Ten days later, in the central citadel of Camelot's royal castle.
The Selection Ceremony had been a long-established event, so after the sword was drawn, the coronation of the new King proceeded with meticulous order. Following Merly's public announcement during the grand ceremony that he was the biological son of King Uther and Queen Igraine, Artorius was now officially Arthur Pendragon. On the very night of his coronation, he moved into Uther's ancestral castle.
With the abundance of maidservants sent by his foster father, the massive castle—though somewhat daunting in scale—wasn't difficult to maintain. However, other burdens were far more taxing.
"Count Coleridge wishes to discuss the resettlement of refugees. King Pellinore desires a word regarding the border skirmishes with the Saxons. The Marchioness Evangeline has requested your presence for dinner this evening. Sir Daniel..."
"Stop, stop. Just hit the highlights, Bedivere."
Arthur stared at the mountain of documents piled on his desk, feeling as though his head might actually explode.
After he pulled the sword and ascended the throne, Bedivere—the sister of the Chief of Internal Affairs—had been recommended by her brother, Lucan, to serve as Arthur's Royal Steward. Her primary responsibilities included managing his daily life, handling official correspondence, and vetting visitors.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
Seeing the new King—who had looked so dashing and invincible during the Selection and Coronation—now nursing a massive headache, the corners of Bedivere's mouth twitched upward. Her tone even took on a hint of suppressed amusement.
"Duke Helmut has delivered his wife—Jayn's biological mother—to Camelot today. Along with her are the families of all the knights involved in the rebellion, including Werner's kin. They await your judgment."
"He also attached a significant sum in reparations and has 'returned' administrative rights over several territories, including the towns of Aarhus and Gulinock, in hopes of securing your forgiveness."
"He's a clever one," Arthur muttered.
The territories Bedivere mentioned were closer to Camelot's capital and far from the Duke's power base in Loharin. Furthermore, they were separated by a vast, ancient forest teeming with terrifying magical beasts. If war ever broke out, the Duke wouldn't be able to defend them anyway.
"Your Majesty, are you implying that Helmut still harbors treasonous intent?"
"Naturally. If he were truly submissive, he would have executed those people himself and sent me their heads rather than sending them to me alive. Now, if I don't kill them, he stays happy. If I do kill them, his remaining subordinates might lose heart, but they will certainly direct their hatred toward me, not him."
"Then, Your Majesty's decision is...?"
"Kill them all. Then, write back to him. Tell him I loved his 'gifts' and that I have graciously forgiven his son's previous offenses against the Crown. Oh, and make sure to send the bodies of his wife and son back to him as well."
Arthur desperately wanted to declare war on Helmut and excise the threat permanently, but he couldn't. Having just taken the throne, he was far from prepared.
While his foster father, Ector, and Bedivere's brother, Lucan, had pledged their knights to him—and a few nobles loyal to Uther or those impressed by his stand against the White Dragon had followed suit—his actual control was still consolidating.
Currently, the number of knights under his direct command had surpassed the 500 mark.
One should never underestimate the power of 500 knights. In this era of scarcity, every knight was an elite unit trained since childhood. They ate meat daily, practiced martial arts and battlefield tactics for over a decade, and were educated in culture and command. Each knight was accompanied by several squires, at least two sets of plate armor, multiple swords, a lance, three horses, and a retinue of servants. They were high-end assets capable of charging a front line or commanding a battalion.
The problem, however, was that his territory had grown.
East: Bordering the Saxons.
North: Bordering the Picts.
South: Coastal lines vulnerable to continental pirates.
West: The various Kings of Wales, who were far from friendly.
Domestically, the decade-long power vacuum had led to a surge in banditry and magical beast sightings. All of this required knights to garrison and protect. He couldn't refuse the border territories either; they were nominally Camelot's land. Even if the fealty of the destitute minor nobles there was a poisoned chalice, he had to drink it.
Knights who didn't know each other needed training and integration. National policies needed redrafting. Border defenses needed shoring up. The autumn harvest was approaching, but yields were poor, meaning he had to worry about the commoners surviving the winter. On top of that, ten years of friction between local lords needed his personal arbitration.
Unless one has lived through it, it is impossible to understand the sheer volume of problems a kingless nation can accumulate over a decade.
This had forced Arthur to shelve his plans for a "Decree of Distributed Grace" (a political move to fragment large noble estates) or using brute force to centralize power. He simply didn't have the time or the resources yet.
Sometimes, looking at his sister—who lived a carefree life of eating, training, and laughing all day—Arthur genuinely felt that he should have let her pull the sword instead.
"Uther, you old dog, you really screwed me over."
Hearing Arthur's muttered curse, Bedivere lowered her head, though her shoulders shook with a silent giggle.
"Aside from that, is there anything else of importance?"
"Yes. Princess Guinevere is preparing for her return journey. Before she leaves, she wishes to have an audience with you."
"Guinevere... fine. Arrange a meeting for later today."
"Understood. I shall make the arrangements immediately."
Bedivere clutched the documents to her chest, bowed slightly to Arthur, and turned to leave the study.
"Wait."
Bedivere turned back, looking at him curiously. "Is there something else, Your Majesty?"
"You seemed to be having a very hard time holding back your laughter while watching me suffer through this headache just now, didn't you?"
"Eh?!"
Bedivere's professional smile froze. As Arthur stood up and began walking toward her, she instinctively backed away until she hit the wall.
"Y-Your Majesty, I was wrong! I... I was just... Eek!"
Seeing his hand slam against the wall right next to her head, Bedivere let out a soft yelp, nearly dropping the files in her arms.
"Just what?"
"J-Just thought of something funny! Heh... heh heh..."
Bedivere forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. To make her lie more convincing, she even let out a silly, fake laugh.
"So you're saying that while you saw me in such pain, you were thinking of something 'funny'?"
"Eh? No! I mean... mmph..."
As Arthur leaned in closer, Bedivere felt like steam was about to erupt from her ears. Her face burned. She babbled for a few seconds, unable to find a coherent excuse, before finally squeezing her eyes shut in resignation.
Fine! Do whatever you want!
Seeing Bedivere give up all resistance, Arthur was actually the one who didn't know what to do next.
He was simply frustrated with the workload. Seeing Bedivere—who had been like a sister to him growing up—acting as his subordinate while secretly mocking his misery, he had just wanted to tease her.
But what's with the shut eyes? Are you waiting for a kiss? Do I kiss her or not? Someone give me an answer, this is urgent.
After a moment of silence, staring at Bedivere's soft, jelly-like lips and her fluttering eyelashes, Arthur began to slowly close the distance.
Just as they were about to touch—and Bedivere's eyelashes were trembling like leaves in a storm—the study door was violently shoved open. A girl with short black hair marched inside.
"Arthur, I need to talk to you about—"
"AHHH!!!"
Bedivere shrieked and shoved Arthur away. Her eyes were moist with embarrassment as she waved her hands frantically.
"Kay! Wait! I can explain! It's not what you think! Arthur and I were just... we were..."
The black-haired girl stared at the two of them with a bizarre expression. She ignored her best friend, who was on the verge of a total breakdown, and fixed her gaze on Arthur, whose face looked like he had just swallowed a fly.
"Did I come at a bad time?"
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