The morning sun filtered through the cracks in the door, pressing against his eyelids.
The surroundings were still dim. The scent of horses and hay, mingled with a young woman's call, roused Artorius's lingering senses.
"I knew you'd be here."
The stable door swung open, allowing the dazzling sunlight to flood in unobstructed.
Squinting against the glare, a bleary-eyed Artorius raised a hand to shield his vision. Through the gaps in his fingers, he saw a young woman standing at the entrance, hands on her hips.
She was a tall, striking beauty with healthy, sun-kissed skin.
Unlike most Britons, who were fair-haired or redheaded, her hair and eyes were as dark as ink—a trait inherited from her Roman grandmother. Her figure, well-defined and curvaceous, was accentuated by the tight-fitting knight's tunic favored by noble ladies.
This was Kay, his adoptive elder sister and the daughter of his foster father, Sir Ector.
"Honestly, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop sleeping in the stables. You're not a servant; why are you the one tending to the horses?"
"I couldn't help it. Artoria insisted on coming out here, and I figured I'd keep her company."
"She's not a child anymore," the black-haired girl grumbled, stepping toward Artorius and extending a hand.
"Neither am I," Artorius replied with a grin. He took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. After brushing the stray straw from his clothes, he glanced curiously at her attire. "Why the formal gear?"
"Well, the ceremony is about to begin. I thought I'd head into the city to look around. Want to come?"
It all began with the collapse of the Empire on the mainland, which had plunged the entire continent into chaos. The sun was setting on the Empire, and it no longer had the strength to protect the island of Britain across the sea.
The Usurper King, Vortigern, had invited the Saxons, dragging the island into the eye of a violent storm.
Londinium, the hub of Britain built during the Imperial occupation, had been razed. Uther Pendragon, hailed as the greatest King of the Celts, had fallen in battle against Vortigern.
And so, Britain entered the Dark Ages.
War had become a part of daily life. The land, never particularly fertile to begin with, yielded even less due to the constant strife. People grew poorer by the day; it was clear that if things continued this way, the nation would face self-destruction in the near future.
In that era of despair, Merlin—the great mage who had assisted King Uther and protected Britain—proclaimed a prophecy:
"The successor to King Uther has been chosen."
"When the incarnation of the Red Dragon, the New King, appears, the Knights of the Round Table shall gather, and the White Dragon shall be driven back..."
That was ten years ago.
According to the Great Mage, the moment the New King would appear was just three days away: the "Selection Ceremony." Whoever could pull the sword from the stone would be the predestined ruler of the prophecy.
Because of this, people from all over Britain—and even many dream-filled knights from the mainland—had flocked to the site, hoping for a chance to see if they were the chosen one.
"Forget it," Artorius said. "I'm not interested in things that don't concern me."
"You shouldn't say that. What if you're the one who pulls the sword?"
"There is absolutely zero chance of that happening."
Artorius was a transmigrator.
In his past life, he had been a full-blooded Chinese man. Though his memories had grown hazy over a decade in this world, even someone with a basic grasp of history knew the story of King Arthur.
He knew perfectly well that the person who pulled the sword was a youth named Arthur Pendragon.
He knew that Arthur would lead the Knights of the Round Table to drive out the Saxons and establish a unified kingdom. He also knew that the kingdom would eventually fall apart because of the Queen's affair with Lancelot and the betrayal of Arthur's "dear son."
Naturally, none of this had anything to do with Artorius.
Once he realized this world was filled with swords, sorcery, fairies, and giants—and that the Saxon leader Vortigern was a literal White Dragon—Artorius understood that these were matters far beyond his league.
His current dream was simple.
Since he couldn't be King Arthur, he would wait until the moment Arthur pulled the sword. While the King's position was still shaky, he would urge his foster father and sister to lead their knights in support of the new monarch. He would become King Arthur's very first "angel investor."
In the future, he'd score a noble title, a nice piece of land, a beautiful wife, and maybe eight or ten mistresses. He'd live the good life—warm bed, happy family.
As for King Arthur?
Sorry, not interested.
The most "kindness" Artorius could imagine showing him was to collect his body after the Battle of Camlann and perhaps look after Guinevere on his behalf.
"...But what if?"
"There is no 'if.' It's impossible for me to pull that sword, and even if I could, I wouldn't. I don't have the strength to save this country."
Artorius spoke nonchalantly. Seeing that Kay was about to press further, he quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, Sister Kay, why were you looking for me so early?"
"Breakfast is ready. Father sent someone to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen."
"Food's ready? Let's go then!"
As Kay watched Artorius's eyes light up as he hurried out of the stable, a look of profound complexity crossed her face.
"So, in the end... will it be you who pulls the sword, or Artoria?"
Watching Artorius's carefree back, the smile on the black-haired girl's face slowly faded. It was replaced by a tangled mix of conflict and a deep-seated, visceral loathing for a certain individual.
"Merly... why don't you just drop dead?"
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My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Fate: What Do You Mean I'm the Proto (20 Chapters, Ongoing)
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