The grounds of the Selection Ceremony were a sea of people.
Knights of Camelot, high-ranking nobles, commoners from the capital and surrounding towns, and even adventurers who had traveled thousands of miles from other kingdoms on the island or across the sea from the Continent—all were gathered here.
Amidst the shifting crowd, a ten-meter radius of empty space had formed around the stone where the Sword of Selection was embedded. Everyone stared at the ornate blade, yet not a single person stepped forward to try their hand.
"Why isn't anyone trying to pull it?"
A diminutive girl knight—whose messy blonde hair looked unwashed for days and whose expensive-looking surcoat was tattered and filthy, though her eyes were large and bright—couldn't help but speak up. Her voice immediately drew the attention of those nearby.
"Little one, did you just arrive today?"
"How did you know?" The girl knight looked startled.
She had heard news of the ceremony and had snuck away from home, hoping to follow the new King. But because she had no experience traveling, she had spent a great deal of time getting lost or being swindled along the road. Luckily, she had managed to arrive just before the ceremony began.
"Look at your hair, look at your clothes—it's obvious you just got here. Besides, if you had seen what happened over the last two days, you wouldn't be asking that."
"What happened the last two days?" The girl knight's eyes widened with curiosity.
"Have you heard of Artorius?"
"Artorius? Who's that?"
"The foster son of Count Ector. Until recently, he was a nobody in Camelot. But three days ago, when the Saxons raided the towns around the capital, he charged into a burning village alone—without armor—to save his sister. They say he killed a thousand Saxons and decapitated a chieftain single-handedly!"
"That's incredible!" The naive girl didn't question the rumors, which had grown more exaggerated with every retelling. She simply listened, wide-eyed. "And then?"
The storyteller, clearly satisfied with her reaction, continued: "Then, the next day, he went to escort Princess Guinevere. On the way back, the mountain beasts stampeded. Just as the Princess's carriage was about to be crushed and her life lost, he stepped out alone. With one sword, he slaughtered a hundred monsters!"
"A hundred monsters?!" The girl knight's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of shock. Those were magical beasts! It usually took an entire squad of knights to hunt just one. Even with her own innate strength, she could only handle one at a time. Even her eldest sister, who was already famous throughout Britain, likely couldn't face a hundred at once.
And this Artorius did it while protecting the Princess? How powerful was he?!
"Is there more? Tell me more!"
"Of course. If it were just those two things, the young knights and those who traveled from afar wouldn't have given up on the throne so easily."
"True!" the girl knight realized. "What else happened?"
"It began two nights ago, under a pitch-black sky and torrential rain. A high noble of Camelot conspired with the Saxons, letting an army of thousands slip into the city to kidnap the Princess!"
"What do you mean thousands? I heard it was ten thousand!" another bystander cut in.
"Ten thousand? Hah! My second uncle's great-uncle's brother's wife's nephew saw it with his own eyes—it was tens of thousands!"
The group argued for a moment before settling on a figure of ten thousand. They continued the tale for the eager girl knight.
"Artorius took twenty-five knights, opened the gates, and carved a path from one end of the army to the other, decapitating the Saxon Grand Commander!"
"So cool!" The girl knight covered her mouth, her mind racing. She couldn't even imagine what such a scene looked like.
"That wasn't even the end. When the Saxons saw they were losing, they used foul sorcery to summon the White Dragon, Vortigern. The rain stopped instantly, the clouds parted, and a pair of dragon eyes appeared in the sky. With just one look, everyone in the city fell to their knees. Only he remained standing. But he was paralyzed, forced to watch as the Saxon Commander he killed was possessed by the White Dragon's spirit and became a monster!"
"And then?! What happened then?!"
"Then, Artorius transformed into a Red Dragon himself! He crushed the possessed commander and drove the evil White Dragon away!"
The storyteller sighed in admiration. "Though the White Dragon was driven off and the Saxons were defeated, everyone truly felt the terror of the Dragon that day. Who would dare pull the sword now and make themselves an enemy of the White Dragon?"
"Then what are we going to do?" the girl knight asked nervously. "If no one pulls the sword, aren't we Celts doomed?"
She had gone through so much trouble, hiding from her father, mother, and sisters, just to witness the birth of a new King and be the first to swear fealty. If no one wanted the sword, her journey was for nothing!
"Did you forget Artorius?"
"Oh! Right! That super-strong big brother!"
The girl knight's eyes lit up. she craned her neck, trying to see over the crowd, but she could only see the backs and chests of taller people.
"He isn't here yet. But he will come!"
And so, the girl knight waited with bated breath. As the minutes ticked by and her excitement began to turn into anxiety, a sudden roar erupted from the outskirts of the crowd. The masses began to part like a retreating tide.
A young knight clad in silver armor, with golden hair and azure eyes, walked through the path they made. He passed right in front of her.
He's so handsome!
The girl knight felt her heart skip a beat. Without thinking, she blurted out:
"Hey! You!"
The scene, which had fallen silent upon Artorius's arrival, made her voice ring out clearly. Artorius stopped and turned to look at her. To him, she looked like a sheltered noble girl who had snunk out from home to play at being a knight.
"G-Good luck!"
Artorius blinked, then offered her a warm, gentle smile.
"Thank you."
In an instant, screams erupted from the noble ladies and maidens in the crowd.
"Good luck, Artorius!" "I love you, Artorius!"
The girl knight's face turned bright red, and her small frame trembled with bashful excitement. She covered her face with her hands, peering through her fingers at Artorius as he turned and walked toward the center of the square.
Soon, Artorius reached the stone. The square fell into a deathly silence.
Adoration, envy, jealousy, curses...
He could feel a thousand eyes on him, each carrying a different weight. But soon, the world narrowed down until there was only the sword. He reached out and gripped the hilt.
In that moment, his surroundings shifted.
It was no longer a bright morning. It was a dying twilight. Beneath his feet were mountains of corpses. The scent of iron and blood mixed with the stench of despair. Standing a short distance away was a youth who looked remarkably like him, his face twisted in a ghoulish, triumphant laugh.
"Do you feel despair? Do you regret it, Father?"
Families dead. A son's betrayal. The Round Table shattered. The kingdom in ruins...
A flood of agonizing memories poured into Artorius's mind.
Just then, the scent of flowers drifted into his senses. A soft body pressed against his back, and a pair of pale, slender arms wound around his shoulders.
"It's not too late to regret it, my little Artorius."
"If you pull that sword, this will be your end."
"Guinevere will betray you. Ector, Artoria, Kay, and Bedivere will die because of you. The kingdom you worked so hard to build will crumble. Everything you cherish, everything you fight for, will vanish like mist."
"And you will die alone, consumed by utter agony and regret. So, truly..."
Before Merly could finish, Artorius wrenched himself free from her embrace. He walked toward the youth who shared his face and plunged a sword straight through the boy's chest.
Mordred's laughter froze. Artorius remained expressionless. He casually withdrew the blade and turned to look at the stunned Merly.
"I am not him."
What did the fate of the "original" Artorius have to do with him, a transmigrator?
"No one survives after betraying me."
He would feel pain from betrayal. He would feel rage at the death of his family, brothers, and lovers. But he would no longer be lost, and he certainly wouldn't hesitate out of fear.
He would not forgive.
Not Guinevere, not Lancelot, not Mordred. Not his wife, his brother, or his son.
Even the woman before him—the one he loved most—or Kay, Artoria, and Ector, whom he valued more than his own life... if they chose to walk this path with him and then betrayed him, he would kill them without hesitation.
This was for himself, and for those who believed in him. To tolerate the first betrayal was to invite a thousand more.
He would not allow a second voice at his Round Table. He would not allow a kingdom of fractured lords and vassals.
Obey, or die.
Artorius walked up to Merly, looking down at his teacher. His eyes held none of their former confusion—only the absolute, crushing confidence of a Sovereign.
"Since I have chosen this path, I will not stop. I will not look back."
"I might fail. But if I do, I will die while moving forward."
"I will either die early under the siege of the world, or I will rule it entirely as its greatest King."
"Because I am Artorius. I am Arthur Pendragon."
"So, Merly. You can choose to watch me die. You can choose to die with me. Or, you can try to kill me yourself—if you think you are capable of it."
Staring into those eyes—eyes that held no threat, only the plain, cold truth—Merly smiled.
She raised her hand, gently cupping his face, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. After a long moment, she pulled back just slightly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Then let me see... will you become a King beyond compare, or will you die a wretched death in the depths of loneliness?"
"My dearest little Arthur~"
The "Dream" shattered.
The beautiful white-haired girl and the blood-soaked battlefield of the setting sun vanished. Artorius lowered his gaze to the Sword in the Stone beneath his hand.
The hilt fit his palm perfectly, as if it had been forged for him since the beginning of time.
Artorius tightened his grip and pulled.
There was no resistance. The stone released the blade as naturally as a sheath. With a crisp shing, Artorius drew the sword. Its blade, etched with intricate patterns, shimmered in the morning sun like the finest work of art in existence.
His heart thrummed with joy. The Red Dragon blood in his veins fully awakened, beginning to boil.
In that instant, Artorius felt a change deep within his soul.
By pulling this sword, he had ceased to be merely "human." He had become a new existence—one with the potential and the right to challenge the White Dragon.
Artorius turned. He looked at the silent crowd. He saw Ector, Artoria, Guinevere, Kay, and Bedivere. He saw the countless strangers watching him.
He saw joy, relief, envy, jealousy, and resentment.
Taking in every gaze, Artorius raised the Sword of Selection and threw it violently into the ground before him. The tip buried itself in the earth between him and the crowd.
"Does anyone wish to challenge me?"
"Defeat me, and the sword is yours."
No one spoke.
"No one?"
Artorius's gaze swept across the square once more. Every person he looked at—regardless of whether they felt love or hate—instinctively lowered their heads.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
"Kneel!"
The pressure of a King, mixed with the mana of the Red Dragon, exploded from Artorius and flooded the square.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
One after another, they dropped. In the blink of an eye, not a single soul remained standing in that vast, endless sea of people. Every head was bowed. Every knee was on the ground.
"MY KING!"
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