A deep night enveloped Camelot Castle, with only the warm candlelight still glowing within the King's Bedchamber. Artoria, Kanjuro (Merlin), and Guinevere sat around an exquisite chessboard, an air of delicate calm permeating the room.
Artoria wore a simple white nightgown, her golden hair loosely draped over her shoulders. Stripped of her usual armor and crown, she looked exceptionally weary. Holding a chess piece, she hesitated for a long time before finally sighing softly and returning the piece to its place.
"Lately... I always feel like everyone really dislikes me." Her voice was soft, carrying a trace of vulnerability hard to detect. Her gaze fell on the flickering candle flame, not looking at anyone. "Walking through the city, I can sense those gazes hidden beneath the respect, filled with... resentment and confusion. It's a feeling of utter powerlessness."
Kanjuro sat opposite her in the shadows, his face beneath the hood indistinct, only his gentle voice flowing steadily. "This is the loneliness a king must endure, Artoria." He reached out, his fingertip lightly tapping the chess piece representing the "King." "You can't please everyone. What's important is that you have persevered on the path you believe is right, for the greater good of Britain~."
Guinevere stood quietly behind Artoria, gently massaging her tense shoulders. She didn't speak, only occasionally lifting her eyes, her gaze complex as it swept past Kanjuro's shadow-shrouded profile.
"But Merlin," Artoria raised her head, her emerald eyes filled with confusion, like a fawn lost in the forest, "tell me, if everyone dislikes me, even... hates me, is there still a need for me to continue as king? Does my very existence... become a burden to Britain?"
Kanjuro leaned forward slightly. The candlelight finally illuminated the lower half of his face; the corners of his mouth still held a reassuring curve, but his words were cold as iron. "To save Britain, one must be ruthless—towards oneself and towards others!" His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried an unyielding force, hammering against Artoria's heart. "What do temporary misunderstandings and infamy matter? History will judge your merits and faults. What you must do now is cast aside these weak emotions and press forward! This is the king's way!"
Artoria looked into his eyes, which appeared exceptionally profound in the shadows, as if trying to draw strength and conviction from them. Images flashed through her mind: scenes of blood-soaked suppression, the despairing eyes of commoners. Yet, in the end, her deep-rooted dependence on and trust in Merlin overwhelmed everything. Gritting her teeth, she forcibly suppressed the confusion in her eyes, replacing it with a near-fanatic determination.
"I understand, Merlin. I will..." Her words were cut short—
"BOOM——!!!"
The bedchamber's heavy, royally-emblazoned door emitted a deafening roar as it violently exploded inward! Wood splinters flew, iron bolts twisted, and a gale instantly flooded the room, extinguishing most of the candles, leaving only a few stubbornly flickering in the wind, casting eerie, dancing shadows.
Amidst the swirling dust and dim light, a tall, upright figure clad head-to-toe in Knight's armor, wielding a blood-stained longsword, stepped over the threshold. Behind him were shadowy, heavily armed soldiers who filed in, swiftly occupying every exit of the bedchamber. Their cold steel reflected the remnants of light, a murderous aura pervading the air.
The leading Knight slowly raised his visor.
In the candlelight, Lancelot's face was revealed—once handsome, now etched with resolve and anguish, pale with fury. His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, first fixed intently on Artoria beside the throne, then, with immense complexity and boundless pain, swept past Guinevere behind her, whose face instantly turned deathly pale as she instinctively covered her mouth.
"Arthur... no, Artoria!" Lancelot's voice was hoarse with emotion, yet carried undeniable firmness. "Your tyranny ends here!"
Artoria shot up from her seat, her body beneath the nightgown instantly tensing like a lioness ready to strike. She stared in disbelief at this Knight, one of her most trusted, a pillar of the Round Table. Her voice trembled slightly with shock. "Lancelot... you... do you know what you're doing?! This is treason!"
"Treason?" Lancelot let out a bitter, indignant laugh, pointing his sword directly at Artoria. "Look at this country! Look at the commoners left destitute and bereaved under your 'necessary sacrifice' policies! Look at the nobles, greedy and insatiable, whom you indulge! You have long betrayed the oath you swore when you drew the sword from the stone! Betrayed all the people who believed you would bring justice and prosperity!"
His words struck Artoria's heart like a heavy hammer. She unconsciously took half a step back, her face pale, yet she forced herself to remain composed. "I... everything I've done is for Britain!"
"For Britain?" Lancelot pressed forward step by step, the pain in his eyes nearly overflowing. "Or for that devil beside you, who has been deceiving you with lies, pushing you step by step towards the abyss?!" His sword suddenly shifted towards Kanjuro, who remained seated calmly in the shadows.
The entire bedchamber fell deathly silent, save for the crackle of torch flames and the heavy breathing of the soldiers. Guinevere watched the tense confrontation in terror, her body trembling slightly.
And Kanjuro, amidst this sudden upheaval, slowly, elegantly, placed the final chess piece in his hand—the "Queen"—onto a decisive position on the board, producing a soft click.
Only then did he lift his head. The shadows beneath his hood seemed to recede slightly, revealing an exceedingly subtle smile—a mix of pity, disappointment, and a hint of... triumphant pleasure.
"Sir Lancelot," he spoke, his voice still unnervingly steady, "you disappoint me greatly." Artoria abruptly stepped forward. Her petite frame now erupted with astonishing presence, shielding Kanjuro like a lioness protecting her cub. Her emerald eyes blazed with anger, her voice icy and resolute:
"Silence, Lancelot! You understand nothing! You understand nothing of what Merlin has sacrificed for this country, for me!" Her voice carried an unquestionable protectiveness. "He guided me to draw the sword from the stone, he taught me the ways of ruling, he gave me direction when I was most lost! Without Merlin, there would be no unified, powerful Britain today! How dare you question him here?!"
Seeing Artoria's complete trust and even fanatical defense of Kanjuro, the last shred of hope in Lancelot's heart shattered completely, replaced by utter coldness and sorrow. He let out a piercing, bitter laugh, filled with mockery and despair:
"Guidance? Teaching? Direction?" he almost roared. "I admit, the Merlin of the past, the wise prophet of legend, might have been good! But look at the man standing beside you now! What has he taught you? To sacrifice the innocent, to suppress the commoners, to be cold and ruthless! He isn't guiding you; he's pushing you step by step towards a corrupt abyss, Artoria! Wake up!"
"You shut up!" Artoria was thoroughly enraged. Lancelot's accusations against Merlin pierced her taut nerves like poisoned needles. With a shing, she drew the sword at her waist—not the sword from the stone, but its blade still gleamed coldly—and pointed it directly at Lancelot. "I will not allow you to slander Merlin! Retract your words immediately, or face charges of treason!"
The atmosphere instantly became taut as a drawn bowstring, the air seeming to freeze. Kanjuro, who had been quietly observing, finally let out a deep sigh. That sigh was filled with helplessness and heaviness, as if bearing all the grievances and misunderstandings.
"Sir Lancelot," his voice remained gentle, yet carried a tone of heartfelt pain, "everything I have done, whether seemingly cruel decisions or strict demands on the king, was initially intended solely for Britain's long-term survival and prosperity. Why... can you not understand this earnest intention?"
He paused perfectly, his gaze seemingly unintentionally sweeping past the pale, trembling Guinevere nearby. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, he spoke to Artoria in a tone of inquiry and a hint of "enlightenment":
"My King, perhaps... we have all overlooked another crucial point. Could it be that Sir Lancelot's extreme behavior today, even resorting to arms, is not solely due to political disagreement?" He slightly furrowed his brow, as if unraveling a complex puzzle. "I seem to have heard... that before becoming your queen, Queen Guinevere had known Sir Lancelot for a long time, even... was his dream lover?"
These words were like water dropped into hot oil, instantly igniting the room!
Artoria's sword hand trembled slightly. Her gaze, filled with shock and suspicion, snapped towards Guinevere, then towards Lancelot, whose expression had drastically changed. She had never imagined that behind this seemingly pure political coup, such personal emotional entanglements might be hidden.
Guinevere flinched under Kanjuro's words and Artoria's gaze. She looked at Lancelot in panic, her voice choked with sobs and pleading: "Lancelot! Don't! I beg you, don't do this! Lay down your weapons, everything can still be salvaged! Don't compound your mistakes!"
However, Lancelot was now completely ignited by Kanjuro's utterly venomous provocation! He felt that his deeply hidden feelings for Guinevere, his dissatisfaction with Artoria's deviation from the right path, his hatred for the mastermind Merlin—all these pent-up emotions were now casually linked together by Kanjuro and branded with the shameful marks of 'neglecting public duty for private reasons' and 'rebellion for love'!
This anger, twisted and stigmatized, instantly shattered his last shred of rationality.
"Nonsense!!" Lancelot's eyes were bloodshot, his hair standing on end, appearing utterly mad. The longsword in his hand trembled violently with extreme fury. "You... you demon! You've bewitched the King, defiled Britain, and now you seek to defile my most cherished feelings! Kill! Kill! Kill!!!"
He roared like a wounded beast, completely losing his usual calm and elegance, leaving only thoughts of destruction in his mind.
"You parasites who have ruined Britain's foundation! Deserve death! You all deserve death!!"
Before his words faded, he suddenly swung his sword, speaking no more. With an unwavering resolve and a frenzied killing intent, he charged forward—first towards Artoria... or rather, towards the still seated Kanjuro behind her, whose lips seemed to curve into a faint, elusive smile. The rebel soldiers behind him also roared in unison, surging forward like a bursting flood!
Within the bedchamber, the sounds of clashing blades, furious roars, and Guinevere's screams instantly erupted into a chaotic symphony. Loyal guards and rebellious Knights fought in a chaotic melee, the opulent palace transforming into a bloody battlefield in an instant. And the flames of this rebellion, under Kanjuro's precise manipulation, finally erupted in the most violent, most irreversible way, burning fiercely. The bedchamber had become a slaughterhouse. Shattered furniture, overturned candlesticks, and splattered blood mingled together, the air thick with the heavy scent of blood. Artoria and Lancelot, once comrades-in-arms and pillars of the Round Table, were now engaged in a brutal duel.
Sword lights crisscrossed, sparks flying everywhere. Artoria's swordsmanship was already extraordinary, and with the boost from the Red Dragon's Power within her, it became even more fierce and unstoppable. Although Lancelot was exceptionally brave and strong, his heart was torn by pain, anger, and a sense of betrayal. His moves were fierce but had lost their former precision and calm. More importantly, deep down, he might still harbor a trace of reluctance towards his King.
Finally, after a thunderous clash, Artoria seized a tiny opening in Lancelot's defense. Her sword tip pierced through his guard like a venomous snake, accurately knocking his longsword from his hand!
"Clang—"
The longsword flew from his grasp, landing on the ground with a clear, ringing sound. Lancelot staggered back, a gash opened on his shoulder armor, blood gushing out. Clutching his wound, he knelt on one knee, gasping for breath, and looked up at Artoria standing before him with her sword, disbelief in his eyes. He was defeated—not only in swordsmanship but also, it seemed, by the invisible shadow looming behind Artoria.
Artoria's sword-holding hand trembled slightly, a flicker of complexity passing through her emerald eyes. Defeating her former close friend was not her wish...
At that moment, Kanjuro (Merlin), who had been sitting quietly and observing as if utterly detached from the slaughter, slowly stood up and walked to Artoria's side. His gaze swept over the soldiers who had followed Lancelot in—now either wounded or bewildered by their commander's defeat. Their faces were filled with shock, fear, and... dawning realization and disbelief regarding Artoria's secret gender.
Kanjuro's voice was low and calm, yet carried a chilling coldness that echoed clearly in the silent bedchamber:
"My King, it seems... these soldiers all know your secret now." His words were like a snake's hiss, guiding Artoria's thoughts. "For the stability of the throne, for Britain to avoid greater turmoil because of this secret... they cannot remain."
Artoria's body stiffened abruptly. She looked at the soldiers, their eyes reflecting her bloodstained figure and feminine features. She understood Kanjuro's meaning. Once this secret was leaked, it could shake the very foundations of the nation, triggering chaos beyond her imagination.
"Merlin... must it... be this way?" Her voice carried a hoarse note of struggle.
"This is the safest choice, and for the sake of greater stability." Kanjuro's tone brooked no argument, carrying a cruel 'rationality.''Sacrifice the few to save the many. Have you forgotten? This is the resolve a king must possess.'
Artoria closed her eyes. The 'kings way' that Kanjuro had instilled in her over the years, the heavy mission 'for Britain,' flashed through her mind. When she opened her eyes again, that trace of struggle had been forcibly suppressed, replaced by a near-numb coldness.
She nodded, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible: "...I understand."
The next moment, she moved.
The longsword in her hand transformed into a flash of deadly cold light, striking without hesitation at those soldiers who were unarmed or had lost the ability to resist! The sword's edge slashed throats, pierced chests; blood bloomed like macabre flowers within the bedchamber. Screams, pleas, and the dull thuds of falling bodies rose and fell, turning the place into a living hell.
Artoria moved like an emotionless killing machine, executing the'silencing' order with precision and efficiency. Her face showed no expression, only the coldness of carrying out a 'necessary task.' Kanjuro stood to the side, watching quietly. The shadow beneath his hood concealed all his emotions, only the faint curve at the corner of his mouth revealing his inner satisfaction.
When the last soldier fell in a pool of blood, only heavy panting and an unbearably thick stench of blood remained in the bedchamber.
Artoria stood holding her sword, its tip dripping with viscous blood. Her white nightgown was already stained a glaring crimson. She looked at Lancelot, still kneeling on the ground.
Lancelot had witnessed the entire process. His gaze shifted from initial shock to subsequent pain, finally settling into a deathly stillness of despair and sorrow. He looked at Artoria, at the King he had once sworn to serve unto death, as if looking at a stranger.
Artoria took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady: "Lancelot, you... go."
Lancelot jerked his head up, his eyes bloodshot.
"All these years, thank you for everything you've done for Britain." Artoria continued, her tone carrying a weary sincerity. "It is I, as King... who failed. I couldn't become the King you all hoped for."
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