She heard nobles, knights, and commoners whispering about her gender, casting pitying looks her way.
A normal person might have felt anger, shame, or panic. But Artoria did not. She simply paused for a moment and glanced at Merlin.
Merlin shook his head, understanding.
With Morgan now guarding, even Merlin wouldn't dare act recklessly.
What could I do? I certainly couldn't draw my sword and slaughter everyone here.
So, Artoria chose to admit her identity openly.
"Yes, my real name is Artoria, and I am a woman. But so what? The knowledge I have gained, the swordsmanship I have honed, and my determination to protect Britain — none of that changes because of my gender."
She stood tall, neither humble nor arrogant. Her presence briefly silenced the shock around her.
If she were a man — a prince — she might indeed have been worthy to contend for the throne.
That thought flickered in the minds of those present.
"Sister," Arthur asked softly, "you'll be fifteen this year, right?"
"Yes."
"What do ordinary fifteen-year-old girls do at that age? Tea parties, socializing, singing and dancing, sharing laughs and stories with those around them. The face of a fifteen-year-old girl carries the sweetness and bitterness of youth — full of secrets, troubles, and charm."
"That is not what I should do. I am King Uther's…" Artoria replied.
"Yes, you are my father's daughter, my sister, the princess of Camelot. But a princess should also have a youth of her own — her own worries and joys. All of that has been taken from you. As disrespectful as it may seem, sister, you should hate my father and the magician beside you. They stole everything that was rightfully yours."
Facing Arthur's whisper, Artoria instinctively responded: "I have never hated my father."
Not hatred — Artoria didn't even remember King Uther's face.
She had been sent to Ector Manor at five, ignorant of her true identity at first.
"That's right. You don't hate. You can't hate." Arthur confirmed the truth in her words as swiftly as she had spoken them.
His next words nearly broke Merlin's smile.
"Because a being named Artoria doesn't know what hatred is. Not that she refuses to hate, but that she simply doesn't know how." Arthur pointed at Merlin, the implication clear.
His words were merciless.
The trap had begun to ferment.
The seeds Arthur planted in the hearts of those watching grew wildly.
Without hatred, there was no love. Artoria was always calm, willing to employ the coldest, cruelest, deadliest strategies against her enemies. She was perfect — ruthless, inhuman.
Arthur had revealed the "Ideal King" plan without naming names.
But now, the Ideal King's identity was obvious.
Sent to Sir Ector's house at five to conceal her gender and learn knightly skills. With Merlin — the renowned magician — standing by her side.
It was her.
A perfect king might inspire admiration, glory, and hope.
But there was one thing that no one could accept:
The perfect king was an emotionless, inhuman monster.
Compared to such a being, even a foolish or tyrannical ruler seemed more human — and easier to accept.
"This is not your fault, Sister. You have done nothing wrong. You are the victim. But now, at least don't stand in my way and block Camelot's path forward." Arthur said with sincere eyes.
From the moment the truth was known, the outcome was decided. Any further struggle was pointless.
"Oh, what an overwhelming statement! Seems my students are no match for you when it comes to playing with hearts." Merlin stood up suddenly.
Yes — if you don't act now, your chance is gone.
Arthur's smile chilled, but it was still there.
It was the first time Artoria felt discomfort with that smile.
"You're the one playing tricks, Merlin. I just told the truth. Can you deny it?"
After a pause, Arthur added with a sly tone, "Oh, I shouldn't even ask you — lying is your specialty. I should ask the honest sister."
"Hmm? Just let it go."
Ignoring Morgan's deadly glare, Merlin slowly approached Arthur with a smile.
"Then why don't you — who claims to have surpassed the Ideal King — face the doubts of others? Your sister, Artoria, has not recognized you yet. Neither have I."
"I don't approve," Arthur said dangerously, raising the Sword of Choice and hanging it mockingly around Merlin's neck, "but I will make my sister approve. And until then, the one who turned my sister into this — stay quiet. Because of you, I've been restraining my anger."
Merlin was momentarily speechless — not out of fear, but because this younger man was far more cunning than Morgan, the famed enchantress.
He was truly adept at exploiting loopholes.
He clung to that advantage, certain that if he continued to resist, Arthur would heap blame on him beyond redemption.
More shameless than him!
Wait — why did Merlin feel this guy was even more shameless than himself? Something was off!
"Hmph! Court magician or not, I'll forgive your disrespect for now." Arthur pushed Merlin aside with a hint of disdain, his acting skills in full force.
"I…"
Merlin opened his mouth, but stopped. He didn't want to worsen things.
But one thing had to be said:
Do you really think you are the king? Do I, Merlin, need your pardon?
Don't say it — because the truth was, he desperately wanted it.
If he wanted to amend his mistakes and see Artoria on the throne, he had to stay by Arthur and Artoria's sides. Neither would leave Camelot. To survive in Britain, they had to appear innocent — at least in name.
If he lost today, with little chance of winning, Arthur would accuse him of crimes, restricting his every move. It would be wasted effort.
"You're cruel — just wait for me!"