Watching the crowd bustle like industrious bees, each eager to try their hand at drawing the sword, Arthur remained entirely unbothered.
Draw the sword?
Impossible.
It was true that anyone seemed to have the opportunity, but opportunity wasn't the same as qualification. The sword wasn't lodged in stone by brute force—it was sealed by Merlin. No amount of strength or magic could free it. Not even Morgan could do it. The so-called "qualification" wasn't strength or valor—it was the blood of the red dragon.
Only two people present bore that blood: Arthur and Artoria.
Anyone else was merely acting out a farce.
Seeing that Artoria had no intention of stepping forward, Arthur ignored Kay's ever-hostile gaze and continued to wait calmly.
After all, the main players had yet to arrive. Merlin and Morgan were still en route.
No rush. No need to hurry.
"Let's see where everyone is now," Arthur murmured, glancing over the crowd for familiar faces—those who hadn't attempted the sword yet.
He would need a proper setup before drawing the sword. Something to rouse the people. And to keep Merlin in check, Morgan had to be present.
To oppose them? Gawain and Agravain's help would be useful.
It didn't take long to find them—two conspicuous figures.
Agravain in black, stoic and calm. Gawain beside him, smiling like a fool.
Arthur winced.
Of course. The worst-case scenario had arrived.
Agravain spotted him and nodded subtly—he clearly already knew about Arthur's presence and might lend a silent helping hand if the situation called for it.
As for Gawain...
Even after Agravain jabbed him twice in the ribs, he kept grinning blankly, unfazed.
As expected from Morgan's son. As dumb as ever.
Arthur briefly wondered if Morgan had slipped something extra into the potion when making that one. Otherwise, why was he the only competent sibling?
Sighing, Arthur turned his gaze back to Artoria.
"Good morning, honored knight," he said, extending a hand in greeting.
Artoria blinked in confusion. The gesture was unfamiliar. After a few awkward seconds, she bowed instead.
"No, I'm... I'm only Sir Kay's squire. My name is Artorius."
"Not a knight yet? That's fine. Even so, it doesn't stop me from calling you one," Arthur said gently. "Because when everyone else gave up, you alone stayed true to Merlin's prophecy and King Uther's will. Not giving up—that is a knight's virtue."
He withdrew his hand, slightly embarrassed.
Still not used to the customs of this era.
But—Artorius?
That had to be Artoria.
Arthur hadn't caught the earlier conversation between her and Kay, so to him, the figure standing before him was nothing more than a handsome boy.
It had to be some kind of magical disguise. A cognitive distortion spell.
But no matter how powerful the magic, it couldn't hide that signature trait—
That stupid hair!
No other knight had that ridiculous strand of hair standing straight up. Only the King of Quilts herself.
The King's True Body, eternal and divine.
"Are you not going to try drawing the sword?" Arthur asked.
"I'm just a squire," Artoria replied, looking down at her attire. "This doesn't really look like a knight's uniform, does it?"
"I said before—everyone has a chance. No one is excluded."
"I'll go after everyone else has tried," she said.
"I see. It's not about your status—it's your self-confidence." Arthur smiled, then suddenly stepped back.
The next instant, Kay charged in between them. If Arthur hadn't dodged in time, he would've been tackled flat.
"Brother Kay!" Artoria protested, pushing him away.
But just as Arthur had been drawn to Artoria's presence, she too was quietly drawn to his.
Their bond was mutual. Resonant.
"I just don't want you talking to some smooth-tongued liar," Kay growled.
Arthur only smiled wryly and took a respectful step back.
It was Artoria.
And with her presence, the information flooded in.
In the Type-Moon world, King Arthur was no ordinary king—he was born with a divine lineage, a final miracle of the waning magical era. Uther Pendragon, unwilling to accept the decline, had collaborated with Merlin to infuse the red dragon's blood into his daughter, creating an heir with godlike potential.
Thus was born Artoria Pendragon.
Raised as a boy by Sir Ector, taught knightly virtues by day, and guided by Merlin through dreams by night, she was never given the chance to be human.
An ideal king. Crafted and molded.
And from the start, destined to abandon her own humanity.
She understood the teachings: A king must sacrifice some to save many. A king must be impartial, emotionless, utilitarian.
Weigh the good of the realm. Measure the value of human lives like numbers on a scale.
It was a way of thinking that transcended the human condition—and thus, it would never be understood by humans.
In the end, she became the dream king. A perfect, radiant vision, doomed to dissolve like mist under the morning sun.
But Arthur clenched his fist.
"This time," he vowed, "I will take control of that dream—and make it last a little longer."
Not for his mission. Not just to extend his lifespan.
But because the future he remembered for her was too cruel.
"She studies in every waking moment. Even in sleep, she is burdened by Merlin's teachings. She smiles for the people, but never for herself. That may create a perfect king—but for a young girl, it's far too pitiful."
He whispered the words quietly, making sure Artoria didn't hear them.
But Kay, who stood protectively between them, caught every word.
"You little devil—"
He was stunned.
Until now, Kay had thought that only Merlin, Sir Ector, and himself knew the truth about Artoria. But here was another boy—young, clever, with the same insight, the same determination.
He didn't know who Arthur really was, and frankly, it didn't matter.
If this stranger could change Artoria's fate...
If he could pull her from the destiny she'd been forced into...
Then even if it meant dealing with a devil, Kay would do it without hesitation.