Inside the Helmut residence in the Royal City.
Smash!
The moment he stepped through the door, Jayn began hurling furniture to vent his rage.
"Bitches! Kay and Bedivere are nothing but faithless bitches!"
"And that bastard Artorius! He used to be so groveling in front of me, but now that the Selection Ceremony is close, he can't hide his wolf's tail anymore?! You mongrel! Do you really think you can best me? You insignificant cur!"
The maids and servants could only kneel on the floor, trembling in terror.
After smashing things for a while, Jayn caught sight of a male servant kneeling facedown nearby. He walked over and delivered a vicious kick to the man's ribs.
"Who the hell told you to kneel here and be an eyesore? You sightless dog! Drag him out and execute him!"
Two knights immediately stepped forward and pinned the servant. Ignoring his wails and pleas for mercy, they dragged him away. A moment later, the silence outside was absolute.
"Young Master, perhaps we should follow the Master's instructions. We should just wait quietly for the Selection Ceremony to begin and the new King to appear."
Werner, the middle-aged knight, finally approached Jayn.
Jayn snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot. "Do you also believe I cannot pull that damned sword?"
"Young Master, it doesn't matter who pulls that sword," Werner said in a low, heavy voice. "Furthermore, given the temperaments of King Uther and the Court Mage, combined with Queen Igraine—whom the King married in his final years—it is highly likely Uther left behind an heir during that time."
"This so-called 'Selection by the Sword' is likely nothing more than a ruse to buy time for Uther's child to come of age. There is a high probability the outcome is already predetermined."
"So what? Does that mean I cannot pull the sword? Does it mean I cannot become King?"
"Young Master, the Master's point is that the person who draws the sword is irrelevant. What truly matters is how much territory one holds, how much tax can be collected, the size of the able-bodied population, and the number of knights sworn to your service. As long as we hold these advantages, what does it matter who the new King is?"
"If you so desire, we will have plenty of ways in the future to make him 'willingly' relinquish the throne to you."
"There is truth in that."
Jayn let out a long sigh and suddenly relaxed. His expression softened, but then, without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed Werner by the shoulders, his face contorting into a mask of ferocity.
"But why should I listen to you? Why can't I be the one to pull the sword and become King? Why can't I marry Guinevere? Do you truly think I am incapable?"
Werner remained calm, his gaze steady. "Young Master, I know you wish to prove yourself, but now is not the time."
"Then when is the time?! Now even Artorius, that dog raised by the Ector family, is famous! Saving his sister, saving Guinevere... the people in the city are already whispering that he might be the new King! Are you saying I am inferior to a waste of space who doesn't even dare to speak loudly in my presence?!"
Werner said nothing. He simply watched the trembling, manic Jayn in silence.
Artorius is no waste. On the contrary, he is a monster who would rip your throat out the moment he felt like it. Werner kept these words to himself, knowing they would only snap his master's fragile, sensitive nerves.
"It seems I've arrived at an inopportune moment."
A woman's voice drifted in from the doorway.
Werner and Jayn spun around.
A tall woman entered. She had platinum-blonde hair that flowed past her hips and wore a sapphire-studded crown. A veil obscured her face, hiding even her eyes from view.
"Princess!"
Werner immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply.
"Morgan? What are you doing here?"
The madness faded from Jayn's face, replaced by a suave, gentlemanly smile. However, a flash of pure lust flickered in the depths of his eyes as he looked at her.
Though he had never seen the face of this daughter born to Queen Igraine and her first husband, her silhouette, her voice, and the aura of regal elegance she exuded told him she was an absolute beauty.
Compared to Guinevere—an exotic "Greatest Beauty of Britain" he had only heard of through minstrels—he would much rather marry this Princess of Camelot!
Morgan did not answer Jayn. In fact, her gaze didn't linger on him at all. Instead, she looked at the respectfully kneeling Werner.
"The things you just said... while they were mere guesses, they were indeed correct."
"Your Highness, do you mean...?!" Werner looked up sharply, his eyes filled with shock.
"Indeed. My foolish father truly listened to that incubus. He sired a pair of children with my mother and handed them over to others to be raised. This 'Selection Ceremony' is nothing but a stage prepared for them."
"Oh? And who might they be?" Jayn was still smiling.
"Did you not just see him?"
"Artorius?!"
Without waiting for Morgan's confirmation, Jayn murmured the name as if he were certain.
"I knew it! I knew that dog's respect for me was an act! I knew he had ambitions! I knew..."
Jayn's face twisted into a hideous scowl. He looked up and glared at Morgan. "You didn't come here just to tell me his identity. What is it you want?"
"The point is not what I want, but what you want."
"What we want?"
"You didn't secretly allow those Saxon remnants to escape a few days ago just for fun, did you? You let them gather in the mountains and provided them with food specifically for a day like this. And I hear... among them is the brother of that chieftain's son whom Artorius killed."
Jayn's expression shifted.
He had indeed deliberately allowed a portion of the Saxon stragglers to flee. He had even sent men to contact them privately, helping them regroup and providing supplies.
In truth, it wasn't just him; many of Camelot's nobles were doing the same.
To them, the external threat of the Saxons was secondary to the internal struggle for the throne. Their fellow Camelot nobles were the true rivals. If those rivals happened to be slaughtered by Saxons, they would be more than happy to watch.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about."
"You only need to know this: if you make your move, I will help you by keeping Merlin occupied."
With that, Morgan turned and walked away without looking back.
Jayn stared at her retreating figure for a long time. Finally, without turning around, he said, "Werner, send word to the Saxons. Tell them that tonight, I will have my men open the city gates."
"Young Master, the Master said Princess Morgan is dangerous. We must never cooperate with—"
"My father is old!"
Jayn snapped his head around to face Werner, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with a cruel, manic confidence.
"The future belongs to me!"
"Young Master, you have lost your reason."
"Lost my reason? No, no, I am perfectly clear." Jayn suddenly chuckled. "They will never expect the Saxons to launch a sudden raid. Everyone will be slaughtered, and Guinevere will be kidnapped by the Saxons."
"And at that moment, I will appear. The hero saving the maiden."
"By then, Artorius will be dead, and the Saxons will be dead—dead men tell no tales. The Princess will fall in love with me. At that point, even if I cannot pull that damned sword, I will become King by marrying Guinevere. What do you say to that, Werner?"
Werner opened his mouth but found himself speechless.
It was exactly as Jayn said.
The brother of the chieftain's son Artorius had slain was much stronger than his sibling. Add to that the Saxon remnants who had successfully raided several towns and were now hiding in the forest, and the force was significant.
Forget a sneak attack; even in a head-on confrontation, Artorius and his men would likely be no match for them.
And based on Werner's years of experience fighting Saxons, he knew their nature. Those bloodthirsty savages—who saw everything as a sacrifice to the White Dragon and sought more blessings from their Queen—would never refuse a proposal that promised such glory.
They would definitely agree.
Then, Jayn's family could prepare an ambush in advance. After the Saxons kidnapped Guinevere and suffered losses fighting Artorius's group, Jayn could swoop in, silence the Saxons, and rescue the Princess.
On paper, the plan was sound. The Saxons were fearless, but they weren't suicidal. They might go on a killing spree in the city for a bigger prize, but in the end, they would try to find a way to escape and return home.
No matter how many commoners died, it wouldn't affect the Helmut family; if anything, it would weaken their political rivals. It seemed like a win-win scenario.
And yet...
"Young Master, we currently hold the advantage. There is no need to take such a risk. We should proceed slowly—"
"I am the Young Master! My father has grown senile! I am the head of the Helmut family now!"
Jayn cut him off with a roar. "This is an order, Werner! An order!"
"...Yes, Young Master."
Watching Werner bow his head, Jayn nodded with satisfaction. His shoulders began to tremble, and he suddenly threw his head back and laughed.
"A bloodbath in the city, the death of the late King's heir... What a beautiful melody that will make~"
Deep in the mountain forests.
Loren Duncan—eldest son of the Lion Tribe Chieftain and brother of Henry Duncan—watched the black-clad messenger depart.
"Loren, are we really going?"
"Why wouldn't we?" Loren replied without looking back. "Are you afraid of an ambush?"
"No. If they wanted to ambush us, they would have done it already. I know there is no trap. The Camelot people are a bunch of idiots who fight among themselves even when the enemy is at their gates. That much is certain."
Just as the people of Camelot knew the Saxons after twenty years of war, the Saxons knew the people they had been crushing for two decades.
Selfish. Short-sighted. Greedy.
Under King Uther, these nobles could barely be held together. But since Uther's death, they had reverted to fighting for themselves. They offered no resistance to invasions, choosing instead to hide in their castles to preserve their own strength.
They even contacted the Saxons frequently, hoping to use the invaders to exhaust the strength of their own "colleagues"—or even to kill them.
"If these fools, who can't see their own deaths coming, actually understood the meaning of unity, we might not have won the battle between our Queen and Uther back then."
"However, there will definitely be an ambush later. The Camelot lord behind that messenger likely plans to ambush us after we seize Guinevere. He wants to kill us to silence the witnesses and play the hero."
Loren laughed at the thought. "A hero? Do these clowns who only know how to plot against their own allies even deserve the title?"
"But this is their territory. If we go, we might be wiped out."
"But did you hear what he said?!"
Loren snapped his head around to glare at the speaker.
"The man who killed my brother is Uther's son! If we can kill him, our Queen's gaze will surely fall upon us."
"But what if he's lying?"
"So what? With this Selection Ceremony happening, if we can storm the capital, cause a massacre, and take Guinevere... as long as we make it back alive, the Queen will notice us! She will grant us glory and her Blessing!"
The Blessing.
At the mention of those words, everyone's breathing grew heavy.
That was the highest honor, reserved only for the strongest and bravest warriors among the Saxons.
It meant receiving the gaze of the Great White Dragon Queen and being infused with her power. It could turn an ordinary man into a terror capable of slaughtering giants single-handedly. It was the dream of every Saxon!
"I am going. I go to avenge my foolish brother. I go for glory. I go so that the Queen will know me—so she will know the name Loren Duncan, and know the Lion Tribe! I go to become a White Dragon Warrior, a pride to my tribe and all Saxons!"
Loren stood up, his cold gaze sweeping over the Saxons surrounding him.
There were warriors from his own tribe and others as well. Their loyalties varied, but at this moment, no one spoke. They only watched him.
"Now that I've come this far, I don't intend to return empty-handed."
"We either die like stray dogs by the roadside, or we return to our tribes in glory to have an audience with the Queen. That is why I am here."
"Ninety-nine percent of those who follow me will die. But those who return alive will surely be heroes. They will receive the Queen's attention, perhaps even her Blessing."
"You can choose to gamble on that tiny sliver of hope and return in glory, or you can slink back like cowards. The choice is yours."
"Those with courage, follow me."
With that, Loren turned and began walking down the mountain.
The soldiers of the Lion Tribe said nothing, simply picking up their weapons and following their leader. Gradually, the soldiers and leaders of the other tribes joined them.
A damp wind blew through the forest. Dark clouds obscured the moonlight. In the absolute darkness, the Saxons moved like a black tide under the cover of night, surging toward the Royal City of Camelot.
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