"Let me ask you another way, Kay. What do you really think of Artoria?"
Arthur asked slyly, like an old lady spreading neighborhood gossip.
No one in Britain was better at digging up secrets than him—no one.
"Artoria? She's always worked hard, trying her best to do everything well, even though she's a fool—so clumsy that she'll respond as soon as someone places expectations on her. But there's no denying her rapid growth. No matter how much I try to assert my authority as an older brother, she always surpasses me in an instant. Only then do I think, 'Ah, so this is the power of the Red Dragon.' Maybe it's the influence of [Concept Conception]. Seeing her like that, I always feel an irrepressible anger burning inside me," Kay replied bitterly.
Arthur frowned at the serious tone. Eh? Is that so? What was I originally going to ask?
Arthur went on following Kay's words: "I do feel that way too. I remember when I first learned about the [Ideal King] plan, my immediate thought was, 'Ah, this guy's no good. That kind of thing can't be a king.'"
Arthur's bluntness seemed to ruffle Kay's feathers, so he quickly clarified: "It's just a container holding a vast amount of knowledge and many wishes. Artoria memorizes all the knowledge she learns in one breath, regardless of whether she truly understands it or not. Then she uses that knowledge to respond to the expectations placed on her."
"······"
Kay was silent. Arthur's words were ironic—and painfully accurate.
Not out of prejudice, but objective assessment: even if Arthur hadn't chosen Artoria and had picked someone else as the [Ideal King], he would probably say the same.
"So I vow that the girl named Artoria is the princess of Camelot, and I, King Arthur, will confirm this today. Because in my eyes, she's more a miniature Merlin than a human. The same swordsmanship, the same way of handling things. More than a person, she's more like a program."
"My king, you mean procedure...?"
"Ah, sorry, I used a term you might not understand. Basically, it's like the principle of a bow and arrow: pull the string, the arrow shoots out. Artoria is the same—waiting for something to happen, her learned knowledge lets her respond accordingly. Everything is predetermined, inevitable, like a dead thing. That's the 'absolute correctness' entrusted to the [Ideal King]."
"A dead thing?" Kay muttered absentmindedly.
"Exactly, a dead thing. She doesn't look human at all. That's why I'm unhappy. I want to make her a real person, no matter what it takes. If I succeed, I'll have an unprecedented sense of accomplishment. So I officially recognize her as a princess and will treat her accordingly. I believe that if she puts down some responsibilities and understands the feelings of those around her more, this 'dead thing' will soon become human."
Arthur spoke his thoughts casually. He wasn't a psychologist and couldn't counsel Artoria properly, so this was his simple approach.
At the same time, it was also a kind of trust. He believed in human nature. Even if trained by non-humans, people were still human. Feelings wouldn't vanish but accumulate quietly inside. Given the right guidance, they could explode.
After all, humans are inherently powerful.
"So, disappointed by my mediocre plan?" Arthur smiled.
"Disappointed? No. I'm just glad I finally made the right bet," Kay said, surprising Arthur.
Kay then gave a proper salute.
"My king, please allow me to reaffirm my loyalty. By my sword and honor, no matter the suffering or setbacks ahead, my loyalty will never waver. My sword is yours, my body your shield. Choosing to serve you is the right decision."
To be honest, Kay really wasn't suited to smiling.
Arthur found it annoying anyway.
"Kay, I told you to treat me like you did before. No need to be so polite in private."
"Understood, Pervert King."
"······No, wait, I was wrong. Better to be like a knight."
The sun had fully risen, and many nobles and knights gathered in the great hall of Camelot Castle.
The knights wore clean armor, standing quietly without talking. The only oddity was that their armor looked mismatched and worn—some missing parts like arm or shoulder guards—adding a shabby, almost comical air.
But there was no choice. Britain was too poor.
At least these knights, who valued glory above all, were poor for the sake of their false reputation of honesty and uprightness.
Most of their armor was inherited from ancestors and had become tattered over time. Since this was the succession ceremony, they took it seriously enough to clean it up; otherwise, it would be even more ragged.
In contrast, the nobles wore gold and silver, adorned with lavish makeup, grouping visibly by faction.
The leader of the nobles was a fat-faced man who showed no respect for King Arthur in his tone, making some knights want to draw their swords.
"Tsk, so slow. You made me wait here. You haven't even put on the crown yet, and you're already acting like a king. Humph! He's just a boy. Do you really think we'll be loyal to him?" Geiger grumbled impatiently.
The kingdom's power was now in their hands. What could Arthur do even if he succeeded?
Geiger himself had controlled Camelot's finances for the past decade. If Arthur became king, as long as Geiger held firm, Arthur wouldn't see a single penny from the treasury.
Many nobles were like him. Around Geiger stood ministers overseeing city defense, armaments, farming, and more.
Together, they were a force the king couldn't challenge.
A new king trying to take power from the nobles? Laughable.
"Sir Geiger, please lower your voice. He is still the king," another noble cautioned in a low tone, hesitating.
"Hmph! What's there to fear? Afraid of those knights? What titles do they hold? Are they worthy of our fear?" Geiger sneered.