The throne of Camelot had been vacant for an entire year.
In the court, nobles and ministers whispered; unease and speculation spread like a plague. It began as doubt, followed by anxiety, and finally transformed into a habitual, fear-laden silence. All submitted memorials and all administrative matters awaiting judgment eventually flowed to that heavily guarded high tower, handled by the black-robed State Preceptor—'Merlin'.
In the luxurious bedchamber at the top of the tower, however, the scene was quite different. Sunlight streamed through large stained-glass windows, falling onto a bed covered in soft velvet. Artoria, the once valiant king of knights, was now leaning lazily against soft pillows. Her originally flat abdomen had already developed a noticeable curve, which even her loose silk nightgown could not hide. The sharpness of battle and the exhaustion of governance had faded from her face, replaced by a soft glow that was a mixture of physiological drowsiness and deep satisfaction.
This year had been an unprecedented period of "happiness" in her life, one she had never dared to hope for.
Kanjuro—or rather, Merlin—hardly ever left her side. He personally brewed soothing medicinal tea for her, read ancient poems and legends to her, and used his low, pleasant voice to describe the wondrous sights of the distant East. When the discomforts of pregnancy struck, he would use his palms, imbued with mysterious magic, to gently stroke her forehead and abdomen, dispelling all nausea and pain. His tenderness, his focus, and his meticulous care were like the sweetest wine, leaving Artoria completely intoxicated.
"Merlin," she would often say, clutching his sleeve, her emerald eyes shimmering with total reliance and happiness, "what would I do without you?"
Kanjuro would lean down and plant a gentle kiss on her smooth forehead. The shadow beneath his hood hid his true emotions, leaving only that flawless, tender whisper: "I will always be by your side, Artoria. Always."
This feeling of being desperately needed and completely cared for filled the massive void in Artoria's heart created by years of war and lonely rule. She felt as if she had returned to a carefree childhood, and Merlin was her only, omnipotent guardian deity. She even began to feel that laying down the burden of the crown and the expectations of her subjects to immerse herself in this exclusive warmth might be the home she truly desired.
However, outside this tower, Britain was undergoing another silent storm under 'Merlin's' administration.
Kanjuro took advantage of this rare year, free from Artoria's direct intervention, to implement his policies even more recklessly under the guise of "strengthening national power" and "responding to future crises."
One cold decree after another was issued from the tower:
The "Wartime Reserve Tax": Under the pretext of a possible "unknown foreign enemy," taxes were raised to unprecedented heights, squeezing almost the last copper coin from ordinary farmers and artisans.
The "Glory Corvée": A large number of young and middle-aged laborers were conscripted and sent far from home to build massive and seemingly unnecessary "defensive fortifications" and the "kings way" leading directly to various noble territories. Countless people died of exhaustion and disease at the construction sites.
The "Resource Control Act": Key materials such as grain, ironware, and cloth were forcibly requisitioned and controlled under the beautiful name of "concentrating resources for major tasks." This led to a severe shortage of civilian goods, skyrocketing prices on the black market, and the quiet appearance of starving corpses in the corners of Britain.
The resentment of the people was like magma surging underground, yet it was held down firmly by the powerful Knights and even harsher "stability maintenance" decrees. Occasional scattered protests or riots were swiftly and bloodily suppressed. When reports were sent to the tower, Kanjuro would only say lightheartedly to Artoria as she snuggled against him: "Some ignorant masses who don't understand the big picture were incited; it has already been handled. For the future of Britain, necessary growing pains are inevitable."
Artoria might frown slightly, but when she felt the movement of the fetus in her womb and looked up to see Kanjuro's tender gaze that suggested "everything is under control," she would cast that sliver of unease to the back of her mind. She believed in him more than she believed in herself. If he said it was "necessary," then it must be necessary.
At the end of this year, Artoria's due date drew near. She became even more dependent on Kanjuro, to the point of almost never letting him leave her side. Meanwhile, Kanjuro continued to play the dual roles of perfect lover and loyal regent, tenderly comforting Artoria as she prepared to give birth while continuing to use his cold pen to carve deeper scars into the map of Britain.
He looked forward to the arrival of the new life, not out of fatherly love, but because it would be another important bargaining chip for his control over Artoria and the fate of all Britain. Artoria, immersed in false happiness, was completely unaware of this, merely stroking her bulging abdomen and thinking this was the ultimate fulfillment she could have as a woman and a King. Inside the tower, all was tender and warm; outside the tower, the air was filled with the cries of the suffering. Britain, during its King's "happy" pregnancy, was sliding step by step into a deeper twilight.
Inside Morgan's workshop deep in the forest, candlelight cast her shadow in distorted shapes upon the walls covered with eerie charts and alchemical symbols. An owl composed of shadows and magic silently passed through the stone wall and landed on her shoulder, transmitting a magically encoded message into her mind.
The content of the message caused Morgan's hand, which was mixing a cauldron of potion shimmering with an ominous green light, to suddenly freeze in mid-air. The liquid in the cauldron boiled violently due to the magical fluctuations, making a hissing corrosive sound.
"Pregnant... Artoria... she actually carries that man's child..." Morgan murmured to herself, the crystal pestle in her hand falling to the ground with a "clatter," shattering into pieces.
An extremely complex emotion, so intense it nearly suffocated her, instantly overwhelmed her reason. There was shock and pity for Artoria being reduced to a mere breeding tool, but all of this was submerged by an even more powerful and burning force—jealousy and hatred.
Why? Why her?
Why was she, abandoned by her father (Kanjuro) himself, forced to struggle in the shadows accompanied only by loneliness and hatred? While Artoria—the sister who had stolen everything from her: their father's (the nominal King Uther's) attention, the throne, and now even that demon's "only" attention (in her distorted perception)—could have all this? Even if this "possession" was built on lies and manipulation, that moment of tenderness, that blood connection in the womb... these things Morgan had never received and could never receive, now all belonged to Artoria!
"Ah—!!!" Morgan let out an irrepressible low growl like a wounded beast. She violently swept her sleeve, overturning a wooden table piled with bottles and jars! Multicolored medicinal liquids splashed everywhere, corroding the floor and emitting pungent smoke.
Her chest heaved violently, and a mad fire burned in her purple eyes. The last trace of weak, blood-based sympathy for Artoria was completely incinerated at this moment.
"Kanjuro... Artoria..." she gritted out these two names, her voice sounding like a curse from the abyss. "You... how dare you! How dare you perform this nauseating 'happiness' play in front of me!"
She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms, and the seeping blood dripped onto the cold floor.
"I swear..." Morgan's voice was low and terrifying, carrying a resolve that spared nothing from destruction. "I will destroy you! Destroy this distorted relationship, destroy this 'happiness' built on lies and sacrifice, and destroy everything you, Kanjuro, have meticulously planned! I will make you taste true despair as well! Hahahaha!!"
She laughed manically, the sound echoing in the enclosed workshop, filled with endless malice and the dark pleasure of impending action.
Meanwhile, far from the bustle of Camelot, by the shore of the Lake of the Fairies.
The night was deep, and the full moon was obscured by thin clouds, casting only a hazy silver light. Kanjuro's figure appeared by the lakeshore as silently as a ghost. He still wore his signature black robe, standing with his hands behind his back, calmly watching the seemingly tranquil waters.
"I felt it long ago," he suddenly spoke, his voice exceptionally clear in the silent night, breaking the tranquility of the lake. "The magic source here experienced an abnormal and violent surge not long ago. It wasn't a standard blessing or purification, but... a 'creation' and 'bestowal' that nearly defied the rules. An eerie magic, transcending the logic of this world, was born here and condensed into an... interesting weapon. A Holy Sword that seems capable of interfering with fate and even... surpassing the concept of time."
His gaze seemed to penetrate the deep lake bottom, reaching the secret realm where Vivian resided.
"I am correct, am I not, Fairy of the Lake, Vivian?" A knowing curve formed at the corner of Kanjuro's mouth. "It seems you have... done some rather 'bad things' behind my back."
The lake water rippled slightly, and a beautiful, holy figure condensed from water and moonlight slowly rose from the center of the lake. The Fairy of the Lake, Vivian, floated on the water's surface. Her kind eyes were now filled with solemnity and undisguised hostility as she stared at Kanjuro on the shore.
"You are a demon who steals fate and sows despair," Vivian's voice was ethereal and cold, carrying the weight of a divine judgment. "You toy with human hearts and distort causality. Your actions will eventually bring about destruction; you will not meet a good end."
Hearing this, Kanjuro did not get angry; instead, as if he had heard something amusing, he sighed softly. That sigh was filled with pity for her "ignorance."
"An end? Destruction?" He shook his head. "It seems you still don't understand the gap between us."
Before his voice finished, Kanjuro slowly raised his right hand. A phantom of a heavy tome, its cover made of some unknown black creature's hide and emitting an extremely ominous and blasphemous aura, appeared before him—it was the codex of rlyeh.
He began to chant non-human, distorted incantations, each syllable creating subtle ripples in the surrounding space.
In an instant, the void behind him was like a torn curtain, and a golden ripple-like treasury entrance, emitting endless darkness and deep cold, suddenly expanded! Unlike the brilliant golden light when he previously summoned treasures or weapons, what gushed out this time was a viscous darkness like physical matter and a terrifying aura from the distant deep sea.
Several weapons wrapped in black mist and grotesque, hideous forms slowly emerged from the treasury. They were not ordinary metal; some looked like the tentacles of a giant deep-sea monster, covered in suckers and barbs; some were like twisted bones, shimmering with an eerie green light; and some were simply living weapons that constantly squirmed and dripped with black slime! These were all Dark Armaments tainted by the Rlyeh curse, originating from the Great Old One's domain. The aura they emitted caused the waters of the entire Lake of the Fairies to begin boiling and turning murky, and the flowers and grass along the lakeshore withered and decayed at a rate visible to the naked eye!
"I said," Kanjuro's voice remained calm, yet it carried a majesty that made the soul tremble, "do not try to interfere with my game. Since you have chosen to stand against me, and even dared to manufacture a weapon capable of threatening my 'work'..."
He controlled those Dark Armaments, pointing their tips collectively at Vivian in the center of the lake. The terrifying fluctuations of magic caused space itself to begin distorting.
"Then, let me see if you, this so-called 'god', can withstand... greetings from the abyss."
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