As her thoughts reached this point, Morgana placed a hand on her smooth, feverless forehead.
Staggering, she steadied herself against the bookshelf with her other hand, startling Anun, who quickly supported her.
“Are you alright? Did I say something too unrealistic?”
“No, Anun. Thinking about Excalibur just made me dizzy…”
Morgana gazed into the empty air with moist eyes, as if summoning a distant longing from the depths of her soul.
As though she could see Excalibur, far away in some distant place.
💫
“High Priestess! High Priestess!”
Merlin, who had been neatly preparing for the festival’s congratulatory speech, lifted her head.
Watching the priest stumble into the office as if about to collapse, she calmly pointed out,
“Today is a day for the temple’s public event. You should refrain from unruly behavior.”
Gasping for breath, the priest waved his hands frantically, unable to speak properly.
“That’s—that’s not the important thing! Lady—Lady Morgana, she…”
Merlin cut off his fragmented words sharply.
Flipping through the parchment containing her speech, her voice remained even and composed, without fluctuation.
“I’ve already heard the news about the holy sword disappearing. I was told it’s being searched for.”
“We are searching, but…”
As the priest finally caught his breath and spoke, Nimue, who had been sitting gloomily on the sofa, slowly raised her head.
Her pallid face, hollow eyes, and disheveled hair cast a somewhat eerie shadow over her expression.
Though revered as a saint, all external affairs were handled by Merlin, making Nimue an unfamiliar figure even to the priests.
Instinctively stepping back, the priest glanced at her warily before stammering on.
“Lady—Lady Morgana has taken to her bed, demanding the Sacred Kingdom take responsibility for the sword’s disappearance.”
The area outside Morgana’s room was packed with priests.
A high-ranking priest with divine power stepped forward and spoke as Morgana sighed on her bed.
“Please wait just a little longer for the holy sword. We are doing our utmost to find it.”
Morgana shifted her gaze to Olivia standing beside her, signaling her.
Fully aware of the plan, Olivia retorted crisply, “This is clearly the temple’s negligence in management!”
“Though it is a guest room of the temple, it is still a private space. We can’t possibly monitor every personal area…”
“Oh, so if our lady gets kidnapped soon, you’d say it’s not your responsibility either?”
“No, that shouldn’t happen, but the probability is extremely low—”
“What do you mean ‘no’? Priests disappear, foreign noblewomen disappear, the holy sword disappears. Everything’s disappearing!”
Olivia crossed her arms, her entire body radiating displeasure.
The priests were left speechless by her rapid-fire eloquence. She was a handmaiden trained in the harsh ways of the Fay.
No ordinary opponent could best her in a war of words.
As expected, the priests, who had spent twenty years buried in books, couldn’t muster a single rebuttal.
Morgan let out a soft cough, then gazed listlessly out the open window and murmured, “Our Excalibur… loved to shiver like that… I wonder if anyone is listening to it now…”
Outside the window, the trees stood tall and proud, their leaves shimmering under the glow of festival decorations.
Bonfires, lit since sunset, painted a beautiful scene.
The festival must have begun—cheerful music, clashing with the somber mood inside, drifted faintly through the air.
Morgan subtly signaled to Arthur, who stood beside Olivia. But he remained silent, staring straight ahead.
Unable to bear it, Olivia nudged him sharply, as if shaking him awake.
Only then did he awkwardly deliver his rehearsed line, “When guarding the lady’s chamber, such a thing never happened. Does the temple not even maintain basic security?”
His clumsy lie was quickly smoothed over by Olivia’s swift follow-up:
“See? Evening’s already falling. Once the festival starts, will we even be able to find the sacred sword then?”
Just as the priests, unable to leave nor persuade them, stood flustered in their standoff—
A wave of murmurs surged from beyond the door.
The priests blocking the entrance turned, parting to either side. Through their ranks, a host of holy knights marched in.
Unlike before, the discipline in their steps suggested this was no ordinary visit.
The moment the knights took position, an urgent shout came from behind—Bedivere, his face twisted in frustration.
“Whose orders are you following? I don’t recall giving any command!”
Having rushed over in disarray, his robes were disheveled. But the knights were resolute.
“The High Priest has commanded it.”
In the Holy Kingdom, all orders were subject to the High Priest Merlin’s authority first.
Even Bedivere was merely a knight commander appointed by her. He shook his head with a bewildered expression.
“What in the world is this outrage, honored guest? I shall consult the High Priest again myself!”
His words hung in the air without an echo.
None of the holy knights paid him any heed.
Without even the slightest courtesy, they stared down at Morgana lying on the bed and declared stiffly,
“The Goddess Coventina has decreed that if an unworthy hand wields the Holy Sword, the Lady of the Lake shall reclaim it! Therefore, the criminal Morgana Le Fay, recognized by the Holy Sword as an unworthy one, shall answer for deceiving the temple!”
As the knights moved to approach her on the bed, Arthur swiftly drew his sword and stepped forward to block their path.
“Take another step, and I will cut you down.”
Olivia also gripped a nearby chair tightly. It seemed she was ready to throw it if necessary.
Morgana blinked while lying down.
‘Ah, so this is how they’ll pin the disappearance of Excalibur on me too?’
This works out even better for her. With a bright smile, Morgana suddenly sprang up from the bed.
Tossing aside the blanket with vigor, she stood perfectly steady, as if she had never been unwell, and answered the holy knights in a cheerful voice.
“Alright, let’s go!”
At this sight, the priest who had been coaxing and negotiating with her until now asked in disbelief,
“…Weren’t you just lying down a moment ago?”
“I have low blood pressure, so I was resting, but now I’m fired up and back to normal!”
For a moment, confusion flickered across the faces of the holy knights and priests, but the tense atmosphere left no room for mere surprise.
As the knights moved to restrain her, Morgana skipped past them lightly.
“I’ll walk on my own, so lead the way. Where do I go to be treated like a criminal?”
The holy knights frowned but reluctantly walked ahead to guide her instead of answering.
Morgana followed behind them, humming cheerfully.
Behind her, Olivia, Arthur, and even Bedivere had followed. He kept sighing repeatedly, his expression clearly unable to comprehend the situation.
They walked silently down the hallway, lined with guest rooms, and into the garden without exchanging a word.
The garden was alive with the cheerful rhythm of festival music.
Two bonfires, each seemingly three times the height of a person, blazed apart at a distance equal to the width of the Great Hall.
Nobles and festival-goers whirled in dance around the bonfires.
On a small platform placed before them stood Merlin. Upon seeing the holy knights, she smirked, raising her hand.
At the same moment—snap—the music stopped.
As the song abruptly cut off, the eyes of the dancers naturally turned toward Merlin.
Gazing coldly at Morgana from afar, she asked, “Have you understood the crime you’ve committed, Miss Morgana?”
The others, seemingly unaware of the situation, looked back and forth between Morgana, the holy knights, and Merlin in shock.
Morgana tilted her head and replied, “I’m not sure.”
Merlin spread her arms wide. Her billowing white sleeves shimmered as if reflecting the bonfire’s glow.
In a calm, measured voice, she answered, “The holy sword’s disappearance has already been revealed to us by the Goddess Coventina. ‘A traitor has taken the holy sword’... How truly heartbreaking.”
As Merlin lowered her hand, a firm command rang out, “Make the criminal kneel at once.”
Before the holy knights could draw their swords—
Whoosh!— a flash of steel cut through the air.
In an instant, Morgana’s vision was filled with broad backs.
Arthur stood in front of her, Bedivere behind.
Surveying the holy knights surrounding them in a circle, Arthur murmured softly, “You once said I was skilled with a sword, didn’t you?”
With a swift slash, he cut down an approaching knight, deflecting the blade effortlessly.
Without a single falter in his breath, he continued, “Even if my only worth lies in this skill alone—so long as I can offer even that, I will have no regrets.”
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