Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1296: Citywide Riot (4)

On a deserted highway outside the city, a black pickup truck sped wildly forward.

In the truck bed, Her Majesty the Queen was curled up in a corner, holding Lancelot tightly in her arms.

Judas sat nearby with a blank expression, staring at the two of them… which forced Lancelot to continue pretending to be “unconscious.”

Faintly, sounds could still be heard from the distant monastery behind them.

Catherine, who was driving, kept glancing at the pitch-black night sky in the rearview mirror, clearly distracted.

Tipu, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly asked, “Kitty, do you think the leader will ‘transform’ this time? Or will he just try using the power of the Twelve Knights’ holy armor?”

Catherine frowned. “It’d be best if he does neither! Do you think Caesar is made of iron?”

Tipu fell silent. After a long pause, he finally said softly, “I’ll become the strongest alchemist. I’ll refine that kind of elixir.”

“Brat.”

Catherine scoffed coldly, though there was a hint of warmth in her eyes.---

The mist-like blood spray slowly dispersed, drifting onto the cheek of one of the The-Fianna members. The icy dampness made him shudder violently.

Then, for no clear reason, he suddenly began screaming hysterically—as if something had snapped inside him.

As he screamed, he frantically activated every weapon on his Dragoon armor. Not only the massive gun in his hands, but even the clam-shaped thrusters on his back transformed into weapons.

Clusters of miniature submunitions shot out, exploding in midair before slamming into Caesar. At the same time, he drew a black-gold combat blade from his leg armor and charged forward.

Inside The-Fianna control room, the screen showing this member’s profile began flashing red.

“Unit 17—mental stability abnormal! Exceeded danger threshold by 30%! Critical state!” a support operator cried in panic.

“How could it exceed the limit?! Weren’t the parameters adjusted?!”

The Prime Minister slammed both hands on the console, roaring in fury.

“It may be due to witnessing a teammate’s death… They trained together for a long time, had strong emotional bonds—” a nearby officer tried to explain.

“Emotional bonds?!” the Prime Minister exploded. “They don’t need emotions at all!!”

Before the words finished echoing, alarms blared again.

“Unit 5—lost contact! Unit 18—lost contact! Unit 22—critical damage! Unit 7—out of control! Unit 10—mental index at critical threshold! Prime Minister!!”

“How could this happen…”

On the screens, one Dragoon unit after another was destroyed or shot down. On another display, the portraits of The-Fianna members dimmed rapidly or flashed red.

The Prime Minister collapsed into his chair, pale and trembling uncontrollably.

---

At the monastery, Caesar grabbed one The-Fianna member and smashed him violently into the ground. The immense impact tore the soldier’s limbs from his body.

Out of the original twenty-three warriors, only seven remained.

One of them had completely lost focus, standing motionless, forced into full control by the Dragoon’s AI.

“We can’t win… We can’t win… It’s impossible… He’s a devil! A devil!!”

Screaming in terror, he turned and fled. The thrusters on his back unfolded, blasting him into the sky toward the massive aircraft.

Caesar took a deep breath, pulled a lighter from his pocket, clenched it—and hurled it with all his strength.

Boom—!!

A deafening rupture echoed as the lighter pierced straight through the aircraft’s engine, triggering a massive explosion.

The giant aircraft lost control and crashed downward, colliding head-on with the fleeing The-Fianna member.

Seven… now only six remained.

The wreckage devastated the ground in front of the monastery, flames roaring skyward. Bathed in firelight, Caesar shifted his gaze to another The-Fianna member.

A female soldier.

She stood trembling, lifting her heavy rifle with shaking hands, unable to aim. Red targeting lights jittered wildly across Caesar’s body.

Moisture spread across her combat suit, accompanied by faint rising steam.

Her legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees.

“Don’t kill me… please… don’t…”

Caesar walked up to her expressionlessly.

“We once… begged like this too.”

He raised his hand, fingers pressed together, and swung—

“No—!!”

The last remaining member screamed desperately, but the strike had already landed.

A head flew through the air, rolled across the ground, and came to a stop. The body collapsed separately.

The severed head lay there, smeared with dirt and ash like discarded trash, eyes still open, staring blankly at the star-filled night sky.

Six… now only five.

“Re—retreat!! Retreat!! Retreat!!”

“You’ll stay as well.”

Caesar leapt forward, shooting into the sky like a cannonball toward one of the remaining five.

Just as that man closed his eyes in despair, a figure suddenly blocked the blow—arms crossed, catching Caesar’s punch.

He opened his eyes to see a bizarre clown-faced figure clad in yellow armor.

“Looks like I caught the tail end of the show,” the clown knight said, his crimson lips curling into a chilling grin.

Caesar’s momentum had not faded, and the two clashed midair, fists firing like bullets amid thunderous impacts. Eventually, they landed on the ground evenly matched.

At the same time, a knight in deep blue holy armor appeared before the fallen woman’s head. He knelt on one knee, gently closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t arrive in time. Though we never met, may your soul find peace… I believe you were a beautiful woman in life.”

He spoke as if praying.

Caesar glanced sideways, then looked up.

The sound of rotors filled the night as helicopters approached—ordinary military models, far less imposing than the earlier aircraft.

Several figures jumped down: a bearded giant, a man still wearing highway patrol uniform, even someone in a doctor’s coat.

They were the Twelve Round Table Knights stationed across the Knight Bureaus.

The man in the highway patrol uniform—Mr. Gerant, bearer of the name Gerant—smacked his lips and asked,

“Why did Clown and Gareth put on their holy armor so early? Aren’t they worried about wasting stamina?”

“Who knows,” the doctor-like knight shrugged. “Maybe it’s a hobby—intimidation, perhaps.”

He then looked at the few remaining The-Fianna members.

“Who are these people? They came to rescue the Queen too?”

“Probably government people,” the bearded man Tresti frowned. “Since when did the government come up with stuff like this?”

“Doesn’t look like much,” Clown Dagonet said, picking at his ear as he spoke to the few surviving members of 【The-Fianna】. “To avoid trouble, you’d better hide first. Don’t worry—we won’t do anything to you. Even if we did, it would be our old man negotiating with your superiors… Of course, I’d actually prefer you to join the melee. I kind of want to see what those metal lumps on you are good for.”

The survivors of 【The-Fianna】 looked at one another. Even so, their communicators still had a clear signal, awaiting instructions from headquarters.

These five survivors had not only maintained stable mental states the entire time, they had even endured Caesar’s terrifying power until the very end. At headquarters, the Prime Minister’s face was extremely grim, but he also understood how important these unnamed survivors were. Without hesitation, he ordered them to observe for now, withdraw temporarily from the battlefield, and be ready to retreat at any time.

“How did those old guys from the Knight Bureau find this place… unless—” the Prime Minister eyed the control-room staff suspiciously.

This operation had been an ultra-top-secret mission authorized by him personally. It shouldn’t have leaked. He couldn’t help but suspect that someone had passed the information to that old fox Perkins. Otherwise, even if the Knights of the Round Table had sensed something, they couldn’t have arrived so quickly.

【The-Fianna】 was almost completely wiped out. The appearance of the Knight Bureau, and the thought of Perkins watching everything with a mocking gaze from behind the scenes, gave the Prime Minister the same nauseating feeling he’d had years ago, when some bored thugs had threatened him with livestreaming an act of humiliation in front of the public.

Of course, those thugs were eventually captured.

…

Following orders, the survivors of 【The-Fianna】 slowly descended and retreated to the edge of the battlefield, remaining silent.

Caesar did not move against them again, merely sizing up Gareth, Clown, and the others.

“Five active members of the current Twelve Round Table at once. Looks like the Knight Bureau really thinks highly of me,” Caesar said as he adjusted his breathing.

He had seemed relaxed against 【The-Fianna】 only because, although their weapons were extremely powerful, they themselves were not strong individually. At best, their physical abilities were only comparable to ordinary beastmen, making it hard for them to fully wield those weapons.

These knights were different. Every one of them was an elite tempered through countless trials—otherwise they could never have inherited the immense power of the Twelve Round Table.

“Just in time—not too late,” Gerant said, wearing a highway patrol uniform as he twisted his neck. “Enough time for you to finish warming up. I don’t know who you are, but judging from this, you’re clearly not a nobody.”

“‘Oberon.’ That’s what your files should call me,” Caesar said in a low voice.

“You’re the leader of the ‘Doomsday Myth’?” Gareth immediately frowned.

Mr. Clown whistled. “Oh! Jackpot. Pretty lucky.”

“Indeed, lucky,” Caesar replied with a faint smile. “My blood’s warmed up too. Just as you said… the warm-up’s about done.”

The members of the Twelve Round Table exchanged looks. The young man who looked like a doctor suddenly said, “Which one of you is going? Ganging up doesn’t fit a knight’s creed.”

As he spoke, he took two steps back, his gaze subtly shifting toward the monastery behind Caesar. Clearly, compared to fighting the leader of Doomsday Myth, he was more interested in finding a chance to slip into the monastery and investigate.

After all, the priority was rescuing the hostages. Shadows stretched behind him, then detached, forming a vague humanoid silhouette that quietly slipped into the night.

“Is sneaking around really the spirit of a knight?”

Unexpectedly, Caesar swung a fist. From more than ten meters away, the shadow figure was blasted apart and vanished.

The doctor casually waved his hand, smiling brightly. “Impressive.”

“If you won’t make a move, then I won’t hold back,” Mr. Clown laughed loudly. With a flick of both hands, eight throwing knives shot out at once.

Their speed was hardly slower than the near-light-speed weapons fired from the ‘Dragoon.’ This time, however, Caesar clearly had no intention of tanking them head-on.

He twisted his body like a dancer, slipping through the gaps between the knives. But Clown’s attack was never that simple—he had already closed in!

Known as the physically strongest among the current Twelve Round Table, Clown had sensed in their brief exchange a minute earlier that his opponent was also monstrously strong. That gave him the urge to test strength against strength.

Fists like bullets flew back and forth, shockwaves rippling around them. Each punch and kick could crack the ground. The ferocity of the battle left the few 【The-Fianna】 members at the edge deeply shaken.

“Are we… supposed to surpass people like this?”

“The Knight Bureau…”

“Just one of them, and he’s evenly matched with that demon…”

Ignoring their reactions, Gerant said in slight astonishment, “First time I’ve seen this. This guy’s strength is actually on par with Clown’s. Clown’s body is freakishly strong. No wonder he dared stir trouble on our turf… I’m starting to itch too.”

Gareth smiled bitterly to himself. That was because you hadn’t seen the one in the island prison. Clown couldn’t even take a single punch from that person before collapsing unconscious.

Suddenly, Caesar and Clown separated again—neither had been able to gain the upper hand.

Clown’s face instantly changed to a crying mask, but his expression was one of wild delight. “Such a fun opponent… make me even happier!”

“The crazier you are, the stronger you get. Rather than a fair knight, you’re more like a mad knight,” Caesar shook his head. “I’m not interested in dragging this out with you.”

“Planning to run?”

At some point, Gerant, the doctor, and Tresti had flashed into position behind Caesar from three different angles, sealing off his possible escape routes.

Having seen Caesar match Clown’s physical strength even after Clown had donned his holy armor, they did not underestimate him. All of them had now put on their own holy armor as well.

Caesar let his arms hang down and slowly exhaled. Facing five members of the Twelve Round Table at once, he showed no fear. “Then let’s test it… the power of so-called holy armor.”

“It’ll be a pleasant surprise,” Clown narrowed his eyes, about to strike—when his body suddenly froze mid-throw.

A strange sensation came from his holy armor. Not just him—the other four felt it too.

Their pupils contracted as they stared in disbelief at the fluctuations radiating from Caesar… the fluctuations of holy armor!

The inherited power of the Twelve Round Table was resonating!

A flash of dark violet light swept over Caesar. In the blink of an eye, black radiance formed armor that completely covered his body.

“Lancelot Du Lake…”

“And ‘Indestructible Lake Light’?!!”

Gareth murmured, “How… is this possible…”

Caesar casually swung the ‘Indestructible Lake Light’ in his hand. The sword wind tore through the air, carving a trench dozens of meters long into the ground.

“Come,” Caesar said softly. “Knights of the Round Table.”

Mr. Clown’s head buzzed as realization finally struck. He now understood what the leader of Doomsday Myth had really meant by “testing the power of holy armor.”

It felt as though a voice echoed in his mind at the same time, asking:

Surprised? Didn’t see that coming?

(End of Chapter)