The clang of steel echoed through the training yard of the palace. Night had
fallen, and the torches mounted around the arena cast their glow across the
surface of metal. Arthur stood at the center of the ring, gripping a wooden
sword reinforced with iron. Before him, five Knight Guards—the finest
protectors of Valoria—stood ready to attack all at once.
"Your Majesty," their captain spoke hesitantly, "do you truly wish to fight
us all together?"
Arthur only nodded, his eyes cold. "Attack. Pretend I am the enemy who seeks
to tear Valoria down."
The knights exchanged uneasy glances, then advanced at once. Blades
whistled, shields slammed hard. Arthur moved with astonishing agility, parrying
one strike, kicking away a shield, then spinning sharply. Two guards were
thrown to the ground, their weapons clattering away. Another tried to thrust
from the side, but Arthur was faster—his body darted like a shadow. In a
heartbeat, the final clash rang out. The captain crashed down, his sword flying
from his grasp, while Arthur stood tall and unshaken, his breathing steady.
His five opponents lay scattered, groaning in pain. Arthur looked at them
briefly before speaking curtly, "Stand up. You are Valoria's wall. If you fall
in a single strike, our people will perish."
Struggling, the guards rose to their feet and bowed deeply. "Your Majesty…
your strength surpasses all expectation."
Arthur gave no reply, only a firm pat on the captain's shoulder before
leaving the arena.
That night, in his study, Marcel wrote with trembling hands. This record was
not for the nobles, nor for the Council—it was for himself, so that history
would one day know he had witnessed a king's transformation.
The thirtieth day since the banquet with merchants and traders.
His Majesty can now withstand the combined assault of five Knight Guards
without moving an inch. The ancient Valorian shield, which once required three
men to lift, he now carried in one hand. His steps are swifter than lightning;
even Ren admits he can no longer approach without being noticed. His old wounds
have nearly vanished, and he can fight for hours, then attend council meetings
without the slightest sign of fatigue.
At his desk, he still spends the nights with blueprints and runes. To mages,
runes are mystical symbols; to Arthur, they are lines of code to be unraveled.
Alaric, the High Magus—usually so scornful—was left speechless when Arthur
explained the cooling circle with a logic no magus had ever shown. In
meditation, his body radiates a steady aura; I once saw the guards at the door
sink to their knees unconsciously the moment he opened his eyes.
But the most terrifying change is not his strength nor his sorcery—it is his
presence. In council, a single sentence from him silences the entire chamber.
Roland swallows his words, Veyra bows her head, and Tomas loses his sly smile.
Arthur never needs to raise his voice; when he speaks, all understand they are
hearing the voice of Valoria's future.
Thirty days since the twelve-percent tax was enacted, the capital's
marketplace has changed its face. No more soldiers extorting in the streets, no
more bribes at the gates. Small merchants, who once paid triple, now pay only
the official rate. They still complain—merchants always complain—but I see more
smiles on the faces of the people buying their bread. The price of a loaf has
fallen by a quarter. Fishermen at the docks report their catch sells faster,
and a carpenter in the southern district told me, "If it stays like this,
my son can go to school instead of forced labor."
The old nobility are furious, I know, but their anger is drowned out by the
roar of the marketplace.
The Divisions formed immediately after Mordred's downfall have now
transformed into something sturdier: the Councils of the Kingdom.
At first, the divisions were only emergency bodies to keep the realm from
collapsing without a ruler. Every decision lay in the King's hands. But time
has passed, and His Majesty understood: a kingdom cannot rest on a single
voice, even if that voice is his own.
And so, the divisions have become Councils. Their functions remain, but
their members are broadened—not only knights or officials, but merchants, magi,
veterans, and scholars.
Now there are six: Defense, Intelligence, Economy, Infrastructure,
Diplomacy, and the newest addition—Industrial Reform. Candidate selection is
nearly complete. From hundreds of applicants, thirty to forty have been chosen
for each council. Next week, the final interviews will be held, and then His
Majesty himself will ratify their names in the royal court.
I close this entry with a single, simple truth: His Majesty Arthur is no
longer merely human. In thirty days, he has grown beyond the limits of kings.
He has turned the sword into order, taxes into hope, and himself… into legend.
With the birth of the Kingdom's Councils, Valoria now stands on foundations it
never had before. And I, Marcel, am its first witness.
Arthur Valoria — Stat Update (Day 30
as King):
STR: 50
AGI: 65
VIT: 60
INT: 90
QEN: 75
CHA: 80