The next day, the morning mist shrouded the Lake of the Fairies like a thin veil, and sunlight struggled to pierce through, casting shimmering light on the water's surface. Kanjuro, still in his mysterious disguise as Merlin, brought Artoria to this legendary land. Artoria looked around curiously, the tranquility and mystery of the lake filling her with awe.
Soon, her gaze was drawn to the silver-haired girl standing quietly by the lakeshore. Morgan was wearing a pale silver gown, her expression cold and clear, as if she were one with the lake and the mountains. She was breathtakingly beautiful, yet she carried a sense of aloofness that kept others at a distance.
"Artoria," Kanjuro (Merlin) said in his gentle, guiding voice, "come, meet your sister, Morgan."
"Sister?" Artoria's green eyes widened in surprise. She looked at Kanjuro and then at Morgan; she had never heard that she had a sister.
A look of perfectly timed pity and gravity appeared on Kanjuro's face as he began the lie he had long since woven: "Yes, she is your biological sister, of the same blood of King Uther as you. However, King Uther... not only did he neglect you because of your gender, but even earlier, for some unknown reason, he took a dislike to Morgan. Shortly after she was born, he heartlessly abandoned her here by the Lake of the Fairies."
He paused and placed a hand on Artoria's shoulder, conveying a sense of "trust me": "It was an arrangement of fate and the guidance of magic that allowed me to discover this abandoned child, to find your sister. I entrusted her to the spirits of this place so that she could survive and grow. Now, it is time for you sisters to recognize each other. You are connected by blood and should naturally become the closest people to one another."
Listening to this narrative and looking at Morgan's frost-cold face, which bore a slight resemblance to her own, Artoria felt another layer of disappointment and alienation toward the "father" she had never met, King Uther. However, she had absolute faith in Teacher Merlin's words. As long as Merlin said it, she was willing to believe it.
She stepped forward and gave Morgan a sincere and gentle smile, filled with a young girl's innocence and goodwill: "Morgan... Sister? Hello, I am Artoria. I am very glad... to meet you."
She reached out her hand, wanting to express her friendliness.
Morgan looked at her blonde-haired, green-eyed sister, whose gaze was so clear it was almost foolish, and saw her total trust in that man's (Kanjuro's) lies; the sneer in her heart grew even stronger. As expected, she knew nothing, like a sheltered cage-bird ignorant of the world. Deep within Morgan, her loathing for Artoria—a resentment transferred from Kanjuro's abandonment and a jealousy born from the other "stealing" their father's love (even if it was fake)—entwined like poisonous vines. But she remembered her "agreement" with Kanjuro and also hid her own plans.
She did not take Artoria's hand, only nodding slightly with a flat and distant tone: "I am Morgan." It served as a greeting.
Seeing the other's cold attitude, Artoria felt a bit at a loss, but she still tried to maintain a friendly smile.
Kanjuro watched the subtle and stiff atmosphere between the two from the side, feeling very satisfied. This was exactly the effect he wanted—acquaintances who could not truly be close, harboring the seeds of future cracks.
Under Kanjuro's guidance, the two barely exchanged a few words. It was mostly Artoria actively asking about Morgan's life by the lake, while Morgan responded with extreme brevity. The atmosphere was constantly shrouded in a faint layer of estrangement and coldness.
Feeling the time was about right, Kanjuro turned his gaze toward the center of the calm lake. He raised the wooden staff in his hand (or perhaps just his hand) and chanted profound syllables. Powerful fluctuations of magic spread out with him as the center, stirring the surrounding mist and ripples.
In an instant, a bright but not blinding silver-white radiance rose from the depths of the lake's center.
Accompanied by an ethereal glow, the figure of a woman so beautiful she was beyond words slowly rose from the lake water. She wore a gown woven from ripples, her face was peerless, and her eyes were kind and deep, as if they contained the thousand-year wisdom and tranquility of the lake. She was the Lady of the Lake who had raised Morgan—Vivian, or a similar existence.
The fairy's gaze first fell on Morgan with a trace of imperceptible affection and worry, then swept over Artoria, and finally fixed on Kanjuro.
She could feel the unfathomable aura on Kanjuro, which even carried a hint of unease for her, and she vaguely knew of the complex and dark connection between him and Morgan. She did not fully understand all the goals of Kanjuro's actions, but out of some ancient covenant, consideration for Morgan's future, or simply an unwillingness to directly conflict with an existence like Kanjuro, she chose to wait and see, not intervening.
"Noble Lady of the Lake," Kanjuro (Merlin) spoke with a humble and polite posture, yet his words carried an unquestionable guidance, "as you can see, this girl, Artoria Pendragon, carries the blood of King Uther and is the destined future King of Britain. Now that the kingdom is in peril, the King's Sword needs to find its master.
I implore you to bestow upon her the Sword of the Lake guarded here, so that she may have the strength to shoulder the heavy responsibility of saving the people."
The Lady of the Lake's deep gaze carefully scrutinized Artoria.
She could clearly feel the majestic origin power belonging to the Red Dragon of Britain within Artoria; that power was pure and strong.
But deeper down, through her extraordinary perception, she vaguely touched a more secret and darker bloodline mark—it was a unique brand left behind from the combination of Kanjuro's power and the Red Dragon's power, symbolizing creation and dominance, while also harboring factors of distortion and destruction.
A flash of realization and extremely complex emotions crossed the fairy's eyes.
She saw through part of the truth, knowing that behind this so-called "mandate of heaven" lay human manipulation and a deeper conspiracy.
However, she could also see the unpolished purity and determination in Artoria's eyes (even if it was guided), and she could see the resonance of Britain's dragon pulse within her.
She was silent for a moment, as if weighing the scales of fate. Finally, the Lady of the Lake gave a soft sigh that merged into the wind, barely audible. She slowly raised her jade-like arm and pointed toward the center of the lake.
The lake water silently parted to both sides, and a brilliant golden light rose from the depths of the lake bed, getting closer and closer. Then, a magnificent and solemn longsword, accompanied by misty water vapor and a holy glow, slowly emerged from the water and floated in mid-air.
The blade shimmered with a cold light as clear as the lake, and the hilt was inlaid with magnificent gems. The whole sword radiated an aura of supreme majesty and power—this was the legendary King's Sword, Excalibur, the sword bestowed by the lake.
Controlling the current, the Lady of the Lake slowly delivered the Sword of the Lake to the front of Artoria.
"Grasp it, child." The fairy's voice was ethereal and distant, carrying a hint of destiny. "The sword chooses its master. But remember, power itself has no good or evil; only the direction of the heart that holds the sword determines the ultimate fate."
Artoria looked at the holy sword she had dreamed of, her heart filled with immense excitement. She took a deep breath and, under Kanjuro's encouraging gaze and Morgan's cold stare, solemnly reached out both hands and firmly grasped the hilt of the Sword of the Lake!
At the moment of contact, the blade burst with an even more dazzling golden light, creating a strong resonance with the Red Dragon power inside her! She could feel a vast and warm power flowing through the hilt into her entire body, as if this sword had been born to exist for her.
She had succeeded; she had become the destined master of the Sword of the Lake.
Kanjuro watched this scene, the corner of his mouth under the hood curling into a satisfied arc.
The plan had moved forward another big step. Meanwhile, Morgan watched all this with cold eyes. Seeing Artoria holding the holy sword and radiating brilliance, she clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms, as a cold light of mixed jealousy and hatred flashed in her eyes.
The Lady of the Lake took all of this in, and finally, she just silently and slowly sank back into the lake and disappeared, leaving only the rippling water as if telling of silent prophecies and worries.
The site for the selection of the king was set on a vast lawn outside the city of Camelot. A temporarily built high platform stood in the center, and upon it was the legendary Sword of Selection—a magnificent longsword deeply embedded in a massive stone with natural holes, shimmering with a restrained and mysterious luster under the sun. This was the sword in the stone, which only the true destined king could pull out.
Around the platform, the crowds were bustling, and the atmosphere was solemn yet enthusiastic. Almost all the renowned knights and nobles of Britain were gathered here, their armor shining in the sun and their cloaks fluttering in the breeze. In the crowd, some figures who would become famous in the future were vaguely visible—perhaps Bedivere with his resolute gaze, Kay with his steady temperament, and many others, young or old, all filled with expectation and ambition at this moment. They would all become the foundation of the future Knights of the Round Table. Everyone's gaze was fervently focused on that sword in the stone, and the air was thick with tension and desire.
Many knights who were confident in their strength had already come forward to try. They took deep breaths, used all their strength, and gripped the hilt with both hands, their muscles bulging and their faces turning red as they tried to move the sword that seemed to have grown into the giant rock. However, no matter how much force they applied, the sword in the stone remained motionless, as if it were one with the very earth of Britain. Every failure brought a wave of suppressed sighs and whispers, and an atmosphere of despair began to spread quietly.
Just then, a commotion broke out on the outskirts of the crowd.
"Look! It's Lord Merlin!"
"The legendary Merlin! The Guardian of Britain, he has finally appeared!"
"May magic protect Britain!"
The discussions spread like ripples, and everyone's gaze instantly shifted from the sword in the stone to the entrance. They saw "Merlin" (Kanjuro), dressed in a dark robe with flowing silver hair, walking slowly. He had a transcendent, calm smile on his face, as if everything were under his control. His appearance seemed to inject a shot of confidence into the anxious crowd. The knights spontaneously made way, their eyes filled with awe and expectation.
Beside Merlin followed a young "knight" with a straight posture and well-fitting knight's armor. The armor concealed the curves of the body, and combined with the deliberately lowered voice and steady pace, it made it difficult to distinguish the true gender for a moment. This was Artoria. Her green eyes flashed with a determined light in the shadow of her helmet, but looking closely, deep within that light was a trace of imperceptible nervousness at the grand scene before her...
Under everyone's gaze, Kanjuro (Merlin) calmly walked to the vicinity of the high platform. He stopped and swept his gaze across the field, his gentle yet penetrating voice clearly reaching everyone's ears:
"Knights and nobles of Britain!" he called out. "I know you are searching, waiting—waiting for a king who can lead Britain out of the darkness. Today, fate will give us the answer."
He stepped aside and gently led Artoria to the front, placing his hand on her shoulder armor as if displaying a precious masterpiece.
"Many of you may not know that our late king, Uther Pendragon, besides his public offspring, had a bloodline that was lost among the common people." His words were like a stone thrown into a calm lake, stirring up a thousand waves. "He is the one standing before you—Arthur!"
"Arthur?" An even louder discussion broke out in the crowd. King Uther had another prince? They scrutinized Artoria, trying to find royal characteristics under that armor.
"Back then, for certain considerations, King Uther entrusted Arthur to me to grow up among the people, far from the turmoil of power, to temper his character and abilities." Kanjuro continued to weave the lie, his tone filled with unquestionable authority. "Now that the late king has passed and the kingdom is in peril, it is time for the true king to return and prove whether he is qualified to inherit this throne and undertake this heavy responsibility!"
He looked down at Artoria, his gaze under the hood filled with "encouragement" and "trust," as if saying: "Go, my dear pawn, complete this destined step, and do not fail my 'expectations'."
Artoria received this gaze, and the slight trepidation she felt due to the unfamiliar environment was instantly dispelled. Teacher Merlin's trust was her greatest motivation. She took a deep breath and, under the gaze of countless curious, skeptical, or expectant eyes, took firm and steady steps, walking toward the platform and toward the sword of destiny embedded in the giant stone.
As she drew closer, people also noticed the sword she carried on her back—the scabbard was magnificent, faintly flowing with a luster like lake water. Even without being unsheathed, one could feel its extraordinary aura (that was the sword of the lake, Excalibur, but at this moment everyone's attention was on the sword in the stone, and they did not look into it further).
This perfect sidearm added a few more touches of mystery and nobility to her temperament.
The entire field was silent; all eyes were focused on this young knight who called himself "Arthur." Could he create a miracle? Could he pull out this sword in the stone that no one could move?
Artoria ignored everything around her. In her eyes, there was only that sword, that stone, and the teachings and expectations of her teacher Merlin echoing in her ears. She walked to the giant rock, reached out, and firmly grasped the cool and ornate hilt of the sword in the stone.
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