...
Five minutes had passed in a flash.
So Knights of the Round Table chose to follow and submit, either out of loyalty to the king they had pledged allegiance to, or due to the realization of the vast gap in strength between them, or possibly because they were never truly committed to the creed of knightly virtue from the beginning.
Thus, their spiritual power was branded with a crimson mark by the blood-colored moonlight, becoming an "eternal" part of this eternal Divine Kingdom.
However, many more Knights of the Round Table chose rebellion.
"Your Majesty, no!"
"Artorigus!"
Gawain’s eyes were crimson as he let out a mournful roar.
"If Lord Cain... If Cain were still here, he definitely wouldn’t want to see you doing these things for him."
"I can assure you, if Cain saw you now, so viciously unrecognizable, he would surely hate you, even despise you thoroughly!"
In the instant Gawain’s lant burst forth, a slight ripple passed through Isadella’s beautiful eyes on the Throne above.
But quickly, the blood-colored moonlight extinguished that ripple.
She rely watched in silence those who had fought by her side but were now drawing their swords against her—her subordinates and comrades.
CLANG—
Accompanied by the clear ringing sound, the Sacred Sword was unsheathed, its blade exuding an icy chill.
Unlike the ordinary citizens who had beco phantoms of bygone days, unknowingly transford into ghosts within the Crimson Moon Divine Kingdom, or those nobles of low rank and Low-level Transcendents,
among the Knights of the Round Table, there existed a considerable number of Legendaries.
Legendary powerful pros could, to so extent, sense the existence of the river of ti. Thus, the commotion from opening the Imaginary Zone was inevitably detected by them.
Therefore, this battle—this internal conflict among the Knights of the Round Table—was unavoidable.
In the Crimson Imaginary Zone, independent of history, this bloody and cruel fight had already been repeated countless tis in a cycle.
As for the outco of the battle, it went without saying.
Ordinary Legendaries, even with a nurical advantage, how could they possibly defeat one who simultaneously wielded the Sacred Sword and possessed a Throne blessed by an ancient god?
A mont later, the last spray of blood splattered within the Throne room.
The blood-colored moonlight fell, swallowing all impurities, leaving no trace behind.
Among the Knights of the Round Table, those who chose to submit were eroded by the Crimson Moon, beca part of the Divine Kingdom, and were fated to beco the Blood Tribe.
Those who did not comply had their existence erased, relegated to ghosts and phantoms in the Imaginary Zone, dood to follow a predetermined path, stripped of destiny and future.
CLANG—
The Sacred Sword was sheathed.
Isadella slowly turned and walked out of the Throne room.
Then, she headed towards the square where countless people were gathering.
It was the sacred ritual of the founding.
It was also the beginning of what is called "eternity."
This was also a part of the predestined history within the Imaginary Zone. It had been revised and edited countless tis by her, the King of the Imaginary Zone, and Isadella was exceedingly familiar with it.
However, the next mont, Isadella’s steps suddenly halted. Sothing unexpected had occurred, sothing beyond her control.
Outside the vast windows, the clamorous rejoicing vanished, and she heard the gasps of tens of thousands of people.
Then, Isadella’s eyes slightly narrowed.
In her line of sight, a figure clad in a black robe adorned with crimson clouds and wearing a whirlpool mask was rising slowly from the distance.
The black robe, embroidered with crimson clouds, fluttered sharply in the gale.
The sound of wind chis followed the swaying of the hat.
Eventually, the slender, black-haired figure stopped, hovering a thousand ters away, level with the Throne at the highest point of the Sacred City.
Overlooking all beings.
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