"I see," Arthur said, his expression contemplative as they walked along the dirt path leading toward the village. His gaze remained fixed ahead, but there was a subtle sharpness in his eyes, indicating he was already analyzing the situation. "So they haven't been chosen yet. You expect the selection to happen in a few months, but you want me prepared before then?"
"Precisely," Merlin confirmed, his usual smirk present but tempered by something more thoughtful. "It wouldn't do for you to be thrown into the heart of Britain's struggles without a little seasoning first."
Arthur gave a small nod. The idea made sense. Even if he had trained relentlessly in Avalon, even if he had honed his swordsmanship to a level few could match, Avalon was a land untouched by the decay and chaos of the outside world. It was a place of eternity, where Prana thrived in its purest form, untainted by human frailty.
Before Merlin could elaborate further, Arthur spoke.
"The Prana is different here... where humanity is."
Merlin grinned, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Exactly," he said. "In Avalon, the flow of mana is stable, abundant. The land itself nurtures those who dwell within it. But here? In the mortal realm? Magic is unstable, unpredictable. The weight of human struggle, of mortality itself, permeates everything. Even the air you breathe is different."
Arthur took a slow breath, already sensing the difference. The energy of this world was heavier, less forgiving. It lacked the gentle embrace of Avalon's eternal harmony.
They continued walking until the village came into view, a modest settlement with wooden homes, narrow streets, and people going about their daily routines. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the faint aroma of damp earth, and the distant sound of a blacksmith hammering steel rang through the air.
"So, we'll be staying here for a few months," Merlin said, stretching his arms behind his head lazily. "I'll find us a place to stay. In the meantime, go explore, stretch your legs, court a beautiful maiden perhaps—"
Arthur shot him a dry look.
Merlin chuckled. "What? You are the future king's best man, after all. It wouldn't hurt to practice your charm on the locals."
Arthur sighed, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion. "I'll pass."
Merlin waved him off. "Suit yourself, but at least get familiar with the people. A king must understand those he's meant to rule."
Arthur said nothing for a moment, but he acknowledged the point with a small nod. Without another word, he stepped forward, weaving into the village crowd while Merlin watched him go with an amused smirk.
As Arthur moved through the streets, he could feel the weight of the gazes on him—some curious, others wary. He was a stranger here, after all. A foreign element in a world of familiarity.
Arthur moved through the village with quiet purpose, his steps light yet steady. The weight of the blade at his side felt both natural and unfamiliar. He had no real destination in mind, only the urge to move, to explore, to understand this world he hadn't seen for so long.
Eventually, he found himself on the outskirts of the village, where the land stretched into an open grassy plain. The wind was soft here, carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers. It was peaceful, yet something caught his attention—movement.
A lone figure stood in the clearing, blade in hand.
Arthur paused, his sharp eyes immediately analyzing her stance. The girl was training, her sword slicing through the air with admirable intent. However, despite her clear determination, Arthur could see every flaw—her footing was slightly off, her strikes lacked the necessary extension, and her weight distribution left her open in several places.
And yet, she was not a beginner.
Far from it.
There was a raw brilliance in the way she moved, as if instinct guided her where technique failed. It was polished, and undeniable. Given the right adjustments, she could be perfec.
Arthur found himself watching longer than intended, an unfamiliar sensation settling in his chest. She was beautiful—strikingly so. Long, golden hair, done up in a bun, catching the sunlight in a way that made it look almost ethereal. Her piercing green eyes burned with something he could not yet name, an unyielding spirit that resonated with something deep within him.
She did not wear the delicate garments of a noblewoman. Instead, she was clad in simple training clothes, built for movement rather than elegance. And yet, it suited her. Every fiber of her being seemed built for battle.
Arthur had known beautiful women—Vivian, with her embodiment of goodness, was a prime example. But this girl... there was something about her that stirred something new in him. An unfamiliar feeling. One he could not yet place.
Without fully understanding why, he stepped forward.
He observed for a moment longer before speaking, his voice calm.
"Your stance—it doesn't suit your body type."
The girl jumped slightly at the unexpected voice, spinning toward him with wide eyes.
"What?" she asked, her voice carrying surprise but not fear.
Arthur met her gaze evenly. "Your stance," he repeated. "It's strong, but it was designed for someone with a larger build. You are forcing it to work, but it leaves too many openings. The lack of proper extension weakens your reach."
She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the analysis. There was a brief moment of silence as she regarded him, then she frowned, gripping her sword a little tighter.
"And how do you suggest I fix it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, skepticism laced in her tone.
Arthur didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his movements precise and unhurried.
"Here," he said, standing beside her. "May I?" He gestured toward her sword.
She hesitated, studying him as if weighing his intent. Then, with a nod, she extended the weapon toward him. Arthur took it, feeling the weight and balance before handing it back.
"First, your footing," he said, stepping behind her. Without hesitation, he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, adjusting them just slightly. She tensed at the contact but did not pull away. "You're holding too much tension in your upper body. Relax."
She took a slow breath, adjusting.
"Good," Arthur nodded. "Now, your grip—loosen it slightly. You're clenching too hard. A sword should be an extension of your body, not something you wrestle with."
She adjusted, shifting her stance. Arthur watched carefully.
She tried again, this time executing the movement with more fluidity. Arthur gave a small nod of approval.
"Better," he said.
The girl exhaled, her expression one of deep thought. "You know a lot about swordsmanship," she noted, looking up at him.
Arthur gave a faint smile. "I should hope so."
Artorius studied him for a moment longer before her lips quirked up slightly.
"You must be here for the selection."
Arthur tilted his head slightly. The selection... he had nearly forgotten. The fated moment when the next King of Britain would be chosen by the sword in the stone.
"It's kind of early, don't you think?" she asked, arms crossed as she observed him with a hint of amusement.
Arthur considered his response. He was here because of the selection, but he would not be pulling the sword. He had no intention of trying to become King of Britain. That destiny belonged to another.
"A mentor of mine brought me here," he answered truthfully.
Artorius raised an eyebrow. "So, you're a knight in training?"
He shook his head. "I am a knight. I have been knighted."
Artorius' expression shifted slightly, something flickering in her eyes before she offered a small smile.
"I wouldn't have expected anything less from someone with such knowledge of swordsmanship."
"You aren't so bad yourself," Arthur said, eyeing her stance again with genuine respect.
Then he paused, realizing something.
"My apologies—I have yet to ask your name. Do you mind telling me?"
She nodded. "I, too, apologize for not asking sooner. I am Artorius."
Arthur noted the distinctly masculine name. Given her overall appearance, her gender was unmistakable, and yet, she seemed to be portraying herself as male. There was an unspoken intent behind it, but Arthur decided not to question it.
Instead, he offered a small nod. "Your teacher must be exceptional."
"He is," Artorius said with certainty. "Though you seem to know more."
Arthur let out a small breath through his nose. "I doubt there are many who surpass me in swordsmanship."
The statement wasn't made from arrogance, but from sheer confidence—an unwavering belief.
Artorius' eyes glinted with interest at his words. "Do you mind if I test that?"
Arthur met her gaze. There was no hostility in her challenge, only genuine curiosity and the spirit of a warrior eager to measure themselves against another.
He nodded. "Sure."
Without hesitation, he strode toward a nearby tree, gripping one of its sturdy branches. With a subtle flex of his fingers, a faint golden glow pulsed from his palm and into the wood. The air around him seemed to hum as the branch's physical matter began to shift—thin, glowing lines tracing its form, reshaping its structure with precise refinement. Within moments, the crude branch had transformed into a perfectly balanced sword, its form elegant yet unassuming.
Artorius blinked. "You're a magus as well?" she asked, slight surprise in her voice.
Arthur glanced at the blade before offering a small shrug. "I suppose, though I wouldn't define myself as one."
Artorius rolled her shoulders, stepping back and raising her own sword. "Ready?"
Arthur lifted the newly formed blade with one hand, holding it lightly. His posture was relaxed, effortless. "Ready."
Artorius nodded, gripping her weapon tightly.
"Come at me, then."
For a brief moment, there was only silence.
Then, Artorius moved.
Her form was exceptional—her speed, her control, the sheer force behind her first strike. She closed the distance in an instant, her sword cutting through the air like a bolt of lightning, aimed directly for Arthur's center.
And yet—
She missed.
Or rather, her blade met nothing.
Arthur had moved.
Not in the way most warriors would, with a step or a parry—he had simply adjusted. A subtle shift of his weight, a minuscule turn of his wrist, and her blade passed harmlessly through the space where he had just been.
Artorius' eyes widened.
Before she could react, Arthur flicked his sword upward. Not an attack, merely a movement. And yet, the force behind it sent a sharp gust of wind against Artorius' face, her hair whipping slightly as she instinctively took a step back.
Her mind reeled. That... that wasn't normal.
Her footing reset immediately, and she lunged again, this time faster, sharper—her strikes weaving with practiced precision. Her technique was nothing short of masterful.
But Arthur was beyond that.
Every attack she launched, every angle she tried—he evaded without effort. Not once did he block. He simply wasn't there. It was as though he existed in the perfect space, just beyond the reach of her blade, his movements impossibly refined, impossibly smooth.
Then—
A single movement.
Arthur's blade tapped against hers.
The moment it did, Artorius felt it—a ripple through her arms, a shift in her balance. A mistake. A misalignment in her posture she hadn't realized until it was too late.
And then, Arthur struck.
His sword cut through the air with an elegance that was almost beautiful.
He did not aim to harm her. But the sheer force of his movement alone created a pressure that forced her back, her feet dragging against the ground.
She steadied herself, breathing hard.
Arthur hadn't broken a sweat.
Artorius clenched her jaw. This gap—this incomprehensible gap—
He had barely even tried.
Arthur studied her expression before lowering his blade. "You are strong," he said, his voice carrying neither condescension nor arrogance. "Your technique is refined. Your footwork is disciplined."
A pause.
"But you still have much to learn."
Artorius remained silent for a moment before exhaling sharply. Then, instead of frustration, a smile crept onto her lips.
"You really are something else," she admitted, a fire in her eyes.
Arthur merely offered a small, knowing smile.
And so, the battle ended before it had truly begun.
Artorius stood still, her breathing steadying as she lowered her sword. She had endured grueling training under Sir Ector and Merlin's tutelage. But this—this was something else entirely.
Arthur had overwhelmed her not with strength or raw power, but with an ease that made her own skill feel almost... incomplete. She had always believed herself to be one of the fine swordsmen, and yet, against him, she had been nothing more than a student before a true master.
A slow breath left her lips before she spoke.
"I don't think I can ever question your swordsmanship again after such a display."
She offered a small smile, but there was no bitterness in her tone—only respect, and something deeper. A spark of realization.
Arthur chuckled, a quiet, knowing sound. "I suppose not."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Artorius' grip on her sword tightened, her mind racing with thoughts.
And then—
"Please train me."
Arthur blinked. His expression remained composed, but his eyes sharpened with interest.
Artorius took a step forward. "At least until the selection."
Arthur studied her carefully. There was no hesitation in her words, no doubt in her gaze. She wasn't asking out of wounded pride or desperation, but out of genuine desire—to grow, to learn, to refine herself in a way she had never considered before.
A moment passed before he finally smiled.
"Very well," he said, his tone carrying a warmth that had been absent before. "Until the selection, I will teach you to be the best you can possibly be."
Artorius' eyes lit up, her resolve hardening as she straightened her posture.
"Then I will not waste this opportunity," she said, determination lacing every syllable.
Arthur nodded, lowering his sword completely. He had seen many knights wield their blades with pride, but few carried the sheer drive she did.
This would be interesting.
This would be worth it.