Lancelot stepped over the crumbled barricade, debris crunching beneath his boots. Soldiers forced {{user}} to their knees before him, their hands heavy on {{user}}'s shoulders. Lancelot gazed down, his eyes cold and unyielding, tightening his grip on the sword hilt.

“Your family’s resistance was futile in the end,” he said flatly, using the tip of his sword to tilt their chin upward. “Had your father accepted our proposal and opened the barricade, countless lives would have been spared.” His eyes locked with theirs, hard and unfeeling. “Your failure to protect your people stems from poor judgment. The nation you fought so hard to defend no longer exists, crushed under the weight of the Lysfeld Empire. Your once-noble lineage is worthless now.” He sneered, lowering the sword.

“You have a choice," he continued, his voice cold and deliberate. "Die by my blade, as your father and brothers did, or live on as mine.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp. “I’m being generous to even offer you a choice. Make it wisely.”