Bonus Chapter!---"Lords, I can no longer tolerate seeing a lowly creature like Vortigern defiling the throne and daring to call himself king."
In Camelot's throne room, Artoria gathered all the nobles and announced her first decree as King Arthur.
Standing before a hall filled with Celtic lords who had spent decades cowering beneath Vortigern's rule, Artoria displayed her open disdain for his so-called authority.
"Vortigern has ten weaknesses, and Camelot has ten strengths!" Artoria proclaimed confidently. "I am the destined Red Dragon of Britain and the one foretold to defeat Vortigern!"
"My people suffer, and there shall be only one king in Britain—me, Artoria Pendragon, the Arthur of Britain!"
Artoria continued, "Summon every lord and gather all the Celtic forces. I am not looking to play a petty skirmish with Vortigern. I intend to slay this wretched White Dragon once and for all!"
"The first battle shall be decisive—one battle to rule the land!"
The nobles were unsurprised that the new king intended to declare war. Without any foundation or lineage beyond the prophecy of the Sword of Selection, Artoria's claim to the throne was met with many doubts. Although she bore the Pendragon name, many nobles still refused to acknowledge her.
If not for Uther's trusted Sir Ector, whose unwavering loyalty to the new king was strengthened by the sheer might of his brother and son, many of these lords would openly protest.
With prestige alone insufficient to secure loyalty, the fastest route to unify authority was through the greatest of Celtic ideals: declaring war on the Usurper King.
This was the ultimate Celtic virtue—no one would oppose it publicly. The enmity ran deep, and most nobles were eager to go to war against the usurper.
Even though the lords understood that the new king would use the war to consolidate power, they had no choice but to accept. Some even comforted themselves with the thought that it could have been worse—after all, none of their own rivals had become Camelot's king.
And only now did they realize that placing an unconnected knight on the throne wasn't without its advantages. At the very least, the new king bore no grudges or conflicts of interest with any of them.
Seated on the throne, Artoria tapped Caliburn against the floor and asked, "I have spoken. Who stands in favor, and who stands against?"
The nobles bowed low. "We all pledge our obedience, Your Majesty, King Arthur."
None dared oppose. Kaelar, standing nearby with a smile, faced no objections in his role as the palace steward—a position passed from Sir Ector to his son, in the Celtic way.
Not that they feared Kaelar; he was known throughout the land as the "Merciful Knight," famed for never taking a life.
However, the violet-haired knight in purple armor at Arthur's other side was another story entirely—a near-invincible monster. Some even whispered that Sir Lancelot alone could kill every noble and knight attendant present if he so desired.
Lancelot, serious for once, fixed them with a sharp gaze. Today, he had pledged his loyalty to Arthur, for which he had been promised a prize.
All he had to do was keep these nobles in line, and he would finally get his rematch with Kaelar.
So the same old trick that Ector used, Arthur used too—dangling the carrot of a fight against Kaelar. Ector's promise had yet to be fulfilled, and now Arthur had him waiting again.
Lancelot's speedy allegiance to Arthur was also likely due to the prophecy given to him by the Lady of the Lake. As one of King Arthur's most trusted knights and a pillar of the Round Table, his loyalty was fated.
Though from the look in his eye, it was clear he would have to first get through Kaelar before he could try dividing the Round Table.
The nobles dispersed back to their lands, tasked with assembling their knights and preparing supplies and weapons for the campaign. Artoria herself only needed to prepare provisions for Camelot's two thousand cavalry.
When the lords had left, Lancelot eagerly stepped forward. "My lord, the promise you made?"
"Oh… you mean that?"
Artoria's golden ahoge wobbled slightly, a sure sign of her mischievous intent, but the young knight of the lake was oblivious to his king's cunning. "Very well, I grant you permission. You and Kael may find a place to duel, as long as you don't wreck my palace."
Seeing the sway of that golden strand, Kaelar understood the little lion's unspoken intent. This girl had arranged Lancelot's request to give Kaelar some amusement and a means to release his pent-up frustration.
For a man, the fastest way to vent his dark emotions was through violence or… ahem, let's call it "entertainment." But for now, we'll skip the entertainment, and some good old-fashioned combat might work just as well.
"Oh? So you're still not satisfied with how things ended last time?" Kaelar grabbed Caliburn from where Artoria had set it aside. "Very well. If you wish to fight, then let's have at it."
"Besides, my weapon has been taken by Morgan, so I'll use this sword instead of a tree branch as I did last time. This time, I'll use Britain's own Sword of Selection."
The last time, Kaelar had fought Lancelot with only a tree branch, snapping Lancelot's weapon and nearly shattering his spirit. Broken and on the verge of becoming a dark berserker, he had wept his way back to Avalon to seek comfort from Vivienne.
Vivienne and her sisters restored his blade and explained what had happened, allowing Lancelot to regain his confidence. But Vivienne also told him that his true place was by King Arthur's side, after her coronation and the formation of the Round Table.
Artoria had indeed prepared a large round table, enough to seat 150 knights, who would soon serve as Arthur's high-ranking officers.
"…"
Lancelot unclasped the "ornament" from his belt and set it aside, the powerful aura of Arondight emanating in pulses. As a fellow swordsman, Artoria couldn't help but envy Lancelot's magnificent blade.
Kaelar was perhaps the only one unfazed by the strength of such weapons, a trait that made him unique. The rest of them didn't have that luxury.
Especially here in the Age of Gods, where a fine sword could amplify a warrior's strength significantly.
"Let's go then. This is my chance to cleanse my shame!"
Lancelot's blood surged with battle fury. As a true Celtic hero, he showed no mercy in a fight, his killing intent flooding the room. In this state, nothing could stop him from destroying anything—or anyone—in his path.
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