After the sound thrashing and swift dismissal of Lancelot, Artoria dropped her formal smile, stretched her arms lazily, and sighed, "Phew! Being king is exhausting. Dealing with those nobles who reek of arrogance is a nightmare!"
"Ha! And wasn't it you who vowed to carry the weight of the crown for all of Britain?" Kaelar teased, reaching out to playfully pinch Artoria's cheek, blissfully unaware of the raven perched outside the palace, observing them with an intensifying gaze.
"Mmh... Such a heavy atmosphere…"
Artoria leaned into Kaelar's hand, almost whispering, "I'm finally a king... Kaelar, you'll stand by me, won't you? Always?"
"Of course, my King of Britain, my pupil."
Kaelar smiled and pledged, "As long as my heart continues to beat, I will stay by your side to help you... That is our promise, Lily."
"Then I have nothing to fear."
Artoria's voice brimmed with conviction. "Hmph! That wretch Vortigern dared to provoke you like that four years ago. To send back the heads of the freed Anglo-Saxons he killed in one mass, all in a bloody message to you... His sins must finally be repaid!"
Kaelar nodded, an icy edge to his tone. "Indeed. My teaching is like a divine scourge, and it shall fall upon Vortigern's head. By then, his vaunted brutality will mean nothing."
He would never forget those stacks of two thousand severed heads, each one frozen in agony, nor the sight of the ship's maid weeping as she took her own life after completing the grim task of delivery. Those Anglo-Saxons, forced to deliver such a "gift," had mostly joined Maple Ridge, even the women among them, driven to train every day until they bled with nothing but vengeance against Vortigern filling their minds.
For ruling Britain with cruelty and treating his subjects' lives as pawns, Vortigern would eventually pay for the karma he had sown.
When you rule through terror alone, absent of compassion, the backlash will eventually come. Violence can never be an enduring solution, and when that violence turns impotent, retaliation inevitably follows.
Kill one person, and you make an enemy of their family. Kill a family, and you make enemies of their kin. Destroy an entire clan, and every connection they had becomes your enemy.
Enemies can never be completely eradicated.
So-called "rule through fear" is no more than a tyrant's delusion. Can you even say you offer others the slightest grace?
"The Gospel Knights—are they ready?"
Resting her chin on her hand, Artoria asked, "When the time comes, we'll use the Gospel Knights to flank Vortigern's forces. Then we'll storm his fortress and sever the dragon's head!"
"Lily, wasn't it you who introduced me to these Gospel Knights?" Kaelar shrugged, spreading his hands. "You came to me for a signature, handed over ten honorary emblems, and that was that. I don't know a thing about them."
With a huff, Artoria scoffed, "Well, they're useful enough. And as 'the divine among mortals,' your role is to remain mysterious and aloof. I, your High Priestess, will handle the rest!"
Kaelar did not dispute her casting of him as a deity. Instead, he said softly, "Then I'll be watching to see if the strategy devised by my High Priestess does its job."
In a dense forest in northern Britain, a group of Anglo-Saxons gathered, dressed as bandits.
But unlike typical bandits, their eyes held neither apathy nor cruelty, but a glimmer of hope.
"Derrick, you just returned from Maple Ridge. Did the great sage Kaelar have any instructions?"
One of the Anglo-Saxons asked, addressing Derrick, who had recently connected with Kaelar to further their cause. For the last two years, they had been gathering forces against Vortigern, moving as guerrilla fighters after his forces had initially crushed their rebellion. They had taken Kaelar's advice to grow their strength covertly, attracting more Anglo-Saxon commoners who suffered under Vortigern's tyranny.
The dense forests of Britain were complex and sprawling. Even Vortigern himself would struggle to root them out entirely, and he certainly wasn't the type to try.
He was a ruler who relished his power more than stabilizing his lands.
After shattering the rebel forces once, Vortigern seemed to lose interest. He had scoffed at the scattered farmers hiding in the mountains, oblivious that his violent conquest had left their core forces relatively unscathed.
Now, they merely held land, but they had lost their people.
Derrick, looking haggard but resolute, carefully retrieved a cloth-wrapped bundle from his coat. Opening it revealed a small iron-bound box, locked tight.
Seeing the secure manner in which he treated it, the others immediately straightened, realizing the gravity of what Derrick held.
With a slight wince, Derrick drew a hidden knife to cut a small key sewn into his arm. After carefully cleaning the key, he unlocked the box, revealing ten emblems and a flag.
"What...is this all?"
Some were disappointed, but before they could voice their doubts, one of them, eyes wide, stammered, "A...aren't these the highest honor badges, made by Kaelar himself?"
"A sharp eye!" Derrick nodded proudly, "These are indeed the badges Kaelar personally designed. Only a handful exist."
He continued, "Kaelar also mentioned that these badges are issued in third-class, second-class, first-class, and special-class ranks!" Derrick carefully laid out the ten badges, "Nine of them have already been designated by Kaelar himself."
"As for this last badge of special rank, Kaelar said it's reserved for the one who makes the greatest contribution in the coming battle against Vortigern."
With reverence, Derrick produced a parchment listing the names of nine badge recipients, all written in Kaelar's own hand. But conspicuously, Derrick's name was absent.
"Derrick, aren't you the one connecting us with Maple Ridge, and even meeting with Kaelar and the new King Arthur directly? Why don't you have a badge?"
---
T/N: Morgan is a full-fledged stalker now...
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies!
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