"I am Arthur Pendragon, son of King Uther! Gentlemen, I must apologize."
Passing Morgan, Merlin, the astonished Kay, and Artoria, Arthur strode toward the Sword of the Chosen, speaking with calm conviction.
"Ten years ago, after the former King Uther was defeated, he believed that the White Dragon Vortigern was an enemy no human could ever conquer. For King Uther's bravery defined an era, yet he was still defeated."
"As long as we are human, we cannot defeat the White Dragon alone. To win— to protect Britain— we must use dragons to defeat dragons."
Arthur's words won nods of agreement.
In truth, King Uther had done well. His achievements were recognized across Britain, and his knights were brave to the last. The younger generation still looked up to him with reverence.
But Merlin grew uneasy.
Arthur's words were dangerously persuasive—not merely leadership or deception, but a raw, potent charm. When people heard Arthur's voice, their hearts yielded to him, almost involuntarily.
"What do you think, Incubus? You lost. If you give up now, I might show mercy and forgive your past insolence."
Morgan smiled triumphantly, already claiming victory.
On the way here, Arthur had told her humans were complicated—but no need to overthink. At their core, people are simple. They crave truth but often ignore it when it's uncomfortable.
If something is beautiful, it must be good, so pursue it boldly.
If something is ugly, it must be evil, to be cast out.
The same goes for future and destiny—truth or lies hardly matter.
"Foolish," Merlin said, still smiling calmly, though inwardly he knew it was hopeless. Normal means no longer applied.
His all-seeing eyes—the mark of the highest level magician—revealed the unchangeable truths of the world. Some things must happen, and some cannot be altered.
In Merlin's view, what Morgan and Arthur were doing now was a disaster for Britain, perhaps the entire world.
"It's better to stop. You spin such dreamy illusions that you give people fantasies more vivid than reality. I know why I came. I know my reputation will only bring trouble to little Arthur, but I have my reasons."
Merlin was shocked. When had this foolish girl finally woken up?
Merlin and Arthur shared one thing—they both saw Morgan as an incurable naive girl (which was true).
Did she come specifically to restrain me?
Merlin smacked his lips, noticing more and more people agreeing with him, some gazing at Arthur with fanatic devotion.
He couldn't help but laugh inside.
"Look at my Great British magic, Artoria's ready to eat!"
"You think you're the only one? Little Arthur's so cute, the cutest!"
The invisible magical powers clashed silently as Merlin and Morgan stared each other down, competing in secret.
Kay watched coldly through it all, bewildered.
"Seriously, what the hell are you two doing?"
Artoria lowered her head in shame.
Magic theoretically needed no words—only focus. But in reality, spells helped magicians deepen their concentration. Spells were important, a form of self-suggestion that helped complete a ritual.
Yet these two great magicians… were openly chanting nonsense spells.
Useless!
Artoria's faith in magicians crumbled when she met Merlin for the first time in reality.
"Why dinner? What does that have to do with me? Sure, I ate too much, but as a knight, isn't it common sense to stay in top shape? How can you fight without a full stomach?"
Hunger is a formidable enemy—never underestimate it!
Kay wanted to kill the two perverts around him.
Arthur, meanwhile, paid no attention to the duel between the magicians.
"The late King Uther finally gave up his dream of the ideal king. But he realized that the great deeds of heroes from every era and the radiant light of humanity can still shine through the darkest times. We humans are no less than the inhuman powers that overshadow us!"
He glorified Uther, a king unrelated to him, painting Arthur as a prince raised by Morgan out of Uther's dying regrets.
Regarding the Sword of Choice, Arthur insisted its fairness and authority had only increased.
It wasn't about transcending bloodlines or talent—it demanded extraordinary ability.
Being king required sacrifices more profound than people imagined, hardships to overcome, crises to foresee. Anyone qualified could draw the sword, except him, son of Uther. The standard remained the same—only those with strength hundreds or thousands of times beyond ordinary could claim it.
Yes, King of Camelot—not King of Britain.
Arthur avoided grand promises. One bite at a time. It wouldn't do to make too many enemies before building a foundation.
"Noble lords, you are the pillars of this land. Respected knights, you are its shield. Citizens of Camelot, you are its cornerstone. Everything we build forms the great country of Camelot. For our future, please support me, recognize me, and let us overcome all obstacles—together, open our future!"
His speech ignited cheers that soared.
At that moment, Arthur's hand grasped the Sword of Choice.
The sword had long been enchanted with magic allowing only those bearing the Red Dragon Factor to wield it. The plan was foolproof—the only one qualified had been Artoria. But now, another had emerged.
The [Red Dragon Factor-False] slightly boosted the body's potential but suppressed normal magic circuits, transforming all essence into the breath of a red dragon. A risky sacrifice, but it guaranteed a 100% success rate in pulling the sword.
With a clear ding, Arthur lifted the ornate sword high above his head.
"I am the chosen king!"
In an instant, the red dragon spread its wings, roaring like an endless wave as cheers erupted all around.
The king was born.