Chapter 142: The Art of Intimidation

Early the next morning, Vortigern's army stirred once again, hearing the familiar provocations from Camelot's troops. This time, the tension was palpable as Vortigern and King Marko emerged from their tents to investigate.

They saw, just as the day before, a small but well-armed group of knights lined up in front of their camp, led by none other than Altria. Her presence had already begun to wear on the morale of Vortigern's soldiers. Though small in stature, she carried herself with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, and her recent victory over King Marko had earned her a fearsome reputation.

"Again?" Vortigern muttered to himself, his brows furrowing. He glanced at King Marko, who, after yesterday's embarrassing retreat, had no desire to engage Altria again. Vortigern knew they had to make a move soon, but after several consecutive losses, his army's confidence was shaken.

Altria stood tall, her sword in the stone glistening under the morning sun. She raised it and pointed toward Vortigern's camp. "Vortigern, King Marko—once again I call on you to surrender. You have witnessed the might of Camelot's forces. Resist, and we shall cut down every one of your soldiers. But surrender now, and we will grant you mercy."

Vortigern clenched his fists in frustration, torn between his pride and the stark reality in front of him. Meanwhile, his soldiers shuffled nervously behind him, waiting for his orders. They knew that Altria's forces had suffered minimal losses the day before, while their ranks had been thinned.

"Enough of this humiliation," Vortigern growled. "We need a new strategy. If we can't beat them through brute force, we'll need to outwit them."

King Marko, still sore from his previous defeat, eyed the battlefield warily. "What do you suggest, Vortigern? Altria is stronger than we anticipated, and the morale of our men is at an all-time low."

Vortigern's eyes narrowed. "We need to force their hand, draw them into a trap where their strength won't matter. We'll let them think they have the upper hand. When they grow complacent, that's when we'll strike."

Despite his words, Vortigern couldn't help but feel the weight of Lott and Morgan's clever manoeuvres pressing down on him. He knew they were being toyed with, but how long could they afford to sit back without making a decisive move?

Meanwhile, on Camelot's side, Lott and Morgan watched from the castle walls, content with the day's progress. Lott grinned as he leaned closer to Morgan, his voice low but triumphant.

"Now, Vortigern's army will be even more uncertain. They've seen our strength, and every day they doubt more whether they can face us in battle."

Morgan, lying beside him, smirked. "You've planned this all perfectly. But do you think they'll fall for it? They're not fools."

Lott chuckled softly. "They're in a position where they can't afford not to. Besides, once they start doubting themselves, that's when we'll take advantage."

Morgan considered this for a moment, her gaze steady on the horizon. "It's a clever plan, Lott. I just hope their desperation doesn't lead to something unpredictable. If Vortigern grows reckless, it could make things dangerous."

"Reckless is good for us," Lott replied, his smile widening. "We can handle whatever he throws at us."

Morgan remained silent for a moment, before nodding in agreement. "Then let's see how this plays out."

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Camelot's troops prepared for another day of battle. But it was clear to everyone that this was more than just a test of strength—it was a battle of wills. And as long as Lott and Morgan could keep Vortigern guessing, the advantage would remain firmly in Camelot's hands.