Time passed at a mercilessly swift pace.
Kay had, before he knew it, become a strapping young man of twenty. The hellish regimen of raising children and hunting monsters since he was five had honed his body into a lean frame covered in steel-like muscle.
Perhaps thanks to his maternal bloodline, he never grew into a dwarf-like figure like Ector, despite his short stature.
And the eight girls he'd raised had turned fifteen. They were no longer children—they'd grown into the most beautiful and most deadly knights in Britain's history.
That day was the one on which Britain's fate would be decided.
The day to choose the king.
Merlin pointed to Caliburn, the sword embedded in a rock in the village square of Tintagel, and declared,
"Whoever pulls this sword shall be the true king of Britain."
Countless knights had challenged and failed, so they decided in the end to settle it by joust. But that was mere show—the true heir had already been decided.
Disguised as a page, Artoria and her seven sisters set out with determined expressions.
But Kay did not follow.
He could not bear to watch.
The very sisters he'd fed with his own hands, changed their diapers, nursed through sleepless nights when he was sick—the sisters he loved more than anything—were heading off to bear the heavy burden of kingship.
He knew this was no path of glory but a declaration that they would forsake human happiness and walk a road of blood and iron.
"...Damn. Bloody Britain."
The cabin was empty.
Kay sat alone at the table, gulping cheap ale.
The house was eerily quiet without the eight boisterous voices, and that silence dug into his chest.
He could not go against Merlin's will, and above all, his sisters themselves were resolved—there was no grounds to stop them.
"Could I even keep up with you... to where you're going...?"
Merlin still judged him a common talent. His growth had plateaued recently while his sisters grew stronger each day. Their power had long since surpassed his.
Why he was deemed a common talent:
Among ordinary folk he was a monster, but measured against Heroic Spirits he was average. For a hero, mere strength wasn't enough—you needed skill beyond brute force.
Hercules did not become a great Heroic Spirit simply because he was strong. He possessed the wisdom and technique befitting his stature.
Heroes each had exceptional talents—innate senses, constitution, and so on.
A girl from the Far East, though frail, created a sword art that unleashed conflagrations; a nameless country farmer developed dimensional-folding swordsmanship; a high school boy forged an infinite world of swords.
Such was talent—geniuses born or made by nature or nurture.
Kay lacked that. That was why Merlin called him a common talent and deemed him unfitting as a companion to the Artorias.
His strength was remarkable, but his ceiling was low. Merlin could clearly see his growth limit, hence his skepticism.
No matter how strong he was, before Gawain blessed by the sun he was a mere mortal; no matter his skill, he could not compare to the Knight of the Lake; even his hunting bow was pitiful beside the Archer of Sorrow.
Of course, they were the world's premier geniuses and hard workers. Yet Merlin was so harsh on Kay because...
"They keep saying I'm an obstacle."
Kay's presence had hindered the growth of the Artorias.
He'd played the roles of brother and parent so perfectly that his sisters could grow up in comfort.
No trial, no hardship, everything perfect.
Thus Kay became too important to them.
And that was the problem.
To be a true king—to be a perfect, ideal king—there can be no friends or family.
The pillar they leaned on—Kay—was an obstacle. His abilities were unfit to be their right hand.
If they needed a protector, Merlin herself, Gawain, or some other titans would be appropriate.
That was the inhuman conclusion.
So Merlin told Kay to stay behind on the knightly journey to escort the Artorias. It might be acceptable in Tintagel, but across Britain there were monsters who would outclass Kay.
Not just as a knight, but as someone precious to them, he would weigh on their hearts.
Merlin sought to exclude Kay, the anchor of their humanity, from the quest.
Kay himself knew his place well—he was still weaker than the retired, aging Ector.
Faced with that reality, he drowned his weary spirit in drink.
The eight sisters had grown and were no longer the babies of old.
When he thought of the path they would walk, his heart churned.
Knock, knock.
At that moment, there came a knock at the door.
Could the children have returned already? Had the sword-pulling ended so quickly? He cocked his head.
No. Not that presence.
A cold, sharp, noble yet slightly fishy aura of magical energy.
"Who is it?"
Kay opened the door to find a woman standing there.
Her skin was pale to the point of whiteness, her lips the color of blood, and though she resembled Artoria she exuded a far more seductive and dangerous air.
She was the Witch of Britain, daughter of King Uther, the half-sister to the Artorias.
Morgan.
"You must be Kay—the one who raised those girls."
"...Morgan?"
He recognized her in an instant. Her face alone was enough—there could only be one.
Instinctively, Kay adopted a defensive stance and stepped back. But Morgan, with a disdainful smile, strode in as if it were her own home.
"Hmph. Disappointing. This ordinary man raised those monsters? Your magical energy is minuscule, your physical training far below that of Gawain and Agravain. Did Merlin speak nonsense?"
She scanned him up and down with a clicking tongue—a look of incomprehension rather than scorn.
Kay felt anger surge—Morgan, the true sister of the Artorias, dared speak so.
"So you're here as their big sister to stare with envy? Afraid I'll steal their spotlight?"
At Kay's retort, Morgan laughed—a laugh as cold as ice.
"Don't delude yourself. I don't regard those playthings as sisters. I was merely curious: born without the Pendragon mystique, yet heirs of Albion's blood. And you, a mere common talent, managed to raise them as human under Merlin's tutelage."
She brushed the leftover meat on the table with her finger.
"But I'll give you this—your vessel may be small, but your nurturing skill is indeed remarkable. Not in magic, but in survival and care."
"I'll take that as a compliment. So what's your business here? It can't be just tea."
"Hmph. You're perceptive."
From within her robes, Morgan produced something and placed it on the table: a small bundle wrapped in cloth.
A baby, fast asleep, a few strands of blonde hair peeking out.
"…What is this?"
Kay rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Your niece."
"What?"
"To be precise, my youngest daughter and the niece of the Artorias. Her name is Gareth."
Kay's jaw dropped.
Another baby?
The nightmare from fifteen years ago, when Merlin dumped eight infants in a basket, replayed before him.
"This child has the makings of a fine knight, like her siblings. But I was curious—if you could surpass Merlin's expectations with them, how would you fare raising my child?"
"You mad witch! Am I the head of an orphanage? I'm twenty years old! I should be courting and getting married!"
Kay bellowed, but Morgan paid him no mind as she traced a magic circle.
"Try raising her once. I want to test how masterful you are. As for expenses… I'll repay you with a kingdom. Enjoy, nanny."
Poof!
In a swirl of black mist, Morgan vanished.
Only the slumbering baby, Gareth, remained on the table.
"…Waaaaaah!!"
Kay tore at his hair and screamed.
"Is being a cuckoo their family trait?! Who lays an egg in someone else's nest?! A kingdom as repayment?! What nonsense! You queen of Orkney or whatever, give me money, I need money!!!"
His shouting echoed through the cabin.
But soon the baby Gareth let out a whimper, and Kay fell silent.
He sighed deeply and, with practiced ease, carefully scooped up the baby.
"…There, what crime do you bear? Your mother committed all the sins."
Kay patted Gareth's back.
The real problem was just beginning.
How would his returning sisters react when they saw this baby?
"Brother, did you have a hidden daughter?"
What if they suspected?
"I mean, there's a reason my platinum-blonde hair turned silver-white. Who'd have thought I'd get so many grey hairs? Damn it."
Kay already felt queasy at the thought.
Meanwhile, in the village square of Tintagel:
A tense hush hung before the sword-selection rock.
All onlookers and ordinary knights had stepped back, leaving only the chosen.
Artoria stood before the rock, her sisters—Artoria Alter, Lily, Artoria Lancer, Artoria Lancer Alter, Artoria Caster, Artoria X, and Artoria X Alter—in formation behind her.
Their eyes wavered not at all.
Merlin appeared, leaning on his staff, his expression solemn rather than playful.
"I won't speak ill of you, so I suggest you stop, Artoria."
Merlin's warning was both prophecy and curse.
"The moment you pull that sword, you will cease to be an ordinary human. You must abandon the happiness of being a girl, a peaceful life, love… all of it. You must become a device for fulfilling the function of king."
He looked at her with sad eyes.
"That's not all. A king's path is lonely. Someday all of humankind will turn against you, betray you, and you will meet a miserable death. Still, will you pull the sword?"
A hush fell over the square at those heavy words.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Yet Artoria let out a short laugh.
Fear? Hesitation? None of it.
"Isn't this the very thing you desired? And now you call it hypocrisy, Merlin?"
She boldly grasped the hilt of Caliburn.
"My purpose is not only to save this country."
A man's face flickered in her mind.
The non-blood brother.
The foolish boy who battled beasts every night for them as children.
His back, bloodied, smiling as he promised to make them good food.
"I have someone I want to protect… so I must become strong. I will become king."
She took up the sword for his sake, to build a peaceful country where Kay could live in peace.
Swoosh~
Light burst forth.
The sword in the rock, which hundreds of soldiers couldn't budge, slid out smoothly as though waiting for its master.
Golden radiance enveloped Artoria. She had become the King of Knights.
"…Splendid."
Merlin smiled, bitter yet proud, and nodded as he flourished his staff.
"Then I will do my utmost to assist you. Here, a gift—your journey ahead will be perilous."
Merlin summoned weapons into the air.
To Artoria, he withdrew the sword of selection and handed her the greatest holy sword granted by the Lady of the Lake.
"This is Excalibur. The Star's Holy Sword. It promises victory."
To Artoria Alter, he gave a dark-hued holy sword.
"This is Excalibur Morgan. A sister blade to Excalibur, forged by the fairies on the day you were born. Though weaker than Excalibur, its endurance is comparatively superior."
To Lily, he returned Caliburn.
"You are not yet ready to wield a holy sword; use this token of kingship for training. It is ornate but easily broken, so be careful."
To Artoria Lancer, he presented a massive spiral holy lance.
"This is Rhongomyniad. A tower connecting the ends of the world. Its power is divine; do not misuse it."
To Artoria Lancer Alter, he bestowed a blackened holy lance.
"This is the second Rhongomyniad I forged. It took an immense amount of time."
To Artoria Caster, he handed the staff of selection.
"I wonder if you will become a mage who surpasses me. Can you reach Morgan's heights? I'm curious."
To Artoria X, he offered twin blades based on Excalibur and Excalibur Morgan.
"Their power lags behind the originals, but for a master of dual swords like you, they are ideal."
To Artoria X Alter, he gave her a red beam sword suited to her presence.
"…This blade is made based on your unique energy. When infused with mana, it becomes a beam sword. It is called Necro Caliber."
The eight girls took up their weapons.
The sight was magnificent—a force more than enough to conquer Britain, indeed the world.
"Now, the journey of knightly trials to become king begins. Travel across Britain, gauge the hearts of the people, repel foreign foes, and be reborn as the true king."
Merlin's declaration marked a grand moment—the start of a new legend.
But Artoria Alter, as if dousing the mood, asked,
"Kay?"
"...Huh?"
"Kay is coming too, right? Who's going to cook our meals? And carry our gear?"
Merlin looked uncomfortable, sweat beading on his brow.
"Well, you're all grown now. You can look after yourselves, so there's no need to bring him… you can just leave him at home…"
To Merlin, Kay was a thorn in the side.
He was the anchor of their humanity. A king must be cold and ruthless, and if Kay were by their side they would remain spoiled girls.
He was the greatest obstacle to forging an ideal, icy-cold monarch.
"A common talent should live the life of a common talent. Your paths differ from his."
But no sooner had the words fallen than...
Rumble rumble.
The air vibrated.
Eight murderous gazes fixed on Merlin.
The radiance of Excalibur flashed, the tip of Rhongomyniad hovered at Merlin's throat, and Artoria X Alter's beam sword hummed threateningly.
"If you don't take him, I will cut you down right here."
Artoria was already channeling mana into Excalibur as if to test its power on the spot.
"What would a journey be without our brother? Who will cook for us? You? And if it tastes bad, we'll kill you."
Artoria X twirled the twin blades and issued a warning.
"I don't like how you dismiss our brother, Merlin. You barely raised us properly yourself."
Artoria Lancer leveled her lance and exuded mana.
"Without big brother, we'll throw away this king business."
The cold threat of Artoria Lancer Alter.
Merlin shrank back in horror.
This was no joke—they meant to kill him. Their murderous intent was a hundred times more potent than the fury he'd witnessed with Kay in the cabin ten years ago.
"A-Alright! I get it! I get it! He's coming too! We'll bring him! I'll go fetch him! Oh dear, my life is cursed!"
Merlin surrendered, raising both hands and feet in defeat.
'Damn, Kay is too big of a weakness. A fatal flaw. If you dare touch it, the kingdom will fall. So one man could upheave the country. Too dangerous a weakness.'
And so, the king and the girls of a rank akin to king, along with Kay in meltdown holding a cuckoo chick in his arms, were about to embark on a strange journey with Merlin stuck between them.