I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

No matter how mature and composed she may seem, Artoria is still only a seventeen-year-old young woman. Without anyone to restrain her, she naturally finds herself quite interested in these kinds of entertainments. If Merlin can keep it a secret from Kai, Hector, and the others, and if he doesn't have anything urgent to do, he's not hesitant to use a few disguise spells to sneak her out for a bit of fun. But when the female magician isn't around, her companions usually turn into the gentle Bedivere.

Occasionally, a melancholic "bard" will be added.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty, are you there?"

A young man's timid voice came from outside the door, his voice low and full of guilt. Artoria, who was untying her heavy cloak, which was as thick as a bed sheet, and hanging it on the wall, responded, "Wait a little longer!" Just as she was about to speak, the wind outside the window made her cheeks turn red, and the pieces of paper on the table fluttered up. So she hurriedly reached for them.

This is the King's study. Apart from Merlin, almost no one else has ever been here. Several stacks of documents are piled high on the table, seemingly arranged by content. One stack mainly contains intelligence and information about North Wales, another stack contains information about those who have recently joined Carleon, and compared to these two stacks, the third stack appears much thinner. As it flutters in the wind, it contains things that seem completely unrelated to outsiders.

"...It has been confirmed that the Picts have completely disappeared, and the new King of Scotland is calling on brave men to venture north and explore new territories..."

"King Leod Ogland of Scotland has died, and his only son, Pat, has succeeded to the throne..."

"...An explorer who returned from Ireland claimed that several tribes were waging war on that ancient island. He was commissioned by the most powerful tribe to find a treasure called the 'Stone of Destiny,' but unfortunately, he could not find it. Upon his return, he sold this information to Carleon's intelligence broker..."

From new to old, the fluttering pieces of paper were carefully collected one by one and stacked back into a pile. Artoria gently ran her fingertips along the uniquely textured parchment, and as if she had thought of something, a smile appeared on her face.

Her smile was then interrupted by a series of knocks. She snapped back to reality, turned her head, and saw a pigeon—exceptionally large—perched outside the half-open window. Its snow-white feathers shimmered in the sunlight. A cylinder was tied to its right claw, and it was trying to squeeze its body into the window, but it got stuck in the middle. Its small eyes looked over pleadingly, as if silently accusing her.

"Miss Guide, you should lose weight."

Freeing the stuck pigeon, Artoria smiled and poked its wing with her finger. The pigeon turned to peck at it, but was dodged, making the whole pigeon even more sullen.

"Goo!"

Despite its annoyance, it dutifully extended its right paw, allowing Artoria to take the cylinder. Once opened, it was empty. The young king expertly placed the cylinder to his ear, and the previously gentle east wind outside suddenly intensified, its howling accompanied by what seemed to be another light, cheerful voice. As Artoria listened, she glanced back and saw her own smiling face reflected in the pigeon's round, bright eyes.

"Cough...cough..."

She quickly tightened her expression, and her movements of tidying up and changing clothes were much faster. After tying her loose hair into a ponytail and wrapping a cloak around her body, there was another soft knock on the door.

"king--"

Bedivere said nervously, “I saw Sir Hector, he’s coming this way… I’ll help stop him!” The young man’s tone changed abruptly, as if he had made up his mind, and he said resolutely.

With the sword in the stone hanging at her waist, the girl dressed as a swordsman braced herself against the windowsill, leaped into the air, and flipped out of the window.

The large pigeon cooed and circled a few times in the sky before flying off towards the direction where Artoria had landed.

……

The carriage wheels creaked and groaned on the newly repaired dirt road, looking as if they might fall apart at any moment. The goods piled on it swayed precariously. The child was held in his mother's arms, only half of his head sticking out, curiously looking around.

For a child who had never left the village since birth, everything outside was so new and wonderful.

Although he didn't know why his father suddenly disappeared, nor did he understand why his mother had to pack up the pots and pans and other odds and ends at night and lead him out of the village in the dark, none of that mattered compared to the good things that happened afterward.

Even though it wasn't a holiday, his mother generously shared some delicious jerky with him. Even though it was just a small piece, the savory taste still lingers on his tongue.

On the evening of their first day of escape, they were lucky enough to encounter a passing carriage, and the kind carriage owner even offered to give the mother and him a ride. As long as they didn't have to walk, the bumpy carriage ride was a very interesting experience for the children.

Of course, what interested him most was his other companion in the carriage.

"you guess……"

The small ball was tossed up and down in the air. The man, wrapped in an old cloak and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, sat in the corner of the carriage rack. Even in an environment where his bones were about to fall apart, the small ball he tossed still landed steadily in his palm. At first, there were only one or two balls, but in the blink of an eye, there were so many that it was dazzling.

The child stared, mouth agape, as the person asked in a soft voice—a voice that sounded almost like that of a young girl—"How many balls do I have in my hand now?"

"Eight...nine!"

Countless swirling ball shadows vanished, leaving nine small balls nestled between ten fingers. A half-face hidden in the shadow of a hat brim smiled slightly: "You guessed right. This is the reward."

With a flick of his finger, a small white ball flew over. The child hurriedly caught it, but when he looked down, the ball suddenly turned into a pigeon, flapping its wings and flying away.

He looked up and saw the pigeon fly over and nuzzle his cheek. He was stunned for a moment, then broke into a big smile, looking extremely happy.

His mother was clearly stunned as well. Unlike the innocent and carefree nature of a child, as an adult, she naturally understood what this gesture meant. Her gaze turned more scrutinizing as she looked over, and she sincerely thanked him.

"It's just a little effort."

Seemingly oblivious to the change in her gaze, the soft-spoken girl released her grip, and the remaining small balls vanished into thin air, leaving only a cane leaning against her side. This cane was about a meter long, with a crystal ball embedded in its head, grayish yet resembling an inconspicuous little stone.

The winter wind was biting, and the cloak fluttered wildly in the wind. The child huddled in his mother's arms and yawned. The girl tilted her head as if listening to something, but all that could be heard was the howling wind.

"Sir."

She spoke softly.

The carriage owner, who was driving forward, glanced back and asked, "What's wrong?" His voice was old and rough, as unpleasant as a sharp knife scraping against a rusty iron plate.

“I’ve walked this road before.”

"so?"

“If my memory serves me right, we should have arrived at a village nearby half an hour ago.” The girl said casually, “I remember there was a kind old woman in the village who could make sweet and delicious wild vegetable soup.”

As they spoke, the weathered woman sat up, her hands protectively cradling the child in her arms, her eyes darting warily back and forth between the two men. The reins tightened slightly in her hand, and the horse abruptly stopped, neighing loudly. The old coachman was silent for a few seconds before saying in a hoarse voice, "Magician, this is none of your business. I advise you not to meddle."

"is it?"

With a series of loud crashes, the woman suddenly stood up, but stumbled and nearly fell off the carriage. Her frail body trembled violently. The girl reached out and picked up the crystal cane beside her: "What if I told you I knew this child's name was Percival, and that you were lying in ambush here to kill him?"

The words have not yet fallen.

The air suddenly tensed, as if a faint smell of blood permeated the air. The girl licked her lips.

"In that case——"

"Magician, you should stay too."

The wind howled and the bowstring twanged, and several sharp arrows shot out toward the girl. At the same time, the coachman drew a hidden blade to the side, and a cold, moon-like gleam slashed at the panicked woman in the carriage!

P.S.: After thinking about it for a long time, I've decided to write about Lancer in a more lively and cheerful direction, since (because of his height) I need more leeway in terms of mindset... A new beginning~ This volume should have a lot of things that everyone will love to read, remember to vote~!

Chapter One: Mistaken Identity

boom.

With a dull thud, the cane fell to the ground, stirring up a light dust and a few withered yellow leaves. The faint chirping of birds came from the woods. The girl tilted her head, a slight smile on her lips, and slowly put her somewhat old wide-brimmed hat back on, and the shadow fell again.

Only then did a "crack" sound come from behind her. The sharp longsword broke in two. As for its owner, the scarred man let out a low growl, swayed a few times, and fell to the ground with a thud.

Besides him, there were five or six other burly men lying on the ground, some sitting and some lying down. Several trees had also fallen, and the place was a mess. Even though the noise had subsided, it was clear that a fierce battle had just taken place here.

In fact, the woman's reaction was remarkably swift when the man disguised as a coachman swung his knife. As a former queen—even in a small, remote country—she had received some form of self-defense training. Almost the instant she sensed the killing intent, she lunged to the side, pinning her son down while drawing a concealed dagger from her person.

But how effective can a mere dagger, less than the length of a forearm, be in the hands of a woman who is tired, hungry, and has been living in fear for days?

Moreover, she could sense that there were many enemies lurking around, whether they were thieves hired by King Percival or knights directly under orders, none of whom she could handle alone.

“Percy…”

She trembled, softly calling her child's nickname. The cold blade swept over her head, leaving a chilling aura. The coachman seemed to let out a sound of surprise, but his tone was more mocking. He was probably intrigued by this unexpected resistance. But the woman knew that the knife was about to fall on her.

"Mom, let me go!" The child struggled to protect his mother, but couldn't break free. His fists were clenched tightly, and he glared at the wrinkled coachman, watching him slowly raise the blade. Sunlight fell through the leaves onto the blade, and a rainbow of light spread out in an instant.

It probably only took a blink of an eye, or a little longer, but in the little boy's eyes, the slashing blade seemed so slow.

He was breathing rapidly, his pupils were constricted, and he felt sweat seeping from every part of his body. His mouth was open, and he wanted to let out a cry of alarm, but the sound had only just reached the tip of his tongue.

It has not yet been exported.

Time seemed to have truly stood still.

To be precise, the knife suddenly froze in mid-air. The driver continued to press his arm down, but abruptly released his hand in the next moment. Amidst a scream, his palm turned black as if it had been burned, emitting a pungent, burnt smell.

No one answered him.

The boy stared blankly at the incredible scene before him: starting from the hilt, the entire knife rapidly turned red-hot, then melted into molten iron. The molten iron then gathered in mid-air into a giant fist, which, with a bang, sent the coachman and the knife flying. Along the way, it crashed into two or three large trees before disappearing into the vast expanse of dust.

As if sensing something, he turned his gaze to the side and saw the easy-going "magician" pick up the cane beside him and stand up.

Although the boy didn't know why his mother and the coachman called each other that, he thought the nickname sounded nice and started calling them that in his mind. Under his gaze, without the girl making any move, the gray, stone-like crystal on the tip of the cane suddenly lit up, and for a moment, some strange symbol seemed to flash within it.

The speed was too fast, and the boy did not see what the symbol was. He felt that it was not the kind of writing he had learned, and even doubted that he was seeing things. In the blink of an eye, the crystal became as dull and inconspicuous as before.

The girl put down her cane.

Beneath the wide-brimmed hat, her once smiling lips were now tightly pursed. Her body was wrapped in a very old cloak, making her appear extremely thin. Before seeing the boy dressed like this, one might have thought that this poor woman, despite her outstanding acting skills, was always hungry, and one might have secretly felt sorry for her.

Her gaze swept over the woman in the car who was still in a daze, exchanged a glance with the boy, nodded to him, and then looked around.

Swords and spears were nearby, arrows were far away, and all sorts of sharp blades were pointing at them from all directions. At a glance, there were at least a dozen people surrounding them. Among them were weapons that shimmered with an eerie green light, most likely poisoned.

Perhaps it was the iron fist that had sent several trees and people flying that had given them enough of a deterrent effect, that made these people hesitant to make any rash moves for the time being. Instead, they held up their weapons and slowly tightened their encirclement.

Perhaps in their eyes, even the most bizarre spellcaster could never successfully counterattack and escape when being aimed at by at least a dozen arrows... Of course, it's not certain that the all-powerful Merlin could accomplish this "feat".

But as everyone knows, Merlin is currently serving a king named Arthur in South Wales, and there's no reason for him to be in a place like this. With that thought, the leader of the group immediately felt relieved.

"I advise you not to..."

He glanced in the direction where his companion had been sent flying, saw the lingering dust and debris, and swallowed hard. Just to be on the safe side, he decided to try and persuade him first.

After all, the instructions were only to kill the mother and daughter, not to let them go head-to-head with a magician who seemed to have some skill.

However, before he could finish his sentence, the magician adjusted his hat and said, "Hurry up... or come at me all at once, I'm in a hurry."

The voice was soft, suggesting a young age, perhaps only in their teens or twenties, yet the words uttered utter arrogance. The leader flew into a rage, no longer caring about the potential consequences, and brandished his dagger: "You're courting death! Wait… who are you—"

Suddenly, a gust of wind swirled through the woods. The girl was caught off guard, and her cloak was blown up. Although it was only for a short time, the people around her could see her hair, which was hidden behind her clothes. Their expressions changed, and some of the more timid ones even took a few steps back unconsciously.

A rustling sound spread instantly. The boy behind the girl couldn't see clearly, but he heard his mother's trembling voice ask with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, "You...you are...Lord Merlin?"

"You have the wrong person."

A resolute answer.

……

"I've been mistaken for Merlin again."

After a six-month separation, Artoria never expected that the first words the two exchanged upon meeting would not be pleasantries, but rather such a somewhat joking complaint.

She first glanced around discreetly, and to avoid attracting attention, she led Guinevere into a secluded alley before giving her a hug with a smile and smoothing a few strands of hair that had fallen onto the girl's shoulder.

"It's not their fault. After all, everyone on this island grew up listening to her stories. When you mention a silver-haired female magician, children immediately think of Merlin."

She buried her head deep in the person's chest, only to be pushed away a few seconds later. Guinevere let out a long sigh and muttered, "But my hair isn't that long...and flowers don't bloom where I walk. Al..."

Before she could finish speaking, a pair of bright green eyes, sparkling with laughter, suddenly appeared before her, startling her so much that she stopped speaking. Then she realized, "Oh, it's Lily."

"Correct."

Artoria nodded with a smile. She had tied her blonde hair into a long ponytail, making her look dashing. She wore a pure white dress that was light and airy, with only a few iron plates in necessary places as embellishments. However, these were cleverly crafted, safe and without compromising the original beauty of the dress. It was obvious that this was Merlin's doing—the female magician had used this trick to deceive many young girls.

A longsword hung at her waist, quite similar to the one the girl remembered from her past, but clearly two different swords. Just like the girl standing before her now, and the "Lily" of her memories, they were probably two different people.

Artoria did retain the memories woven from that dream, but she also possessed another set of memories, as if she had lived two fifteen-year periods simultaneously. In the fifteen years without herself, she pulled out the sword from the stone and traveled with Kai and Merlin, leaving behind chivalrous deeds as the "dignified princess knight" and the "white lily" in many places.

The journey lasted for six months until the three arrived in Avalon. Artoria passed the test and obtained the projection of the Planet Anchor, the Holy Lance Rungomminiad.

Two years passed.

The current Knight King is still young, just turned seventeen. She did not lose the Sword in the Stone by accident, and therefore has not yet obtained the Sword of Excalibur from the Fairy Land. Perhaps due to the influence of the Holy Lance, her body, which should have stopped growing after the Sword in the Stone was pulled out, has actually begun to develop again.

After confirming several times that she had indeed grown a centimeter taller, Artoria managed to maintain a semblance of composure in front of strangers, but her joy was undisguised among a few close friends. Honest Bedivere was equally delighted and, after careful consideration, concluded that this was mostly due to the King secretly sneaking into the kitchen a couple of days ago and eating a whole roasted cow without telling anyone else.

King Arthur, who thought no one knew the secret, was shocked. Sir Kay, who was in charge of the castle's internal affairs, including the food supply in the kitchen, was equally shocked. It is said that he secretly went to see Merlin.

Soon after, the kitchen of Carleon Castle was filled with all sorts of magical traps, its strictness comparable to that of the workshop set up by the most severe and suspicious magician.

The difference is that the former's trap spares everyone, working only on a particular king.

It wasn't until Guinevere returned that the bewildered Artoria was finally able to step inside again and attempt to "conquer" that great treasure trove.

The girl tried to confirm that the real sword in the stone was not Clausolas.

The "Lily" in front of her, who would secretly change her clothes and sneak out of the castle, was still familiar to her compared to the two Artorias she had known before, but she was more lively, as if she had gained a bit more of the vitality unique to her age.

It seems like everything has changed, yet it also seems like nothing has changed.

Just like the familiar yet unfamiliar voice she heard in the vast expanse of white snow.

"The dream has ended."

"But you shouldn't just go to sleep like this."

"Someone needs you, wake up...or else..."

"……otherwise……"

It sounded like two identical voices, one calm and wise, the other young and panicked. The former faded away, while the latter grew clearer: "Wake up, unknown heroic spirit... I need your help, please save me..."

"...Solomon?"