice muffled by the armor. "Soon, it will be mine, and I will reign over the country and then the world from its halls.”
Drawing a deep breath, he stepped forward, only to pause as tension filled the air around him.
As he scanned the area, he noticed no one around. Still, an unsettling chill ran down his spine.
"Reveal yourself," he commanded, his voice resonating through the deserted streets.
"At least you possess the vision to recognize my father's greatness," replied a youthful voice, brimming with intensity.
He turned towards the source of the voice and quickly identified the speaker perched atop a nearby building, looking down at him.
The high-tech visor enabled him to observe every detail with precision. However, what troubled him most was that the systems had failed to alert him to anyone's presence.
He didn't need to ask who it was; he had seen their picture, captured from a distance but unmistakably vivid. The Silver and Red armor, characterized by its massive shoulder pads and the skirt-like armor encircling the hips.
Even without seeing their face, even though they wore a great horned helm now, he was certain about who stood before him.
Sir Mordred, the knight of rebellion, the traitor, and the slayer of the noble King Arthur and his own ancestor, Sir Percy.
"You have some nerve coming here, Black Knight," Mordred said, his tone icy. "A false knight, nothing but a pretender; still, I'm pleased to see you here because I've been itching for a fight."
Not long ago, while in his chamber, Mordred's father had made an unexpected visit. After a brief exchange of words, his father leaned in, and in that moment, Mordred felt the weight of all of Camelot.
Suddenly, he was aware of every corner in the city, and he sensed something in front of his father's statue; someone was present.
Not merely a person, but also a horse—the sole steed in all of Camelot belonged to his father. He sensed Dun Stallion in the stable, indicating another horse was present, along with an unwelcome visitor.
He recognized the man immediately, not through any special insight from his father’s actions, but by deducing who had the audacity to intrude upon the city.
That cursed Black Knight, the heir of some usurper, who had the gall to claim descent from the one who killed him: Mordred.
A despicable liar, he had spread unforgivable fabrications that tarnished not only his own honor but also that of Camelot.
Fueled by rage, he turned to his father, who offered Clarent to him. “Go, and cleanse this city of his stain.”
Mordred grinned, quickly donned his helm, and took up his sword. “Don’t worry, Father; I will take care of him swiftly!
As he stepped onto the moonlit streets, his armor shimmered in silver and red, and his helm cast long shadows against the stone walls. He moved with agility, the city’s layout vividly etched in his mind, leading him directly to the intruder with pinpoint accuracy.
The closer he approached the statue of King Arthur, the fiercer his anger ignited. The audacity of the so-called Black Knight trespassing into Camelot, defiling its hallowed grounds, was an affront that Mordred could not endure.
Arriving in the square, Mordred slowed down, spotting the man before the fountain, his cloaking device now ineffective. The Black Knight’s silhouette was unmistakable, his dark armor reflecting a modern, unnatural brilliance.
Nathan Garrett turned to face him, the low hum of his black armor resonating as he lifted his energy lance. “Mordred,” he declared, his tone steady but laced with contempt. “I’m not the pretender here. You are. A murderer, a traitor, assuming you still belong here after what you’ve done."
Mordred gripped Clarent tighter, fury rising within him. “A pretender? You dare label me a pretender when you boast of ancestry from an imaginary knight? Some fool claimed he killed me, yet I’ve never heard of him!”
Nathan fixed his gaze on Mordred, disbelief sharp in his tone. “You... you really don’t believe Sir Percy existed? You say you know nothing of the knight who faced you and brought you down? How can you be so ignorant of history?”
Mordred let out a harsh laugh, tightening his grip further on Clarent. “Ignorant of history? You’re the one distorting it with your absurd claims! I only faced one man—my father. I know precisely who opposed me, and your Percy never appeared. He is simply a figment of your imagination.”
Nathan’s posture stiffened, the energy lance in his hand buzzing louder as his anger intensified. “A figment? You think Percy’s existence is just a tale? He was the knight who dared to confront you when even your father wavered! He was the one who killed you, Mordred, and his blood flows through my veins.”
Mordred’s laughter turned to a snarl, his voice filled with malice. “Killed me? Don’t make me laugh. No knight, no Percy, interfered in our duel; I fell to my father’s lance, not some imaginary black blade wielded by your so-called ancestor.”
Nathan’s posture stiffened as sparks crackled from his energy lance. “You can’t accept the truth of your defeat, can you? Percy’s legacy is written in history; everyone knows of his victory over you. Yet, you, the self-styled knight of rebellion, tarnish his memory with your falsehoods.”
Mordred’s voice rose, icy and vicious. “Falsehoods? I’ve roamed these halls, been in the shadow of my father’s throne. There was no Percy. Only my father’s blade pierced me. You’ve crafted your legacy from illusions.”
Nathan stepped closer, his voice cutting like a knife. “Do you think denying him makes his victory disappear? Sir Percy’s strength and courage allowed Camelot to endure your betrayal. You’re not merely a traitor, Mordred; you’re a coward unwilling to confront the truth.”
Mordred’s helm tilted, his eyes burning behind the visor. “The truth? You wouldn’t recognize it if it struck you down. My father and I stood alone in the end, and it was he who defeated me—not a figment from your dreams.”
Nathan raised his lance, fury boiling over. “You may hurl insults at me, but you will not defile Sir Percy’s honor. You lost to him, Mordred. His blade was your end, and his blood courses through my veins. I’ll demonstrate his might tonight.”
Mordred’s rage erupted in a roar. “You’re merely a pretender, clinging to a name that holds no weight! If Percy was real, let me show you how it would have ended had he dared face me!”
In an explosive surge of rage, Mordred lunged, and Nathan narrowly managed to lift his lance just in time to block the strike. The impact was so tremendous that it hurled Nathan backward as if struck by a freight train.
He crashed into the cobblestone square, the jolt reverberating through his armor as he skidded to a halt. His energy lance flickered, its hum faltering under the force of Mordred’s attack. Gritting his teeth, Nathan pushed himself upright.
He was astonished by how swiftly Mordred had struck; he hadn’t even had a moment to react. Only the advanced tech of his armor had possibly saved him.
Steadying himself, his breath coming in sharp gasps, Nathan tightened his grip on the lance. “How... how did you move so fast?” he murmured, a mix of awe and disbelief in his tone. The armor’s sensors had barely caught Mordred’s movement before the blow landed.
Mordred stood a few steps away, Clarent resting nonchalantly on his shoulder, its red glow pulsing softly. “Fast? You haven’t witnessed speed yet,” he taunted. “What’s wrong, Black Knight? Is your fancy tin can already giving out?”
Nathan gritted his teeth, his visor tracking Mordred as he circled cautiously. “You’re strong, that much is true. But this fight isn’t finished. You’re not untouchable.”
Mordred chuckled and took a deliberate step forward. “Not invincible, no. However, compared to you? Let’s just say I’m much closer to it than you’ll ever be.” In an instant, he closed the gap again, delivering a brutal overhead strike with Clarent.
Nathan’s systems blared warnings, and he barely managed to evade, the blade slicing through the air at an alarming speed. The force of the missed attack sparked against the cobblestones, and Nathan felt his heart sink. “That... that shouldn’t be possible...”
Mordred spun around swiftly, his blade buzzing as it carved a broad arc, prompting Nathan to leap back. “Impossible? Perhaps for you. But for me? This is merely the warm-up.” A smirk appeared beneath his helm. “What happened to your bravado, Black Knight? Too engrossed in being impressed?”
Nathan charged with his lance, aiming it at Mordred’s midsection, but the knight effortlessly deflected it. “Oh, really?” Mordred ridiculed, his tone saturated with derision. “You can’t hope to defeat me with such moves. At least try to make this amusing.”
Nathan adjusted his stance, gripping his energy lance firmly. The crackling hum grew more intense as he activated its full power, the blue glow reaching a blinding brilliance. “Let’s see you stop this!” he shouted, thrusting the lance forward to unleash a massive energy blast.
The beam cut through the square, powerful enough to demolish buildings, shatter stone, and flatten everything in its way. A shockwave rippled through the air, and Nathan smirked behind his visor. “No one can—”
His words trailed off as the dust settled.
