Blunt, utterly blunt!
Ector's words were as direct as a spear's thrust—he didn't know how to speak in circles. He plainly told the nobles, who ruled over seventy percent of Camelot's lands, that they were unfit to be king.
If Lancelot hadn't been there, half of them would have stormed out of the room in rage.
But Ector had more than just a formidable brother—he had a well-known, formidable son. Who among them dared to make a move against him? Even if they didn't respect Ector, they had to consider the reputation of Kaelar.
It was finally time for the son's merits to cast glory upon the father.
With his raw, barbarian bluntness, Ector had cowed the assembled high lords. Then, he continued, "I know some of you have struck deals with the Romans, but can you use your peanut-sized brains to think about the consequences?"
"Can you really trust the Romans?"
Ector's one-man assault on the assembly was a textbook display of Ector's harsh eloquence. "Are you certain that Roman snake, that viper Tiberius, promised his support to just one of you?"
"What the Romans desire is not a united, stable Britannia. They want to see the Celtic tribes broken into fragments, warring amongst themselves!"
Ector pressed on, "Tiberius wants each of you to dream of being king so that we Celts will tear each other apart. In the end, we'd have no choice but to beg the Romans for help, submitting ourselves once again to their rule!"
"For generations, our ancestors struggled to free themselves from Roman scorn, to force those self-proclaimed civilized and arrogant Romans to recognize the kings of the Celts!"
"Do you wish to return to groveling at the feet of the Romans?"
"If you must submit to someone, why not submit to our own Celtic king?" Ector's voice roared through the hall. "We are Celts! We are warriors who live and die by honor! We are the so-called 'barbarians' who uphold the glory of the Celts! The Romans will never conquer the Celtic people!"
"No one can ever truly conquer the Celts!"
The Celtic people were a seemingly fragile yet incredibly resilient culture.
Throughout history, the brutal, bloodthirsty Celts were rarely a match for foreign invaders. First, the Romans conquered them, then the Angles and Saxons invaded, and later came the Vikings...
Yet even in the modern era, the Welsh remained distinct from the English, and Ireland had long since declared independence. The Anglo-Saxons may have defeated the native Celts over a thousand years ago, creating an empire that spanned the world, but they could never fully conquer the neighboring islands.
Ireland, with its indomitable spirit, even formed some of the earliest and most notorious paramilitary groups. The wild nature of the Celts was never fully tamed.
"This is the pride of the Celtic warrior!"
Ector's cold gaze swept over the gathered nobles. "Unless you have the courage to draw the Sword in the Stone, stop imagining you can be the King of Camelot!"
"If any of you think the support of the Romans has stoked the flames of your ambition, then come and try!"
"But..."
Ector's voice hardened. "My son, Kaelar, will sweep aside anyone who dares!"
His words left no room for doubt. Ector's speech was as harsh as it was sincere, and it struck a chord with many of the nobles, causing some to reconsider their alliances with the Romans.
Still, there were those whose heads remained clouded by dreams of power, their reason eclipsed by Roman promises.
But it didn't matter.
As Ector had said, Kaelar would sweep them all away.
The nobles who had failed to draw the sword remained in Camelot, trying everything they could, but no one could remove the Sword in the Stone.
They needed to see who would fulfill Uther's prophecy, who would become the next ruler of Camelot.
Thus, they established three conditions for any would-be king:
First, he must be a knight!
Second, he must be of noble blood!
Third, he must not be a commoner!
Knighthood stood for martial prowess, nobility for political legitimacy. Although Uther had claimed that any Celt could try, commoners were simply not considered for the throne.
At that moment, Kaelar and Artoria finally arrived at Camelot.
Maple Ridge was less than a hundred kilometers from Camelot, and even the distant lords had arrived well before them. Under normal circumstances, the two should have arrived much sooner.
But Kaelar had been occupied with more pressing matters. Artoria could have gone on ahead, but she insisted on traveling with Kaelar, delaying their arrival.
It didn't matter—destiny was already decided. No one was more suited to be King of Camelot than the Red Dragon of Britain. A few days' delay wouldn't change anything.
As they were about to pass through the gates, Merlin appeared—again, that mischievous and troublesome magus appeared before them.
With a loud "pop!" Merlin seemed to spring from a trickster's box, blocking Kaelar and Artoria's path. Her gaze settled on Artoria. "Arthur, have you made your decision?"
"Are you sure?" Merlin's voice carried the weight of prophecy. "Are you truly ready... to face that future?"
Like the strands of fate, Merlin used her A-Rank illusion magic to project a near-real vision of the future into Artoria's mind: "Once you draw that sword, you will cease to be a woman. The desires of the flesh, the passions of the heart, must be abandoned."
"You will become a king. You will bear the weight of a crown not for yourself, but for the sake of all of Britain. You will no longer be Artoria, nor a mere squire—you will be a king. You will be the Eternal King who leads Camelot to victory in twelve great battles, Arthur Pendragon!"
"Even knowing this, will you still draw the sword?"
"Yes, I will."
There was no hesitation in Artoria's eyes. "Great Mage Merlin, I accept your prophecy."
Merlin's words triggered a cascade of memories. Artoria recalled her last encounter with Uther—the final time she saw him, on her birthday.
Uther had shown no fatherly warmth. In Artoria's memory, his face and form were already fading, leaving only his voice—a relentless, demanding tone that echoed in her mind:
"Arthur, is a king truly alone?"
"Arthur, do you trust him completely, with all your heart?"
"Arthur, do you love him more than you love yourself?"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"...Yes."
"Then you are mistaken, Arthur. Power changes people—it is never controlled by the will of man. When the time comes to make the right choice, even if it pains you to the point of wishing for death, you must make that choice."
"Because you are the King of Britain. You carry the hopes of the Celtic people. You cannot afford to make the wrong decision."
"..."
"Uther, I don't believe it. I don't believe such a future exists. Kaelar and I are united in will. There is no way—no way that such a thing will ever come to pass."
"When you ascend to that highest throne, when everyone kneels before you and the hopes of the people rest upon your shoulders, perhaps then you will finally become a true king."
"Lily, perhaps Kaelar was right. He allowed you to experience a childhood, to enjoy the life of a young girl. He raised you so well..."
"Those words are meaningless, Uther. How could you understand the bond between me and Kaelar?"
"..."
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T/N: I accidentally published the last chapter early...sorry!
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies!
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