Treasure

"What... What did you just say?"

Agravain struggled to maintain his poker face, observing the stupefied blonde knight staring at him as if she had just lost everything she had.

The truth of the Knight of Betrayal was not lost to him, she was his sibling.

He pitied her.

She had bore the brunt of their craven mother's ruthless machinations.

Mordred's eyes had nearly lost their light, the brazen attitude she was famous for was nowhere to be seen for a moment before the hopelessness she felt came crashing back like a tidal wave, fury burned in her innocent eyes, "What the fuck did you just say?!"

"Sir Aston has perished in combat with Richard the Lionheart and an as of yet, unidentified enemy." She had come to him asking why her teacher's forces had disappeared all of a sudden, "The Lion King eliminated his men for refusing to assimilate into Sir Lancelot's forces."

"Bullshit! Stop fucking around you goddamn asshole!" She threw the chair she'd been sitting on at him and he stepped to the side, making it tear through the fabric of the tent they were in, "You always hated him so you're trying to bullshit me into some mission against him right?! RIGHT?!"

Mordred grabbed his throat and Agravain did not know why he remained passive, "I suggest you calm down, you are drawing unnecessary attention." He referred to the few soldiers peeking in from the hole she'd torn open.

Agravain's words were plain, concise and without emotion, he did not know why he found himself trying to explain himself, "I... have never once harboured ill will for your teacher. Annoyance, certainly, but I would never deny his works." Morgan didn't care about his words, she smashed her head into his and he took it in silence.

"BULLSHIT! No ill will! You think I fucking forgot how you always assigned him the most shitty fucking regions out there?!"

"Because I was aware he would overcome them... He did."

"You're lying! You're just trying to save your own hide! You snake fuck!" Mordred barked at him, eyes wild like a beast, yet wet like an innocent child who had just lost someone they thought never would, "I'm done with this bullshit! Where is he?!"

Agravain remained silent.

"You and father are just trying to get back at me for rebelling right?! That's it! Right?!"

Agravain remained silent.

"Not teach, teach would never lose! He'd take all you fucks on and still come out on top! I know it!"

Agravain remained silent even as her grip around his throat lost strength.

"Not... Goddamnit, not again..."

At the end of her rebellion, Mordred had died trying to reach the side of the person who had shown her the recognition she so desperately wanted, "Not when he finally..." And she had been denied that by her own Father.

"He was supposed to be... by my side this time." Tears dropped onto the cold metal of Agravain's armour and he watched in silent conflict, "W...Why?" The Knight of Betrayal fell to her knees, hands falling limply to either side and Agravain cast a stern glance that promised pain at those that dared to peek into his tent, forcing them to scurry away lest they learn just why he was called the Iron Hand.

He watched over her in silence as his sister sobbed, and then wailed, and then slowly rose to her feet, grabbed Clarent and listlessly walked out of his tent. Agravain put a hand on his face, hiding his expression, "I am sorry." He knew she was about to leave their camp, and he wasn't going to stop her.

"I can not watch over you."

For the ideal kingdom of their King, he had to give up much.

-

As the distant stars watched in silence, and the moon illuminated whatever little it could. Magical energy swirled and coalesced, forming a cognisable vortex where Tyron pointed with his hand, observing his ritual in solemn silence.

He had seen it before, and though the world could not aid him at this moment, he remembered how to go about summoning a person from another world, it had happened in front of him when a foolish girl stupidly summoned what could've spelled the end of man.

The sheer magical energy needed for such a feat had taken him days to accumulate, days that could've been spent leading his forces to conquest, but it was worth it. For his treasure, time would never be wasted.

The power he could access with his treasure present could make what he had done before look paltry in comparison.

"Gaia, deliver unto myself that which I seek. So that I may see your will done once more."

To his words, the World around him reacted.

The sands parted and dark clouds covered the sky to shelter him in a land where it should have been impossible, thunder struck the ground blowing through it as the latent magical energy skyrocketed, adding to Tyron's ritual.

The World itself rejoiced and aided in the grand feat of the King of Tyrants, to he who was the permanent solution to it's problem.

A six headed crown of thorns manifested on his head before dissipating into the darkness over his form, darkness that retreated into the crevices in his body soon after as light enveloped the surroundings for a mere moment.

This was something he couldn't do the last time, perhaps humanity faced an existential crisis, leaving gaps for his gracious mistress to utilise.

"Welcome to a new world, my treasure."

His treasure was born of the Primordial Sea of Life that was of the planet itself, and acted as what magi boorishly termed a World Terminal before he culled them for their atrocities. It-, She allowed him to access the complete godlike power he had used in a quest to conquer man, to create an eternal utopia frozen in time.

"Beloved." The word was spoken in a tone all would consider dull and uninterested but to Tyron, who had heard it all his life, the slight raise in frequency was enough to understand a giddy excitement, "I am sorry we could not complete your grand ambition."

To the world, it was a dull apology.

To him, the regret and sorrow was palpable.

Tyron would smile if he could as he opened his arms and was soon after embraced by a cloak of black and blue, "It doesn't matter, Morgan. The world sees fit to grant us another chance."

"How?"

"I do not know."

"Then I do not care. I am glad to be by your side once again."

In the first place, the King of Tyrants wasn't a servant that was supposed to be summoned without the Saint Graph of the self that was a hero of legend because he didn't exist in this world.

Unfortunately and fortunately, this was a time where the bounds between space and time struggled to maintain themselves, allowing for impossibility, to become possibility.

With their union once more established, the world around them trembled and morphed.

Magical energy, the sort of which no servant had any right to possess, radiated off Tyron in waves before he culled and brought it under control. With a hand around the waist of his 'treasure', who was content in simply snuggling into cold metal, her arms wrapped around his form, "I am sorry I left you." He whispered and raised a hand to the empty desert.

"It should be man that is sorry for forcing us apart. They will be, should they attempt to foil us again."

"Indeed."

Out of thin air, swarms, hordes of knights clad in armour appeared, brandishing weaponry ranging from spears to swords to clubs and picks, they stabbed their weapons into the ground and knelt in unison as deafening thunderous clangs echoed across the vast lands.

What humanity had foolishly allowed to appear was no heroic spirit, it was a beast meant to devour them all should they refuse to submit.

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I hope you liked it.

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Here's the official lore text for all power displayed in this chapter,

Worldly Right EX: It is said that once the King of Tyrants has claimed a land, the world itself bends to recognise his authority. It moves as he wills, transforming deserts into greenlands and vice versa. A mere gesture can bring about the wrath of Mother Nature itself, leaving behind nothing but desolation and death. This skill can also be localised as Territory Creation EX.

Inhuman Legion A: Tyron was a King that did not use humans as manpower, content to allow them to live with their every demand met, so long as they did not disobey. The agents and enforcers of his rule were the endless hordes of golem knights clad in crimson and black that patrolled his lands and fought his wars, yet were also the builders and farmers, the caretakers. Given shape by himself.

They possess not will nor intelligence and exist only to see their creator's will done. To all who saw them, they were an endless swarm.

As a noble phantasm, Tyron can summon the golem legions he had created with his spouse. They possess parameters comparable to low tier servants, with certain ones possessing capabilities beyond that.