The Shadow of Great Britain

24: Chapter 21: Knight’s Charge 24: Chapter 21: Knight’s Charge Footsteps gradually approached.

From faint rustling to loud stomping.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, and the sound of a head banging against the wall also halted at the same moment.

Wilcox twisted his neck, his cold voice slicing through the alley’s tranquility.

“You finally came.”

He pushed off the wall behind him and stood up.

His malicious eyes immediately fell on the police knife in Arthur’s left hand.

“Ha, I knew it.

Dennis, that piece of trash, that coward can’t do anything right.”

Arthur spoke indifferently, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse.

“Dennis is not a coward; he just had no choice.”

Wilcox spat on the ground, “Putting himself in a situation with no choice, that in itself is the act of a coward.

He could have challenged me like you did, but he didn’t have the guts.

He deserves it!

Even Tom and Tony, those two scapegoats, dared to do something, but he didn’t dare.

Although those two fools would just get beaten up coming to me, and even face an internal investigation, at least they knew how to resist.

But Dennis?

He would only betray others.

What is he if not a coward?

After we settle our business, I will have a good talk with him.”

Wilcox’s lips gradually curled up, “Arthur, you know, I will definitely have a good talk with him.”

Arthur’s mood was very calm, so calm that even he couldn’t believe it; he simply took out the deck of cards he used yesterday for playing poker, carefully picking out his favorite suits and cards.

Seeing this, Wilcox laughed even more maniacally.

“Arthur, what are you doing?

Planning to play a few rounds with me before you die?”

Arthur pulled out four cards from the deck and flicked them with his fingertips into the puddle in front of Wilcox.

“Choose your favorite way to die.”

Wilcox looked down, and floating on the dirty water’s surface were four Jacks, each illustrated with a character image.

In English, there are many words that start with J.

Like Junior, representing someone of a lower status or a young person’s impulsiveness.

Like Just, representing a righteous person.

Like Justice, representing fairness and impartiality.

And like Judge, symbolizing the final judgment and decision.

Arthur unfastened his gloves and tossed them on the ground in front of Wilcox.

“You shouldn’t have come looking for me; can’t your underdeveloped brain remember that I’m the only police officer from Scotland Yard who dares to patrol the East End alone at night?”

Wilcox stared at the four poker cards in the puddle, the scar on his neck grotesquely twitching.

“Arthur, how about continuing to tutor me today?

Although I may not be a good student, I’m always willing to learn.

Why bother choosing just one from the four?

Why not tell me about all of the poker images?”

Arthur replied softly, “Your idea is quite bold, but I accept your proposition.”

Wilcox slowly drew his saber from his waist, the blade’s chilling shine making his face even more terrifying.

Arthur glanced at his saber and commented, “That’s a good blade; has it seen blood?”

“Of course.”

“At Waterloo?”

“Not just there.” Wilcox grinned, “Also at St.

Peter’s Field in 1819.”

Arthur’s heart sank abruptly, “Wilcox, you really are a bastard.”

Wilcox burst into a wild laugh, “I remember that one, Arthur Hastings said it.

I’ll never forget it in my life!”

He sprang towards Arthur with a tip of his foot, his first strike aiming for Arthur’s vital spot, intending to stab right through his heart.

Agares’s figure appeared in the alley; he excitedly cheered for Arthur from atop a wall.

“Arthur, my Legendary Swordsmanship Master!

Show him what you’ve got, and don’t forget how I trained you!”

In the face of Wilcox’s onslaught, Arthur didn’t even draw his sword; he kicked Wilcox in the stomach, sending him flying two meters away into a wall.

He pierced the Jack of Diamonds lying in a puddle with the tip of his police sword, then turned its illustrated side towards the downed Wilcox.

“Today’s first lesson, the Jack of Diamonds, the son of King Priam, brother of Paris, the legendary warrior Hector, slain by the hands of Achilles, Troy’s iron wall!

In an unavoidable war, Achilles fought for honor, Paris for a woman, Agamemnon for profit, but Hector alone fought for his country, his people!”

Wilcox clutched his abdomen, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, feeling as though his ribs had been broken by that last heavy kick.

“Arthur, nicely done, kid!”

Wilcox, enduring the pain, got up and swung his cavalry saber at Arthur, this time intending to cleave through Arthur’s skull.

This time, Arthur struck back, his sword held overhead not only catching Wilcox’s attack but also striking Wilcox’s cheek with his elbow.

Blood spurted out like a faucet that couldn’t be turned off.

Arthur lightly tapped on the water surface with his toe, stirring up the next card, and clutched it in his free left hand.

“Second lesson, the Jack of Clubs, the abandoned child of King Ban and Queen Elaine, raised by the Lady of the Lake, King Arthur’s close comrade, the legendary Dragon Slayer, the knight of the Lake from England—Lancelot!

Humility, honor, sacrifice, courage, mercy, spirit, honesty, justice, he is the very embodiment of the knightly virtues!”

Wilcox wiped his nosebleed; his nose now crooked, intense pain and humiliation nearly driving him insane.

“Arthur, you bastard!”

He swung his cavalry saber, but his steps were disordered, and this attack posed even less of a threat than the previous ones.

Arthur deftly sidestepped, allowing the blade to pass by, then like a stinging bee, he instantly pierced Wilcox’s left arm.

Arthur bent down to pick up the poker card that Wilcox had stepped on, displaying it in front of him.

“Third lesson, the Jack of Spades, son of King Geoffrey of Denmark, a friend and foe of the Great Emperor Charles, conqueror of the Umayyad Dynasty, knight blessed by the Six Fairies, wielder of the Holy Sword Cathena, the merciful knight from the north—Hogel!

He died in the Pyrenees battling infidels, but every Dane believes that death is but a long slumber, and he keeps watching over Denmark from his tomb.

Whenever Denmark needs him, Hogel will unhesitatingly rise from his slumber, once again wielding his long sword to defend his homeland and his people!”

Wilcox clutched his left arm, his right hand trembling uncontrollably as he gripped his saber, blood flowing down his arm like a stream.

He swallowed his saliva awkwardly, realizing he could no longer attack.

Defense was his only chance of survival.

But Arthur clearly did not care whether he attacked or defended; he stirred up the final card, brandishing his sword tip at Wilcox.

“The final lesson, the Jack of Hearts, attendant to Charles VII, follower of Joan of Arc, unstoppable god of war, commander of the Battle of Orleans, France’s glory, the irritable knight alongside Joan of Arc—Rahael!

Rahael said to those oppressors: ‘What you want Rahael to do for you, you must do for him.

If you are Rahael, you are God!’

Rahael told Charles: ‘No glorious monarch like yourself would joyfully surrender his country and people to his enemies!’

His name, immortalized alongside Joan of Arc, and his words will not perish with rotting bones but will renew through the passage of time!”

With a clang, the cavalry saber hit the ground.

Wilcox fell to his knees, his eyes filled with disbelief.

“Arthur, you, you, you son of a bitch…”

With a thud, Wilcox collapsed heavily.

At the corners of his mouth were streaks of blood, and embedded in his chest, was a vividly red Jack of Hearts.