The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in a soft orange glow. The once vibrant fields where they had trained were now painted in shades of twilight, signaling the end of the day.
Arthur lowered his sword, exhaling slightly. The weight of the training had settled into his limbs—not in exhaustion, but in familiarity. The rhythmic clash of their blades had felt natural, seamless, and though Artorius had much to learn, she had absorbed his lessons with unwavering focus.
Before he could speak, however, Artorius beat him to it.
"Sir Arthur, I think we should halt our training for today," she said, stepping back and sheathing her blade. "Father will get worried."
Arthur gave a small nod, wiping the sweat from his brow. "That would be best. You've improved already."
A smile tugged at Artorius' lips, though it held more sincerity than mere pride. She placed a hand over her chest and bowed slightly.
"I will see you later, Sir Arthur."
With that, she turned and hurried off, her footsteps fading into the growing quiet of the village.
Arthur watched her go for a moment before letting out a sigh.
Now, he had a far more tedious task ahead of him—finding Merlin.
Arthur strode through the village, his eyes scanning the clusters of people finishing their evening routines. The streets were still lively in the way small towns tended to be at dusk—vendors packing away their goods, children being called home, the faint sound of a lute drifting through the air from a nearby tavern.
Knowing Merlin, the tavern was the first place he should check.
With a tired sigh, Arthur pushed open the wooden doors, and sure enough, there he was.
Merlin was seated at a corner table, a goblet of wine in hand, already in the middle of charming a group of locals. He laughed at something a woman said, his expression the perfect picture of amusement.
Arthur crossed his arms, standing at the entrance for a moment, unimpressed.
"Enjoying yourself?" he called out flatly.
Merlin looked up and grinned as if he had been expecting Arthur all along. "Ah, Arthur! You took your time. I was beginning to think you got lost."
Arthur walked over, eyeing the half-empty goblet on the table. "While you were drinking and being a nuisance, I was training."
Merlin feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "A nuisance? I'll have you know I was gathering information. Very important, strategic information."
Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "And what, exactly, did you learn?"
"That the tavern makes a fantastic roast lamb," Merlin said without missing a beat, raising his goblet in a mock toast.
Arthur exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just take me to wherever we're staying."
Merlin chuckled but stood from his seat, stretching before tossing a few coins onto the table. "You wound me, Arthur. But very well, follow me."
The two made their way through the village, the streets now illuminated by lanterns casting a warm glow against the cobblestone.
"This is where we'll be staying," Merlin finally said, stopping in front of a modest but well-kept inn. A wooden sign swayed slightly in the evening breeze, and the scent of fresh bread wafted through the open windows.
Arthur gave a nod of approval. "Not bad. I was expecting worse, considering you chose it."
Merlin smirked. "You underestimate my taste."
They entered, and Merlin quickly spoke with the innkeeper before handing Arthur a key. "Here's your room. I made sure you had some privacy."
Arthur took the key without comment and made his way upstairs. The wooden steps creaked slightly under his boots, but the place was clean and well-maintained.
When he reached his room, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was simple, yet comfortable. A sturdy wooden bed sat against the far wall, covered with thick blankets. A small table with a lit candle flickered gently in the corner, casting soft shadows across the walls. There was even a window, offering a view of the quiet village below.
Arthur set his sword down against the table and let out a breath, rolling his shoulders.
For the first time that day, he allowed himself to relax.
Tomorrow, training would resume. Tomorrow, he would continue sharpening Artorius' skills.
And tomorrow, perhaps, he would begin to understand why she intrigued him so much.
—-
The next morning, Arthur arrived at the training grounds around the same time as the previous day. The cool morning air still lingered, though the rising sun promised warmth later. He expected to be the first one there, but as he approached, he saw a familiar figure already practicing.
Artorius was moving through her sword forms with precise, methodical strokes. Her grip was firm, her movements controlled, but there was still a rawness to her technique—something unpolished, untamed. She was talented, certainly, but talent alone did not make a master.
Arthur walked forward until he entered her line of sight. "Hey, Artorius."
She paused mid-swing, turning to face him. A small smile crossed her lips at the sight of him. "Hello, Sir Arthur."
Arthur noted the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. "You've been at it for a while," he observed.
Artorius nodded, lowering her blade. "I didn't want to waste any time. If I am to learn from you, I must put in the effort."
Arthur crossed his arms. "A noble mindset. But training too much without proper guidance won't do you much good."
Artorius tilted her head slightly. "Then guide me," she said simply.
Arthur smirked. "Very well. Let's begin."
Arthur took a step back, analyzing her stance. "Show me how you'd defend against an attack."
Artorius adjusted her grip, raising her sword into a defensive position. Arthur studied her form—her stance was strong, but there were small flaws, cracks in her foundation that an experienced swordsman would exploit.
Without warning, Arthur lunged forward.
Artorius reacted quickly, parrying the strike, but the force sent her stumbling back slightly. Arthur didn't let up. He pressed forward, delivering a series of precise, controlled attacks, forcing her to respond.
She kept up for a time, her instincts sharp, her determination unwavering—but ultimately, the difference in skill became evident.
Arthur's movements were effortless, like a river flowing without resistance. He weaved around her defenses, breaking through every opening, dictating the pace of the fight entirely.
Then, with one swift motion, he knocked her blade from her grasp. The sword clattered against the ground, and Artorius found herself staring at the tip of Arthur's blade hovering just inches from her chest.
She breathed heavily, her eyes flickering between his sword and his expression—calm, composed, unshaken.
Arthur lowered his weapon and stepped back. "You have strong fundamentals. You react rather than anticipate."
Artorius clenched her jaw, clearly frustrated but not defeated. "Then teach me how to anticipate."
Arthur regarded her for a moment before nodding. "I will. But first, pick up your sword."
She did as instructed, gripping the hilt with renewed resolve.
Arthur sheathed his own blade and crossed his arms. "Before we continue, tell me—why do you
Artorius blinked at the sudden question, gripping her sword a little tighter. "To become a King, of course. To protect my people."
Arthur's eyes glimmered with interest, though his expression remained unreadable. He held her gaze, his voice steady.
"Is that truly the reason? Or is that what you tell yourself?"
Artorius hesitated, her grip faltering for a brief second. She hadn't expected to be questioned on this—hadn't expected to feel such an odd sense of scrutiny from the man before her.
"...Does it matter?" she asked, though a part of her feared the answer.
"It does." Arthur's response was firm, without hesitation. "If you do not understand the weight of your own desires, then your blade will never be steady. Strength without purpose is no different from recklessness."
Artorius' expression hardened. "A King does not fight for themselves. A King fights for something greater."
Her voice carried the weight of conviction, but there was something hollow beneath it.
She looked down at her sword, her fingers tightening around the hilt as she spoke.
"I was told that a King exists to serve something greater than themselves. That it is not our place to question, only to act. To rule is to carry the burdens of all, to forsake oneself for the people. A true King does not seek love, companionship, or understanding—only the prosperity of the kingdom. If my people are safe, if my knights can continue their duty, then my personal desires are irrelevant.
"A King who allows their heart to waver, who seeks comfort in the arms of others, will falter. If I were to indulge in my own desires, I would be no different from any other person. And as a King, I must never fail my kingdom."
Arthur listened in silence, his face unreadable as Artorius spoke with growing passion. Only when she finished did he let out a quiet sigh.
"And do you believe that?" he asked.
Artorius' lips parted slightly, but no words came. The answer wasn't as simple as she had thought. The teachings ingrained in her told her yes—but something deeper, something unspoken within her, wavered.
Finally, after a long pause, she shook her head.
"...I don't know," she admitted.
Arthur studied her carefully. "So, you are unsure yet determined to be King?"
Artorius nodded. "Look at the tragedy that is happening to Britain—the Saxon invasions, the noble infighting, the endless bloodshed. Britain needs a King."
Arthur regarded her for a moment before speaking. "I see. And you believe your way as King will work?"
"Yes," Artorius answered without hesitation.
Arthur sighed, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was something softer in his gaze, something understanding yet firm.
"Let me tell you something, Artorius," he said, his voice measured. "I was brought here specifically to stand beside the King—to help them, whoever they may be. And because I believe in your conviction, I will tell you this: even the strongest castle crumbles when built on a lonely stone."
Artorius frowned slightly but did not interrupt.
"You believe a King must forsake their own desires, that duty alone is the foundation of rule. But a kingdom is not merely land, laws, and order—it is people. And people do not follow statues of perfection; they follow those who inspire them, who struggle alongside them, who understand them."
Arthur took a step forward, his gaze piercing.
"People won't follow something they cannot relate to, something they cannot see themselves reaching for. This has been shown throughout all of history. Your resolve is admirable, Artorius, but unyielding steel will shatter under pressure. A King must not only carry the burdens of their people but also trust their people to share in that burden.
"If you stand too far above them, they will never reach you. And if they cannot reach you—how can they truly follow you?"
Artorius opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat. What could she say? He was not wrong—but neither was she. Was she?
She had always believed a King was meant to be distant, a pillar of absolute strength. But Arthur's words planted something foreign in her mind. Doubt. A question she had never allowed herself to ask: Can a King truly bear the weight of a kingdom alone?
For the first time, Artorius found herself uncertain.
Silence stretched between them, the weight of Arthur's words still lingering in the air. Artorius remained still, her grip on her sword firm, yet her mind wavered. The conviction she had always held—unyielding, absolute—felt as though it had been subtly cracked.
Arthur observed her, reading the slight furrow in her brow, the faint tension in her shoulders. Her uncertainty was clear. It was not an admission of defeat, nor was it weakness—it was the first step toward questioning the beliefs she had once thought immutable.
A soft chuckle escaped him, lighthearted yet carrying an unmistakable warmth.
"You're a nice girl, Artorius," Arthur said, his voice gentle.
Before she could register the words, she felt a sudden, unfamiliar warmth on her head.
Arthur had placed his hand there, ruffling her hair in a way that was neither condescending nor dismissive, but... natural. Casual. As if he had done it a thousand times before.
Artorius' entire body went rigid. Her eyes widened in shock, her breath hitching ever so slightly.
Arthur, entirely unaware of the turmoil he had just sparked within her, simply smiled as he withdrew his hand. "I think we'll call it a day. You should take some time to think about it."
And with that, he turned and walked away, his cape swaying slightly in the evening breeze.
Artorius remained frozen in place, her hand slowly rising to touch the spot where his hand had been. The warmth lingered.
For the first time in her life, she didn't know what to do with it.
—-
Arthur walked back toward the village, his mind still occupied with the conversation he had just shared with Artorius. Her words, her conviction, and most of all, her uncertainty—it all lingered in his thoughts. He had come here expecting to observe, to offer guidance if necessary, but now he found himself genuinely intrigued by her.
She was strong. Not just in skill but in spirit. Yet, there was something brittle about her beliefs, as if she had been shaped by an ideal that did not allow for any deviation. He wondered how much of that had been forced upon her and how much was truly hers.
Lost in thought, he barely registered the presence of another person until—
Thud.
Arthur collided with a solid frame, his shoulder slamming into the other man's. The force wasn't enough to send either of them stumbling, but it was enough to snap Arthur from his reverie.
"Tch—watch where you're going," the man muttered, stepping back as he dusted off his clothes. His voice was low, carrying an unmistakable edge of authority, but not unkind. He had the look of a knight—broad shoulders, a well-built frame, and the posture of someone accustomed to discipline. His hair was a lighter shade of brown, almost auburn, and his sharp eyes scrutinized Arthur with mild annoyance.
Arthur blinked, then straightened. "Apologies," he said simply, his tone polite yet firm. He wasn't the type to bow and scrape over a minor accident, but he was also not so prideful as to ignore fault.
The man crossed his arms, his gaze raking over Arthur, assessing him. "You're not from around here," he noted.
Arthur gave a small nod. "No, I'm not."
The man studied him a moment longer before sighing. "Well, you should be more aware of your surroundings. A knight who doesn't pay attention to his surroundings is already halfway to defeat."
Arthur's lips twitched slightly, recognizing the wisdom in the words. "Sage advice," he admitted.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Hmph. You don't seem like a fool at least." His sharp gaze softened ever so slightly as he extended a hand. "Kay."
Arthur glanced down at the offered hand before clasping it in his own. "Arthur."
Kay smirked slightly. "Arthur, huh? Simple name. Let's hope you aren't as dull as it sounds."
Arthur couldn't help the small chuckle that left him. There was a roughness to Kay's demeanor, but it wasn't unkind. He seemed like the type to push others around a bit—not out of malice, but out of an ingrained sense of responsibility.
Kay chuckled at Arthur's response. "I guess so. You must be here for the selection. It's kind of early, don't you think?"
Arthur tilted his head slightly, amused. That sounds familiar.
"My teacher suggested I should be prepared," Arthur replied, his tone calm and pleasant as always.
Kay nodded in understanding. "I can respect that. My teacher's always going on about the same things." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though I don't see why they're so obsessed with preparation. If you're strong, you're strong."
Arthur gave him a thoughtful look. "And if you're not?"
Kay blinked before letting out a short laugh. "Then you get stronger."
Arthur smiled. "Wise words."
Kay smirked. "I have my moments."
There was a brief silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Arthur could tell Kay was still sizing him up—not out of suspicion, but curiosity. There was a natural air of leadership around him, like someone used to watching over others, though there was an impatience too, a bluntness that suggested he wasn't one to dance around words.
"So," Kay finally said, "how good are you with that sword of yours?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You're direct."
Kay shrugged. "You can tell a lot about a man by how he fights. Besides, I'm always up for a challenge."
Arthur considered it for a moment. He had already fought Artorius, though that had been more of a lesson than a true battle. Kay, however, seemed different. There was no hesitation in his request—no need to prove anything, just a simple desire to test strength against strength.
Arthur found himself liking him.
"I don't mind sparring," Arthur said finally. "But are you sure? You don't know how strong I am."
Kay grinned. "That's the point, isn't it?"
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Very well, but don't hold back. I dislike dishonest fights."
Kay's grin widened. "I was about to say the same thing."
The clearing was bathed in golden light, the sun hanging lazily over the horizon as evening approached. The wind stirred the grass beneath their feet.
Kay stretched his shoulders, rolling out the tension in his arms before gripping his sword tightly. His lips curled into a smirk, but his sharp eyes betrayed the seriousness of his intent.
"This is it. We can spar here," Kay declared, planting his feet in the dirt.
Arthur, standing a short distance away, nodded. "Alright then."
With a relaxed ease, he reached down and picked up a simple stick from the ground. Kay blinked, his smirk faltering as irritation crept into his tone.
"You intend to fight me with that?" Kay asked, incredulous. "You look down on me that much?"
Arthur said nothing. He merely gripped the stick firmly, allowing his magic to flow through his fingertips and into the crude piece of wood. His eyes gleamed with quiet focus as his power traced the object's structure, unraveling its composition down to its very essence. Then, with a pulse of mana, he transmuted it—wood giving way to cold steel, crude form reshaped into the unmistakable weight of a finely crafted blade.
Kay's eyes widened, watching in disbelief as the stick was reforged into a weapon before his very eyes. "You—"
Arthur did not wait.
In the very instant the blade solidified, he moved.
A gust of wind followed his step as he closed the distance in a blink, his sword already descending toward Kay's shoulder. Kay barely managed to raise his blade to block, the force of the impact rattling through his arms. His boots skidded back against the dirt.
"Damn it—!" Kay gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance just in time to block another strike. But Arthur was relentless.
His movements were seamless, flowing like water yet striking with the weight of a storm. Each swing of his sword carried perfect control—never a wasted motion, never an opening left exposed. Where Artoria had been formidable, Arthur was overwhelming.
Kay was good—no, he was great. But against Arthur, the gap between them was made painfully clear.
Kay tried to counter, but Arthur saw it before he even moved. A flick of his wrist redirected the attack, twisting Kay's blade aside. Another strike forced Kay back further. Then another. Then another.
It wasn't just skill—it was complete dominance.
Kay could feel it. The way Arthur never faltered, never hesitated. The way his strikes never slowed, how his footwork never broke rhythm.
I can't touch him.
A sharp whistle cut through the air as Arthur's final strike knocked the sword clean from Kay's grasp, sending it spinning into the dirt.
Kay stumbled back, breath heavy, sweat clinging to his brow. He stared at Arthur, who hadn't even broken a sweat.
It was over.
Arthur lowered his blade, exhaling softly. "You fought well," he said sincerely.
Kay chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Don't patronize me."
Arthur raised a brow. "I wasn't."
Kay rolled his shoulders, stretching out the tension in his muscles before eyeing Arthur with a knowing smirk. "I suppose you win."
Arthur nodded. He turned, prepared to leave.
But then Kay's voice rang out once more.
"But tell me, Arthur," Kay said, his tone shifting ever so slightly. "Did you really win?"
Arthur paused, glancing back.
Kay crossed his arms, his smirk widening. "You beat me in combat, sure. But you're stronger than me, aren't you? Faster, sharper, more skilled. Yet, in the end, where did it all get you?"
Arthur's expression darkened slightly.
"Do you have a home to return to?" Kay continued, his voice carrying something more than just taunt—a deeper weight. "Do you have a family waiting for you? Someone to share in your victories? A place where your strength actually matters?"
The words hung in the air like a lingering shadow.
Arthur said nothing.
Kay let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You see, Arthur, you may have won the fight. But when the battle's over, when the dust settles..." He met Arthur's gaze with something almost pitying.
"I think I'm the one who actually won."
Arthur remained silent for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Kay standing in the fading light, a victorious smirk still playing on his lips.
Arthur stood frozen in place, staring at Kay's retreating back. His grip on his sword loosened ever so slightly as a strange, unfamiliar weight settled in his chest.
"Family?"
He echoed the word in his mind, turning it over like a puzzle piece that had never quite fit before. He knew what it meant, of course. He had seen it in others—the bond between brothers, the warmth shared between parents and children, the laughter of knights who called each other comrades. He had understood it in theory, the same way he understood duty or honor.
But never had it been something for him.
And never before had he been mocked for not having one.
Kay's words should have meant nothing. Arthur had been raised with the knowledge that a king did not need such things. A king was a ruler, a protector, a beacon for the people. Family, warmth, affection—these were luxuries, distractions at best. At worst, they were weaknesses.
Yet, for some reason, the thought refused to leave him.
And what was even stranger was the sudden image that flickered in his mind.
Artorius.
The moment her name surfaced, Arthur stiffened. He did not understand why, but she had given him the same strange, unfamiliar feeling. She was like him—someone who had been taught the same principles of self-sacrifice and unwavering duty. And yet, when he spoke to her, when he challenged her beliefs, something had stirred inside of him.
There was something about her presence that unsettled him in a way no battle ever could.
Not because she was a threat.
Not because she was a rival.
But because, when she looked at him, he saw something—someone—he had never known he wanted.
His fingers curled slightly, the cool metal of his sword grounding him. The feeling that welled within him was foreign, uncharted.
Was this longing?
Was this what it meant to desire something beyond duty?
Arthur inhaled deeply, steadying himself. And yet, despite his confusion, despite the questions swirling in his mind...
A smile slowly formed on his face.
For the first time in his life, he found himself wondering—what if?