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

"My arm wound has healed. Thanks to the ointment that Brother Kai supposedly got from a druid, there's no scar. Although I don't think it was necessary to go to such lengths... Hector always says that scars are a warrior's honor. Of course, I would mind if my face was scratched or something, but it's just a small scar on my forearm. Brother Kai is making a mountain out of a molehill. He doesn't even know I'm a girl... He probably doesn't know, right?"

"...I've been exposed. And it seems like I was exposed a long time ago, but I was just pretending not to notice. There's a lot I want to say, but in short, I plan to stay quietly in my room alone until breakfast tomorrow. I don't want to see anyone..."

"June 14th. While I was leading forty-seven men to hold back the main force of the bandits, Gulifule and Kaige launched a surprise attack from the rear and won a great victory. Four of our men were wounded, no one died, thirty were killed, twenty-eight were captured, and seven are still missing. To prevent the missing from attacking the surrounding villages, we plan to further increase the number of patrols in the near future. At the same time, after discussion, if the defense mechanism of this mountain stronghold is not greatly damaged, we plan to try to move the stronghold."

"June 15th. Successfully made contact with two other 'King Arthur' forces, but the response was not good. Kai suspected that King Lane's ambush might be among these two groups... We should have results tonight, or at the latest tomorrow."

……

"June 20th. The several groups of people that have been moving around in the mountains and fields have basically all regrouped. At the same time, according to the reports from the scouts, King Lyons has obviously begun to be on alert. We must get everyone out before the encirclement is completely closed. But if we just retreat, even if we meet up with the Fisherman King's reinforcements, we probably can't avoid casualties... Is there any better way?"

"I asked Merlin in my dream and got permission to release the Holy Lance seal in case of emergency. It seems everything is peaceful over there, which is great... Now, as long as we can successfully capture Carrion, everyone can finally catch their breath."

"June 21st. At 4:30 PM, I led three hundred men away from the main legion towards Carleon. If my prediction is correct, this scene should have already been observed by King Lanes' scouts, and presumably, letters regarding this matter should have already been sent to Sir Nalan, who is known for his integrity in Carleon. I hope everything goes smoothly..."

"June 22nd. On the battlefield, Sir Nalan agreed to a one-on-one knightly challenge. Although I felt somewhat sorry for him, this battle was one I had to win, so I unleashed the Holy Lance at the last moment. Unlike when I fought the Beast of the Waves, I finally understood why Merlin had repeatedly warned me not to use this power lightly. Even if it's just an incomplete power, it's far too powerful; it's definitely not something I can just casually wield against humans..."

"On the 23rd, Kai and Gulifri joined up with the Fisherman King's reinforcements. After a morning of standoff, Nentris finally chose to retreat. Now we can finally breathe a sigh of relief... We should see everyone again tomorrow. Although we've only been apart for a short time, I feel inexplicably like it's been a long time since we last met. Why is that..."

The pen moved haphazardly across the paper, occasionally dripping ink that gradually spread across the blank spaces. A figure, slightly thinner than the others around him, sat at the table, his profile illuminated by the lamplight, seemingly lost in thought, a pensive expression on his face. After a moment, he raised his fingertips and touched his lips.

Gently.

Like a dragonfly skimming the water.

In her mind, fragmented images and sounds seemed to flash by: "What...are you doing?"

"It's just a routine ceremony."

“But, haven’t you already mastered the Dragon Curse? There shouldn’t be any need to perform this ritual now…”

"Huh—is that so?" In the hazy moonlight, the person opposite me had a sly smile on their lips, like a little mouse that had stolen cheese, exaggerating their surprise with a blushing face: "I forgot. But, well, we've done it so many times before, so one more or one less time doesn't really matter, does it?"

"...That's true. But, but..." I frowned, feeling something was off about what I was saying. I wanted to refute it, but couldn't quite put my finger on it. After a long pause, the other person leaned closer. Fingertips touched, fingers intertwined, and they raised their wrists. "Before this, it was something we did because it was necessary. Now, although it's no longer necessary, I did it because I wanted to... It's the same thing, but the reason is different. That's all I can say to you now."

"But someday in the future, if you, like me, want to do this even though it's unnecessary... then you'll probably understand this feeling... and if you understand this feeling because of me..."

"Then I will definitely be very happy... very happy."

The scene in her memory, though only a short time ago, seemed shrouded in a thin veil, vaguely rising from her heart, carrying a strange feeling that she could hardly describe.

She wasn't stupid, nor was she truly unaware of what the other person was trying to express. That feeling was probably what people often refer to as affection.

From the moment they met, Fina never concealed her true feelings. The excitement and trepidation, mixed with a slight sense of secret joy, that she felt when meeting someone she admired was something she had never experienced with anyone else before.

Unlike the familial bond with Hector and Kai, and also with Merlin, who was both her mentor and friend, this affection, like the lively festival, was something she, who had always remained a quiet observer, could never comprehend. Merlin had once given her the opportunity to experience the world as an ordinary girl, a young girl dressed no differently from her peers. Although it's unknown whether the female magician was hoping for some kind of change in her as a result…

Regrettably.

She eventually returned to the path she had already planned.

What Britain needs now is not a man or a woman, but a king who can shoulder everything and move forward.

That's why... Artoria put down her pen, her eyes flickered a few times, then returned to calm, as still as a lake. It was as if, from the very beginning, her heart had never been stirred by any ripples.

She looked up.

Just then, a rising sun was seen, rising from the mountainside. Voices drifted in through the half-open window. The day was June 27th. Yesterday, after struggling to get out of his sickbed, Sir Nalan had a private discussion—or rather, a four-hour debate—with the young king, before offering his sword with both hands, personally ending the neutrality he had painstakingly maintained until now.

"I await everything you have promised."

He said.

King Arthur, holding the Holy Lance and wearing a heavy cloak, accepted the allegiance of Carleon in full view of everyone.

He then proclaimed to the world that he would be formally enthroned in Carleon a month later, and invited all the kings to witness it. This news swept across Britain like a whirlwind.

What followed was a period that was both long and short, both as brilliant as a constellation of stars and as dark as a long, dark night—

The Psalms.

Chapter 164 My First Title (Mistaken)

Truro Castle, Cornwall.

Although the shadow of death that had loomed over this land seemed to have vanished, the figure sitting on the throne still had sunken eyes and a murky gaze. The heavy aura of death emanating from him gave people the feeling that it wouldn't be surprising if he died at any time.

The messenger knelt on one knee, head bowed, not daring to look directly at the person above the steps. Even from a distance, the indescribable aura of decay made him feel breathless and dizzy. He knew nothing of magic and attributed it to a psychological illusion and the majesty of the King of Cornwall, paying it little attention.

Marco's gaze swept over the young messenger before returning to the letter in his hand. He held the open paper in one hand and rested the other on the armrest of the throne, tapping it lightly with his knuckles, a thoughtful expression on his face: "Is Arthur finally going to take his oath of ascension to the throne...? The timing is quite good."

He smiled with great interest.

Among nobles, aside from a very few who were overly upright, even "pedantic," most noble and respectable "gentlemen" did not mind using various underhanded methods in the course of their struggles—poisoning, assassination, subversion, and even kidnapping and threats. However, even so, there were still some rules that needed to be followed.

Equality of status is one of them.

Before this, although Merlin had foreseen the birth of a new king ten years earlier and held a sword-drawing ceremony, thus confirming the identity of this son of Uther, he could not be considered an equal to other kings until he was sworn in ascension to the throne in the presence of the archbishop and the kings of Britain.

Whether it's the former Royal, the three "King Arthurs" who have recently caused a stir in North Wales, or those in other regions who claim to be the same, in this era where reputation is valued more than life, it's almost equivalent to murder for money, and perhaps even worse in the eyes of some.

If someone were to impersonate another king or knight, the person whose name was used without authorization would have every reason to kill them on the spot, which would be perfectly reasonable. Even if the matter were taken to the Pope, there would be no fault on their part.

But King Arthur was an exception.

Before this, as long as he did not officially appear in public and remained active only in rumors, no one could confirm his existence. This may sound absurd, but it was the tacit understanding among the nobles. Therefore, for Lyons, launching an attack on the "rebels" within his own territory was perfectly reasonable, requiring no one's permission and no complicated declarations of war.

But now, as this letter appeared in his hands—and in the hands of many others—Marco understood that even though the formal swearing-in ceremony was still a month away, from this moment on, King Arthur was on equal footing with him and with the kings of England.

If he were to declare war again, Lines would have to follow the long-established "rules of the game" and find a not-so-far-fetched reason to send an envoy to declare war. To demonstrate that justice was on his side, this declaration of war process had to be repeated three times, with each time at least ten days apart, to allow the other side to make full preparations for battle.

Fortunately, the battle was decided fairly and squarely.

In this back-and-forth, King Arthur's side gained at least two months. Although his ruthless brother, Lyons, would inevitably do something behind the scenes, with Merlin in charge, they wouldn't necessarily suffer a loss in this contest.

In these two months, there are many things both sides can do. One of the more important things is to try to win Cornwall's support, something Marco is well aware of. His army is not as strong as North Wales's large army, and in terms of elite combat power, it may not be as strong as King Arthur's side, which is rumored to have allied with the Fisherman King early on.

However, given Cornwall's geographical location, if he were to side with King Arthur in the upcoming great battle, it would be tantamount to ensuring stability in the rear, allowing him to concentrate his forces on the front lines. This would be of paramount importance. Similarly, in order to achieve a pincer attack and further cripple the already numerically disadvantaged King Arthur and Fisherman King's camp, Lanes would certainly not hesitate to offer various conditions to win him over to his side.

This choice will determine the future of himself and the entire Cornwall. If it were his nephew, whose mind was filled with the unrealistic romance of a bard and whose thoughts were more delicate than ordinary people, he would probably have resolutely sided with King Arthur after much deliberation. But from childhood to adulthood, Tristan had almost nothing in common with him in his dealings with people.

He wondered what kind of parenting methods his sister had used to raise such a sentimental child… This thought crossed his mind, and Marco smiled faintly, a fleeting smile that went unnoticed by anyone. A moment later, he waved for a servant to take the messenger away, informing him he would reply the next day. As the footsteps faded into the distance, the aged king sat in his ornately decorated chair, his expression decaying, a putrid odor filling his lungs with each breath. The Mark of Death, though extending his life, had also prematurely brought him to the brink of death, allowing him to experience the taste of the dead much earlier than before. Although his outward appearance remained largely unchanged, a skilled physician present would have immediately noticed that his internal organs had almost completely ceased functioning.

With the help of the goddess, he is still able to struggle to live in this world.

Even Marco himself sometimes couldn't help but wonder, could this really be considered living?

There is no answer.

He propped his head up with his hand, tilting it to the side, seemingly asleep, or perhaps quietly waiting for something, his gaze occasionally drifting towards the hourglass in the reception room. Because of the prevalence of magic, this world was strangely ahead of its time in some ways, just like this hourglass, where the magic clearly displayed the hours, minutes, and seconds as the sand flowed away, remarkably similar to the mechanical clocks of later generations.

"It's about time..."

Time ticked by, and at some point, Marco murmured to himself. At the same time, a ray of sunlight streamed in through the window, and the shadow of the curtains suddenly and eerily twisted, then stood up and transformed into a small figure wearing a pointed hat and a cloak, resembling a witch from folklore.

"You came."

The old man looked at the figure that had suddenly appeared without disturbing anyone. His face showed no surprise, as if he had known the other party was coming. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to show a kind smile, but due to the temperament accumulated over the years, the smile inevitably became tinged with a bit of gloom.

"Nice to meet you, King of Cornwall."

The little witch placed her hand on her chest and bowed in greeting.

"Although I have already said it once in my dream, please allow me to state my purpose again." Beneath the wide brim of a hat, scarlet eyes, like flowing blood, shone with a dazzling light: "Please hand over—return the mark of death within you to me."

“You should know what losing this thing called the Mark of Death means to me.” Marco looked down at her, his expression indifferent, his tone seemingly devoid of emotion.

"die."

"It is death. And what can I gain in return?"

“Death… the difference is that you die alone, or—” After a slight hesitation, the little witch replied, “a once noble and powerful deity will be buried with you.”

After that sentence.

The air fell silent, and Marco glanced once more at the quietly working hourglass.

“There’s still a quarter of an hour before Isolde delivers the medicine,” he said calmly. “You can try to persuade me before she arrives.”

“I’m about to do that.”

The little witch answered.

……

Carlyon, Wales.

Time flies, and the days passed peacefully. Of course, for Artoria, this period was anything but peaceful. Just receiving the kings who kept coming, the knights who came to admire her, and dealing with the few hotheads who insisted on challenging King Arthur to a duel were enough to keep her extremely busy.

In addition, they had to squeeze in time to study, or rather, to catch up on—things they had actually learned from Hector, though most of them they had forgotten—various ceremonies that would be required for the upcoming coronation ceremony, which could only be described as tedious. As for his close confidants, including Kay, Gurifre, Royal, Lucan, Bedivere, who had sworn allegiance in North Wales, and the fisherman king Pelles, who was now completely on the same ship, they were also busy with various matters all day long, with little free time.

Thus, we can easily discover a somewhat awkward fact: among the people of some status in Carion today, there is probably only one princess who has nothing to do and spends her days idly. Although Guinevere once thought that others were concerned about her status, she took the initiative to offer help and enthusiastically joined in to practice with Artoria when she wanted to pick up court dance again.

However, after only two days of training, he was "kindly advised" by the teachers who could no longer tolerate him and asked to leave.

then.

Guinevere finally understood.

The reason why everyone didn't let her practice dancing with Artoria wasn't because of her status, nor because she initially tried to dance in the men's position but reluctantly gave up after being comforted by Artoria.

Simply because...

“Miss Guinevere, forgive my rudeness, but although I don’t know what kind of life you’ve lived so far, there’s only one thing I have to say: although your movements are very refined and extremely graceful, if you still can’t get rid of this habit of accidentally stepping on your partner’s instep every three steps…”

"For the sake of Your Majesty's well-being, please leave here immediately! Right now!

"……OK."

After that, the girl, feeling ashamed, became brave and soon secretly learned the secrets of the dance. But until the distant future, Merlin, who "accidentally" witnessed this scene—although she always suspected that it was definitely not an accident—would still tease her about it from time to time.

Perhaps due to the female magician's tireless "promotion," in the later Arthurian legends, for some reason, a knight with the nickname "The Footbreaker" was added.

Legend has it that this knight, with disheveled hair and a burly physique like a brown bear, shattered the foot of the then-young King Arthur in a single encounter, his brutality chilling to the bone…

P.S.: Remember to cast your vote for this post! — Ah — Ah — Ah —

Chapter 165 Revisiting an Old haunt (Part 1)

In the tense yet orderly atmosphere, time passed quietly, and more than half a month had gone by in the blink of an eye. Less than a week remained until the chosen day of coronation. With the unanimous agreement of Merlin and the others, Artoria sent messengers to inform all the kings, large and small, on the island and invite them to witness this glorious moment.

Everyone knows that those who will soon appear in Carleon are essentially determined to stand with Arthur and oppose King Vortigern.

The prophecy of ten years ago, the selection of a king by drawing the sword ten years later, and the subsequent appearance of many self-proclaimed "King Arthur" figures. While some of them used this name to cause trouble, many more used it to accomplish things they could not have done before. Some robbed the poor to help the rich, some fought against monsters, and some nobles who practiced tyranny in their territories and caused suffering to the people had their castles breached and were beheaded in full view of the public, their heads hung high on the banners.

Perhaps many of these people were afraid of being held accountable afterward, so they simply attributed the credit to "King Arthur" to avoid any trouble for themselves. But whatever their motives, their actions have added layers of mystery to Arthur—the king who is said to be too young but possesses unparalleled fighting prowess. Even though people understand that of the many rumors and heroic deeds that have been talked about recently, probably nine out of ten were not done by King Arthur himself.

But what if one of them is true?

Perhaps there's more than one. Two, three... There's no concrete evidence, and for most people, they'll probably never have the chance to know the truth anyway, so they might as well hope that Merlin, whom King Uther considered his right-hand man, is telling the truth, and that the legendary King Arthur truly possesses extraordinary abilities and can save Britain from chaos—whether it's true or not, it doesn't really concern them, the common people.

As for those in high positions, the considerations they have to weigh are undoubtedly far more complex. However, ultimately, it all comes back to this very simple question: Is Merlin's prophecy worth risking their lives, their family's honor, for such a gamble? No one dares to make a hasty judgment, and choosing the wrong side at such a crucial moment would lead to unimaginably dire consequences. It is precisely because of this that Merlin and Artoria granted a one-month grace period, allowing those who were hesitant enough time to think and make a decision.

The deadline is approaching.

The city of Carleon was already bustling with activity. According to custom, after the king took his oath, there was a grand banquet that lasted for several days. People enjoyed the festival in different ways according to their status. Therefore, whether it was the envoys sent by various parties, the few kings who came in person to show their sincerity, the common people outside the city, or even the ragged beggars, everyone was in high spirits these days. Being able to eat a sumptuous meal and fill their stomachs to the point of bursting was naturally something to be happy about.

Inside the castle, people came and went. Since Artoria did not formally attack the city, but instead chose to fight Sir Nalan one-on-one in front of the battle lines, after she demonstrated the power of her Holy Lance and leveled a small hill outside the city, Sir Nalan immediately obediently unsheathed his sword and surrendered.

Artoria also kept her promise and disciplined her subordinates, thus not affecting the people in the city—she would have done so even if Nalan hadn't mentioned it.

Therefore, despite the defeat, on the surface, Carlyon's situation seemed not much different from usual. However, a sense of unease was inevitable, and with the successive arrivals of the Fisher King and Royal's forces, the feeling of restlessness reached its peak. However, after about half a month, Merlin managed to hold one or two small festivals, and with Sir Nalan's tireless efforts to mediate, and the realization that King Arthur seemed unwilling to cause them trouble, the undercurrents of unrest gradually subsided.

Although some friction was still inevitable, nothing serious was likely to happen again. Incidentally, the castle, which was originally under Nalan's jurisdiction, was now under Artoria's control. However, unlike other monarchs, she did not rush to replace the original servants or appoint her own confidants. Nearly a month had passed, and the servants in the city were still the same group.

Although this was simply because Artoria wasn't used to being served and had no replacements available—otherwise, no matter how confident she was, she wouldn't have completely neglected to investigate and prevent potential spies—this display of "trust" and "tolerance" inadvertently earned her considerable praise among the people of Carrion, even leading some to set aside their "narrow-minded prejudices" and become genuinely loyal to King Arthur.

Regardless, after the inevitable early disputes and frictions, the various factions gathered in Carion have largely gotten used to each other's pace and are gradually moving in a positive direction. On the other hand, almost every day, envoys from the territory arrive to receive her, arrange accommodations and meals, dispatch guards to ensure her safety, and so on. All sorts of tedious tasks occupy most of Artoria's day.

For the rest of the time, she still had her routine sword practice and the etiquette befitting her status. Even in her dreams, she was learning all sorts of things from Merlin, unable to relax. She didn't know if she had even an hour or two a day that she could truly control herself. If it were anyone else, they would probably feel resentful, but for Artoria, the past ten years or so had been no different from this moment, and she had long been used to it. At the same time, she also felt a rather strange...sense of peace.

At least, because of this busyness, she doesn't have to spend too much time with Guinevere for the time being—of course, it's not that she dislikes her. Whether it was the short time they spent together after the selection ceremony, or the time she spent with Guinevere as Lily afterward, the way the girl behaved generally didn't evoke feelings of disgust or aversion, unless one harbored prejudice.

Artoria was no fool; she naturally understood what Guinevere's unreserved kindness meant.

But then she suddenly remembered that night, the girl's light kiss like a dragonfly skimming the water, her slightly flushed cheeks, her eyes filled with a smile and shyness. Guinevere had said that she possessed memories of her past life. In that vastly different memory, she was a dull, unlikable, and aloof person on the fringes of society. Yet, recalling that petite figure bathed in the moonlight, she could only think of a lively, lovely, and elusive elf from a folk tale.

In the days leading up to her trip to North Wales, Artoria was unexpectedly haunted by a scene under the moonlight. Initially, it played repeatedly in her dreams during occasional naps, with the same image and dialogue replaying over and over again. She suspected that Merlin was behind it, although the female magician denied it with a smile, but her expression seemed suspicious no matter how she looked at it. Later, even when she was awake, she would subconsciously recall that smiling face and the faint, honey-like fragrance emanating from her.

however.

The figure in her memory was so vivid that her reflection in those eyes was equally clear, as if in a dream—she wasn't wearing the men's clothing she'd grown accustomed to for over a decade, but rather a well-fitting yet unfamiliar white dress, her hair tied in a swaying ponytail, a sleeveless top, and slender arms and waist that seemed as if they could snap at any moment. To anyone, even Artoria herself, she appeared as a pitiful girl.

At that moment, and before that, all Guinevere saw was "Lily"—Merlin's secretly taken-in student, a half-baked swordsman, a... girl through and through.