Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King's Personal Knight [411] (Patreon)

Puchi.

With the blooming of bloodstains came the crisp sound of shattered blades.

The scattered fragments of the gleaming blade hung in mid-air, reflecting the crimson spray of blood and the furious expression of Caenis, her face stained with fresh blood.

Caenis gripped her trident in one hand and a round shield in the other. In a split second, she managed to block two slashes, but the final strike got through, leaving a terrifying wound across her body.

On the other side, the person wielding the demonic sword watched as their blade snapped inch by inch under Caenis’s gaze as if the weapon itself could not bear the blasphemous act it had committed.

To challenge one who stands shoulder to shoulder with the gods using a mortal’s sword naturally invites immense backlash.

Yet the shattering of this ordinary sword drew no one’s attention; it simply didn’t matter.

To Alaric, such weapons were expendable—he could summon as many as he wished. As for Caenis, her sole target was now Alaric himself; the weapon was of no consequence!

“No more fighting, I’m done.”

Before manifesting an even more powerful demonic sword, Alaric restrained his killing intent. While keeping a safe distance from Caenis, he raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“What do you mean by that?”

Wounded and on the edge of reason, Caenis was teetering between sanity and madness; her earlier rage was fleeting, but now the true wrath of the spear surged forth.

Had Alaric attacked again, Caenis would have lost all reason, fighting him to the death without rest.

Yet by some strange coincidence, Alaric managed to tiptoe perfectly along this thin line.

Looking at Caenis, whose eyes seemed to literally glow in the near distance, Alaric naturally raised his hands and declared, “I surrender, simple as that.”

The Russian Lostbelt and the Greek Lostbelt shared a direct border; if a conflict broke out here, the Greek gods might begin to invade.

Though there were walls of storm separating the Lostbelts, for the gods, these barriers were not insurmountable.

Though Kirschtaria had repeatedly emphasized noninterference, when push came to shove, necessary invasions would happen.

But not now. This was not something Alaric wanted to see.

“Tch.”

Caenis gave a scornful look. She didn’t know what Alaric was plotting, but she wasn’t about to stop.

Just as Caenis prepared to attack again, Alaric, sensing her intent, smiled and said, “This is Kadoc’s territory. Even if we’re enemies, it’s up to Kadoc to deal with it.

You’re crossing the line as a Servant, Caenis.

Of course, that’s not really a problem. If you want to keep fighting, I can accompany you—but not here—”

As he finished, Alaric lowered his hands, his gaze sharp as he looked at the now-stabilized Caenis. “How about we continue this fight in the near future, once I reach the Greek Lostbelt?”

“Interesting. You want to fight me when you come to our territory?”

Caenis seemed to find this amusing. She casually stowed away her divine spear and grinned. “Human, we’ll see if you can bear the weight of your own arrogance.”

The strength of the Greek Lostbelt, aside from the monsters found in some other Lostbelts, was undoubtedly at the top.

If Alaric entered the Greek Lostbelt with that same attitude, then without a doubt—

It would be like a lamb entering a tiger’s den.

Caenis, suddenly intrigued, was like a beast on the hunt. “I look forward to seeing what you’re capable of, human.”

With those words, Caenis vanished.

Her body dissolved into motes of spirit light, disappearing from this Lostbelt and retracing her steps back to the Greek Lostbelt.

Alaric, watching her depart, finally let out a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t defeat Canis, but rather he was concerned about whether Kirschtaria, as Caenis’s Master, had witnessed the battle.

As a display of power, Alaric had held back but still showed strength on par with the gods.

This was not for intimidation, but rather to declare his own existence.

Yet to Kirschtaria, mere god-level combat strength was nothing to fear. After all, Kirschtaria was someone who could defeat the great god Zeus head-on.

“Things are going to get troublesome from here—”

Alaric had originally hoped to resolve matters before a certain someone noticed, but now he glanced at the nearby priest, who wore a gentle smile.

In this Russian Lostbelt, he really shouldn’t be called Kotomine Kirei, but rather Grigori Rasputin—

The Apostle of the Alien God was a unique Servant formed by the fusion of multiple Heroic Spirits within one vessel.

Besides Rasputin, the priest also contained the evil dragon Azi Dahaka—the three-headed dragon servant of Angra Mainyu, the evil deity in Zoroastrian dualism—and the essence of Baru, the undead moon spirit who would revive even after death, from Australian lore.

Of these, only Kotomine Kirei and Grigori Rasputin, as vessels, maintained personalities.

Grigori Rasputin was a monk and prayer leader active during the late Russian Empire.

A nameless peasant monk who preached theology and gathered followers, he ultimately won the Emperor’s trust and became a key figure in the fate of the nation.

His appearance spoke for itself, and together with countless rumors and his miraculous, mysterious deeds, he became known to posterity as the Mad Monk.

After curing the illness of Alexei, the Tsar’s only son and heir, Rasputin grew close to the royal family and gained strong influence over state affairs, earning the nobles’ hatred.

His licentious relationships with female followers and his humble origins led priests to brand him as heretical and immoral, and the public whispered that he used the Emperor as a puppet to satisfy his own desires.

Despite having many enemies, Rasputin never wavered in his faith or way of life until the end.

Even considered one of the causes for the collapse of the Russian Empire, Rasputin firmly opposed war with Germany up until World War I began.

He remained a staunch advocate for peace, becoming a thorn in the side of pro-war leaders at home and abroad.

Despite his lustful nature, Rasputin was not extravagant and lived a simple, earnest life.

On December 17, 1916, Rasputin was assassinated by nobles and military officers concerned for Russia’s future.

During the assassination, though he ate food laced with potassium cyanide, he did not die, so they switched to revolvers.

Even after two bullets pierced his heart and lungs, he refused to die, and only after several more shots did they finally confirm his death.

It’s said his body was then thrown from the Petrovsky Bridge into the river.

Beyond Rasputin’s biography, there was more to his presence in this Russian Lostbelt.

Was it the pseudo-servant’s vessel or the Heroic Spirit that held dominance?

Alaric judged that, in Rasputin’s case, Kotomine Kirei’s personality was in control.

This was likely due to the similarity in their natures, or their mutual respect for each other’s ways of life, causing Rasputin to suppress his own will and claims as a Servant awakened in the modern era.

However, within this Russian Lostbelt, the Rasputin side was more prevalent, and it would be more accurate to refer to him as Father Rasputin rather than Father Kotomine.

Gazing at the priest standing not far away, Alaric sighed helplessly.

He needed to awaken Ivan the Terrible before Rasputin did, forcing Kadoc and the others to join the campaign against Ivan and work together with Chaldea to resolve the situation.

All this had to be done before Rasputin could react. If Rasputin appeared before him, Alaric would have little to say.

“Lord Alaric, you’ve crossed the line.”

Rasputin, his expression calm, walked slowly toward Alaric. “Until now, your little maneuvers in this Lostbelt were still within the acceptable range. After all, resource theft can be considered part of bad debt.

But now it’s different. What exactly are you trying to do?”

“Obviously, I’m here to do bad things.”

Alaric replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “What, did you expect me to do something good?”