002: Caliburn, the Sword of the Chosen
Two days later, the king selection ceremony was held as scheduled.
It was early morning.
In Sir Ector's manor, the blonde knight was combing her horse's hair as usual while speaking softly to him about every detail of the day, as well as her own confusion and worries.
—Artorias.
No, that was just the name she used to pass as male to others. At least here, the girl could call herself by her real name without any worries.
—Artoria.
Ah, it's that time already.
Noticing a ray of sunlight shining into the stable through a gap, Artoria patted the warhorse's head and quickly ran out.
"I'm late, Ector. I overslept!" Artoria shouted apologetically as she approached the old man.
The old man, known as the Mirror Knight Ector, looked strong and robust. Even though he was not holding a sword or wearing armor, he gave off a calm and oppressive aura. Even so, Ector bore an expression of barely concealed worry, as if burdened by something.
He looked Artoria up and down for a while.
With blond hair and a slender body, she didn't look like a knight at all. She was only fifteen, dressed in men's clothes—dashing and dignified.
But just yesterday, this child—who looked so weak she couldn't even lift a sword—had actually defeated him in a head-on duel.
No, if it had been a performance duel, by the rules, Ector would still have won.
But if it were a battlefield, he would definitely have been the loser.
A hybrid of King Uther and the British guardian red dragon. A human body with draconic functions—the man-made ideal king. Could she reach this level at such a young age?
What amazing potential and talent.
Ector didn't think his own fighting ability had declined due to age.
Rather, this child was simply too powerful—so powerful she no longer seemed human.
If this country had such strength, then…
"...Artoria."
The next moment, Ector felt ashamed of the thought he had just had—a thought unworthy of the spirit of chivalry.
Yes, the fate of a country should not rest on the shoulders of a young girl.
The burden was too heavy.
However, as a knight of King Uther known for his calmness and wisdom, he could only suppress his unnecessary emotions.
"From the look of your spirit, it's hard to imagine that you overslept. Today's training is over. Artoria, Kay seems to have forgotten something. It's still not too late to catch up with him. You can give it to him in town."
Seeing the lance handed over by Ector, Artoria looked surprised. "Even if he's my brother, as a knight, is it really possible that he'd forget his lance?"
"After all, jousting has been abolished for a long time."
"I understand. Just give this to Brother Kay." Artoria quickly set aside her doubts.
As a knight who upheld honor, it was common sense to bring all one's equipment when going out, even if just staying at home.
But with Kay, it seemed anything was possible.
"Well, pass it to him. Then your work is… finished." Ector answered affirmatively, almost with a sigh.
After speaking, he closed his eyes.
He was very tired.
He had never imagined ten years would pass so quickly.
When he opened his eyes again and looked at the figure walking away with the lance in her arms, Ector's gaze revealed deep reluctance and fatigue.
"This way, my work is all over."
——————————
"Have you remembered the precautions I told you before?" Arthur looked at the woman beside him helplessly.
To be honest, he had never expected that Morgan—despite being a princess—would be so ignorant of basic practicalities that it made him want to curse.
After spending the past two days together, he was fully convinced that Morgan le Fay was, in fact, a fool.
Her plan had a feasible general direction. With just a bit of fine-tuning, it could be perfect. If he were in charge, with Morgan's resources and his own experience, they'd have a 100% chance of drawing the sword and becoming king smoothly. Even the great magician Merlin would have no objections.
But—but! This silly woman's plan consisted only of creating the opportunity and qualifications to draw the sword. She hadn't considered anything else!
Did she really think that as long as he pulled out the Sword of the Chosen, he'd automatically inherit the throne?
What kind of fantasy was that?! Did she really think that old incubus Merlin was a pushover?!
Arthur was completely exasperated.
"I remember, but is it really necessary to go this far? Little Arthur, aren't you being too nervous? Although I don't want to admit it, the Sword of the Chosen really has become the proof of the king. Merlin said so himself. He shouldn't go back on his word—that would be too shameless," Morgan said, pouting in grievance, her tone tinged with disdain.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
Merlin had shame?
No wonder you were bullied by Merlin in the original story. You ruined a perfectly good hand. If not for Mordred's strength in the end, you probably wouldn't even qualify as a witch.
But—she wasn't wrong.
Think back. Ten years ago, King Vortigern claimed a great victory, King Uther was defeated and vanished, and Britain fell into turmoil and darkness. At that moment, Merlin prophesied:
"Uther has chosen his successor, and that person is the king of the age, the incarnation of the Red Dragon. When the new king appears, he will gather the Knights of the Round Table, and the White Dragon will retreat."
For ten years, Britain—especially Camelot, which had lost its leader—regarded Merlin's prophecy as its only hope. It was the one thing staving off despair.
Thus, the famed Caliburn, the Sword of the Chosen, became an even more powerful symbol of legitimacy than bloodline, talent, or might.
There was no stronger proof of kingship than pulling the Sword of the Chosen.
"Merlin is a incubus. He has no human emotions. It makes no difference to him whether he deceives one person, a group, or an entire nation. So drop your naive notions. That guy will do anything to achieve his goals. Compared to him, you're still too innocent. My mother is older—"
Arthur spoke with a headache, but before he could finish the title, Morgan interrupted sharply.
"Arthur, stop! You should call me sister. Remember, from today on, you are the son of Uther—my brother."
Okay, silly—ugh, okay, Sister. Have you eaten, Sister? Where is your husband?
Of course, no matter how much he complained internally, Arthur knew that Morgan was his only ally right now—and he must not offend her.
Moreover, it would be much easier to gain the people's trust if the throne passed to Uther's son rather than Morgan's blasphemous homunculus.
"Got it, Sister. Anyway, this matter is settled. Just remember: Merlin is a bastard who's always online. Don't count on luck. Just like you corrected my title just now—any slip-up on our part will lead to total failure. And by then, no one will pity us."