The hourglass of time flowed ruthlessly. The once powerful and unified Britain was now like a terminally ill giant, teetering in the wind and rain.
Mr. Kanjuro's (Merlin's) years of 'drain the pond to catch the fish' style of governance had piled up a brief surface prosperity, but in reality, it had long since hollowed out the nation's foundations. Heavy taxes bent the backs of the peasants, endless forced labor broke countless families, and though there were occasional reports of victory from the borders, the interior was filled with complaints, and the gap between rich and poor was like a natural chasm.
In the streets and alleys, whispers had turned into open complaints.
"Look at the lives we're living! The taxes get heavier every year; we can barely afford to hand over our grain!"
"The King only knows how to fight wars and expand territory. When has she ever truly cared about whether we live or die?"
"I heard that the knight 'Modre' shares the soldiers' joys and sorrows in the army and sympathizes with the common people... if he (she) could become King, perhaps..."
Such voices grew and spread like weeds in the dark corners of the kingdom. Artoria's once glorious and towering image gradually became clouded under the weight of real suffering and the guidance of those with ulterior motives (Morgan and the rumors she secretly spread). More and more people began to feel that the young, resolute knight 'Modre,' who held high prestige in the army, might be the ruler who could bring new hope to Britain.
However, Artoria, deeply mired in her own sense of responsibility and a certain path dependency, did not fully perceive this surging undercurrent. Facing the increasingly sharp internal contradictions and the frequent small-scale riots, what she thought of was still the sword that had once brought her victory and glory. Under Mr. Kanjuro's intentional or unintentional guidance, she believed that perhaps a great external victory could shift internal contradictions, revitalize the kingdom's morale, and unite the scattered hearts of the people.
"We must use a brilliant victory to calm internal unrest and bring Britain back to unity," she announced at the court meeting, her eyes carrying a ruler's decisiveness but also hiding an imperceptible trace of fatigue and powerlessness.
She decided to personally lead an expedition again to suppress a powerful tribal alliance in the north that had repeatedly raided the borders. Perhaps this was her subconscious attempt to use the method she was best at to give this riddled country a shot in the arm.
Artoria was making final preparations in her bedchamber. Mr. Kanjuro arrived quietly. He did not maintain a slight distance as he usually did, but walked straight up to her. Tonight, he was exceptionally different.
Shedding all mystery and aloofness, his gaze was so gentle it could almost drown a person, and his movements carried an unprecedented intimacy and reluctance.
He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on the contour of her cheek with a burning warmth. Artoria was a bit flustered by this sudden, intense emotion that far exceeded their usual interactions; her cheeks flushed uncontrollably, and her heart skipped a few beats.
"Artoria," his voice was low and magnetic, saturated with an inseparable 'affection,' "this journey is dangerous. I... I really can't stop worrying." He gazed into her eyes as if to carve her image into his soul, "Promise me, you must return safely. Britain needs you, and I... need you even more."
He leaned down, whispering lingering 'love words' in her ear, every word striking the softest part of her heart. These words were more bewitching than any magic, making her almost melt into this sudden wave of tenderness.
In such a strong emotional atmosphere, an impulse surged in Artoria's heart. She stood on her tiptoes and proactively kissed Mr. Kanjuro's lips. It was a kiss that carried the air of a final farewell, yet was also filled with attachment and surrender. She poured all her trust, reliance, and unspoken love into this single kiss.
"Wait for me to return, Merlin." She pulled away, breathless, her emerald eyes shimmering with moisture, carrying a girl-like shyness and determination, "For you, and for Britain, I will surely return in victory."
She took a deep look at him, as if to brand his silhouette into the depths of her heart, and then turned away resolutely, her cloak cutting a decisive arc as she walked toward the army waiting outside.
However, Artoria would never have imagined that this affectionate farewell and this proactive kiss were witnessed by another pair of eyes hidden in the shadows of the corridor pillars.
She had originally come to find her mother, perhaps wanting to make a final struggle or farewell that even she wasn't clear about, but instead, she stumbled upon this scene that pierced her heart. Watching her mother and father (Mr. Kanjuro) exchange that lingering kiss, and seeing the expression of extreme tenderness and 'deep affection' on her father's face—an expression she had never enjoyed—a flame of jealousy more violent and scorching than ever before instantly incinerated her remaining sanity!
Why?! Why could her mother so naturally possess all of her father's attention and 'love'? Why had her father never looked at her with such eyes? She had worked so hard, fought so desperately, won the love of the army, and achieved great military feats, yet she still couldn't compare to that mother who was away for years and was even stingy with her company?!
Mother is about to go on an expedition... perhaps, she won't come back... A crazy and dark thought reared its head like a venomous snake from the darkest corner of her heart.
If... if Mother is gone... would Father see me then? Would he belong to me alone?
The domestic dissatisfaction with her mother, the expectations placed on herself... Aunt Morgan's words echoed in her ears... all the conditions seemed to have matured.
Jealousy, resentment, distorted love, and a thirst for power converged into a destructive torrent at this moment.
She watched Artoria's receding back, the last trace of hesitation in her eyes vanishing completely, replaced by a cold and crazy resolve.
She turned, not returning to her room, but silently blending into the night, racing toward the direction of Morgan's secret base.
She was going to act. While her mother was far from the royal capital, the country was empty, and people's hearts were wavering, she would launch that final rebellion that had been brewing in the shadows for so long.
She would personally seize back everything that should have belonged to her—the throne, and... Father.
The departing Artoria knew nothing of the colossal wave about to be whipped up behind her, orchestrated by the two people she loved most. Her final expedition was not just toward the battlefield at the border, but toward the desperate end arranged for her by fate. Meanwhile, Mr. Kanjuro, standing at the door of the empty bedchamber, gazed at the direction where the army had disappeared and glanced at the shadow of Mordred's departure. The pleasant and cruel smile on his lips no longer needed to be hidden.
(Go, my king of knights, go and complete your final mission.)
(Come, my little lion, go and ignite the rebel fire that will burn everything to ash.)
(The final feast... is finally about to begin.) Artoria led the main legion on an expedition to the northern border. The battle was in full swing, and she had no time for other concerns. Meanwhile, in the heart of Britain, where she had poured her heart and trust, the most blazing rebel fire had been lit by her own daughter. Camelot, the fortress symbolizing the heart of the kingdom, was now surrounded by a black mass of rebel troops. Above and below the city walls, arrows fell like rain, and the sound of slaughter shook the heavens.
However, in this moment of extreme peril, a figure stood like a pillar of strength at the most dangerous breach in the royal city—it was none other than Mr. Kanjuro, 'Merlin,' clad in a black robe of stars and moons.
He did not display world-destroying power. Instead, with a 'tragic' posture, he mobilized the remaining defenders in the city, constructing temporary magical barriers to withstand the rebels' frantic attacks. His magical light was no longer as profound and unfathomable as in the past; instead, it appeared somewhat 'powerless,' as if he had exhausted his heart and soul to protect the royal city.
"Why?! Lord Merlin!" a young knight, covered in blood but still loyal to the royal family, cried out hoarsely after Mr. Kanjuro 'barely' repelled another wave of rebel charges. "Why did Her Highness Mordred... and Sir Lancelot and the others do this?! How could the kingdom become like this!"
Mr. Kanjuro's (Merlin's) face wore a perfectly measured expression of fatigue, heartache, and 'confusion.' He looked at the tide of rebels outside the city, especially at Mordred, who wore lion-headed armor and led the charge. His voice echoed sorrowfully atop the city walls:
"I don't understand either... children, why have you taken this path of betraying your oaths and slaughtering your own kin? Britain's strength cannot exist without the loyalty of every knight, and even more so, it cannot exist without the unity of the royal family! Put down your weapons; there is still room to turn back!"
His 'righteous' and 'merciful' cry spread far through magic, moving many rebel soldiers and causing their offensive to falter slightly.
However, this only further incited the killing intent of the core figures among the rebels.
"Do not listen to his bewitchment!" Agravain shouted sternly from within the rebel ranks. "Merlin and the tyrant Artoria are birds of a feather! It is their tyranny that led to today's situation! Kill him, and Camelot will fall without a fight!"
"For the New Britain!" Gaheris and the others echoed, brimming with murderous intent.
Several Knights of the Round Table who had defected, along with their elite forces, pounced like a pack of wolves toward the section of the wall where Mr. Kanjuro was! Sword light, magic, and arrows wove into a web of death, vowing to tear apart this 'last pillar of the kingdom.'
Facing this siege that would make any powerhouse turn pale, a trace of extremely subtle mockery—like watching ants struggle—flashed deep in Mr. Kanjuro's eyes. But on the surface, he displayed 'indignation' and 'helplessness.'
He'strenuously' waved his staff, and rays of magical light lit up as he seemingly struggled to block attacks from all directions. The magic shield'shook violently' under the dense attacks, and his black robe was slashed in several places by sharp sword qi, making him look somewhat 'disheveled.' He even 'had to' cast several small-scale space-time distortions, seemingly narrowly avoiding fatal combined strikes, drawing gasps of alarm from the loyal defenders.
However, if a truly top-tier expert were to observe closely, they would find that those seemingly dangerous attacks were always 'just' avoided or blocked by a hair's breadth at the most critical moment. He appeared disheveled, but in fact, his steps were not disordered and his breathing was steady, as if he were dancing a pre-choreographed dance on the edge of a blade.
Amidst the chaotic battle, he even "unintentionally" shared a brief moment of eye contact with Mordred. Through the lion-headed visor of his daughter's armor, he saw eyes brimming with complex emotions—resolute hatred, frenzied jealousy, yet as she watched him become "surrounded" and "imperiled," a faint, almost imperceptible trace of... hesitation and wavering flickered through them, a feeling even she hadn't noticed.
(Yes, that's it, my dear daughter.) Kanjuro thought with delight, (Watch your "beloved" father "fight a bloody battle" to protect everything your mother left behind, and feel the struggle within your heart! This pain will make your final choice all the more "delicious.")
"Merlin! Your end is here!" Lancelot roared. A sword infused with powerful magical energy tore through the air with a terrifying momentum.
Kanjuro's "expression changed" as if he lacked the strength to meet the blow head-on. In "haste," he conjured a seemingly fragile magical barrier. The moment it collided with Lancelot's blade, he was "struck heavily," flying backward as a "trickle of blood spilled" from his mouth (a magic-simulated effect), before slamming hard onto the stone slabs of the city wall.
"Lord Merlin!" the loyal defenders cried out in grief.
Kanjuro "struggled" to climb back up, looking incredibly "weak." He gazed at the encroaching rebel knights with a face full of "despair" and "unwillingness."
"Why... why won't you understand..." His voice was "faint," filled with a sense of "compassion for the world."
Just as the rebel knights thought they had succeeded and prepared for the final blow, Kanjuro abruptly crushed a pre-prepared magical rune stone!
A blinding light instantly erupted, accompanied by a chaotic spatial fluctuation! When the light dissipated, Kanjuro's figure had already vanished from the city wall.
"He escaped!" the rebel knights shouted in shock and fury.
"Pursue him! We must not let the tiger return to the mountain!" Agravain immediately ordered.
Kanjuro "wretchedly" "fled" Camelot. Leading a group of the most loyal royal guards who were still willing to follow him, he fought while retreating, moving toward the eastern regions of the kingdom that remained loyal. Along the way, he constantly "bolstered" morale, declaring he would "wait for King Arthur's return to suppress the rebellion and restore the land."
His "escape" route appeared frantic and aimless, but it was actually masterfully calculated. He always "happened" to avoid the main rebel forces while "unluckily" leaving behind traces that lured the rebels into constantly splitting their forces to pursue him. This, to an extent, tied down and dispersed the Rebel Army, slowing their total occupation of the country.
Under his "leadership," a fragile defensive line was actually managed in the eastern region, forming a brief stalemate with Mordred's Rebel Army. All of Britain fell into utter misery as the torch of civil war burned in every corner.
Meanwhile, in a temporary fortress in the east, Kanjuro gazed westward with a "worried" expression, as if longing for Artoria's return. Only the deep-seated, almost boiling pleasure in his eyes revealed that he was enjoying this "masterpiece" he had personally crafted—placing the entire kingdom and everyone's hearts upon the fires of purgatory.
He was waiting. Waiting for Artoria to return and witness this "grand welcoming ceremony" of blood and betrayal presented by her daughter and former comrades-in-arms. That would be the ultimate despair, and the peak of his pleasure.
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