Though they had been stuck together like glue in the temple, ever since arriving in Britain, Arthur seemed busier than ever.
Bedivere, perhaps because it had been so long since he’d been in his homeland, appeared to be meeting with acquaintances, including Sir Ector.
Morgana, rubbing the gleaming surface of the magical tool she had taken from the impostor posing as Bayel, continued speaking.
“Arthur, I hear you’ll soon be knighted. That must be why you’re so busy.”
💫
The peaceful evening of the Britain royal capital.
The sun had just begun to set, painting the sky in hues of twilight, yet the streets were bustling with people in small groups.
At the entrance to the outer castle grounds, flags embroidered with the golden insignia of the Britain Kingdom hung proudly, while colorful fabrics adorned every corner of the castle like woven tapestries.
The shopping district, too, was unusually vibrant, brimming with energy.
It was practically a festival.
Every shop, in anticipation of the upcoming knighting ceremony, had hastily pasted large notices on their doors.
[Knighting Ceremony Honorees: 50% off all items for one week! 20% off for subjugation participants!]
[Proof of knighthood grants a month of buy-one-get-one!]
The knighting ceremony, usually held after an official royal subjugation campaign, was a grand affair.
It was a celebration of those who had distinguished themselves in the campaign, with some even receiving knighthoods—naturally, thousands of relatives and friends came to witness the event.
The owner of a designer shop barked instructions at an employee changing the outfit of a mannequin displayed in the window.
“Hurry up. Crowds will start pouring in from today.”
The employee, dressing the mannequin in a refined outfit suitable for attending the knighting ceremony, adjusted the hem of the dress and asked,
“Will that many people really come? There aren’t that many being knighted, are there?”
“You really don’t get it, do you? Even if they don’t get knighted, those who perform well in the subjugation often get scouted by noble houses.”
“Oh, so that’s why everyone risks their lives volunteering for the campaign. I thought commoners just joined hoping to earn a title.”
The owner gestured to the right, as if telling the employee to move the mannequin.
Once the worker dragged it into place, the owner finally nodded in satisfaction.
“That’s part of it. But just surviving and returning means their whole family—even distant relatives—can attend the ceremony. And if they catch the eye of a noble or a knight and land a marriage? That’s a life-changing opportunity, isn’t it?”
Among the common folk, it was not uncommon for families to send their sons to join the extermination force when they had daughters of marriageable age.
Though it was a life-risking endeavor, surviving and returning was practically a shortcut to success.
Officially, it was called a knighting ceremony and a commendation for the extermination force’s merits, but in reality, it might as well have been called a casting call.
With every knight bringing along distant relatives from the countryside, all crowding into the capital, it was a lucrative day for the merchants.
The shop owner gestured with a glance toward the people bustling about outside the window.
“See? They’re already arriving in groups from the countryside.”
Just like the capital, the palace was swarming with guests.
A servant checked the list and asked, “Sir Arthur, his father Lord Ector, and his brother—is that correct?”
Every name except Arthur’s was wrong, yet no one pointed it out.
From Lord Ector, who smiled amiably, to Bedivere, who pretended ignorance and looked around cluelessly—they played the part of simple commoners perfectly.
Arthur replied flatly, “Yes, that’s correct.”
As soon as he heard the answer, the servant guided them to a room prepared in the royal knights’ quarters.
“You may stay as long as you wish, from tomorrow’s knighting ceremony until your departure.”
At such generous terms, Bedivere feigned ignorance and asked the servant,
“Are we really allowed to stay that long?”
“Of course. You are soon to become proud knights of Britain’s royal court. Isn’t this the least the royal family can provide?”
Even if it was just a shared barracks for knights, to commoners, it was an incredible privilege. The room the servant led them to had two bunk beds.
Though austere, it was sturdy and practical in design.
“Then, rest well. My sincerest congratulations on your upcoming knighthood!”
With a bow, the servant carefully closed the door.
The smile on Lord Ector’s face froze instantly. Bedivere, too, tapped the bedpost lightly and murmured quietly,
“Dawn, as planned.”
“I know the layout well. I’ve entered the palace frequently with our lord.”
With so many outsiders, gaps in security were inevitable.
Arthur, dubbed the monster of the subjugation force, and two Knights of the Round Table from the once-dominant Pendragon family of Britain—
They were a force formidable enough to challenge even the knights of a royal palace.
After exchanging glances, they sealed their lips and waited for nightfall.
As the palace lights dimmed one by one, the number of people wandering about dwindled noticeably.
By dawn, when only the chirping of insects could be heard, darkness enveloped everything, leaving not even an ant in sight.
The guard stationed in front of the main palace yawned loudly, bored by the unchanging, silent scenery.
“Yaaawn… I’m dead tired.”
Behind him, a black shadow flitted past.
Sensing movement, the guard swiftly turned around.
“Wha— Gah!”
Before he could voice his confusion, a sharp impact struck the back of his neck.
In an instant, the guard lost consciousness without even a scream. Sir Ector double-checked that the guard was truly unconscious, then nodded at Arthur and Bedivere.
Taking the lead, Ector pointed toward a secluded corridor.
“This way. Most use the central staircase, but this path to the king’s chambers is faster.”
“Understood.”
Without question, Arthur and Bedivere followed his guidance.
Even the patrols couldn’t detect Arthur.
Suppressing one’s presence was fundamental when dealing with monsters. Holding their breath, they carefully slipped into the room adjacent to King Vortigern’s chambers, their eyes gleaming fiercely.
Their resolve, as if they had waited for this day alone, was unmistakable.
Bedivere, who had been monitoring the knights’ movements from the side room, held up a fingernail-sized fragment of magic stone.
“Let’s go.”
He flicked the yellow stone fragment out the window.
The shard contained magic that induced hallucinations—not to harm the guards but to create confusion.
Click, clatter—
At the sound of rolling stone, one of the patrolling knights shouted from below.
“Did you hear that? Second floor, the empty room!”
Seeing the guards suddenly gathering, they immediately stormed into King Vortigern’s quarters.
The heavy door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room. Inside, King Vortigern lay comfortably on his bed.
As Bedivere scanned the surroundings, Arthur’s face twisted the moment he saw Vortigern. He muttered bitterly, his voice icy.
“Seems you’ve been sleeping soundly, legs stretched out on a bloodstained bed.”
In one swift motion, he drew his sword from his waist and lunged at him. The blade struck the bed with a thud, but Vortigern barely managed to twist away in time.
Startled awake, he flailed in panic, scrambling to get off the bed.
“W-Who are you?! Guards! GUARDS!”
He crawled toward the foot of the bed, but even that escape was cut off as Ector blocked his path.
Arthur looked down at the terrified king with a cold gaze and answered,
“I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon.”
“P-Pendragon…?”
Muttering the familiar family name, Vortigern suddenly let out a hollow laugh, as if something had occurred to him.
“So, you’ve come to avenge your father, is that it?”
“Perhaps. But is it just my father’s vengeance? Do you even know how many have died by your hand?”
With those final words, Arthur raised his sword again. His blue eyes, gleaming under the moonlight, burned with fury.
Pale with fear, King Vortigern stammered out, “I-It wasn’t me! I didn’t kill Uther Pendragon!”
“What?”
Arthur’s hand hesitated mid-swing, and Vortigern’s words spilled out faster.
“A few weeks before I was accused of treason, Uther came to me! He said some peasant woman had been cursed, that there might be a dark sorcerer in the capital, and he begged me to investigate!”
“What does that have to do with my father’s death?”
As Arthur raised his sword again, Vortigern was now practically flattened against the bed, trembling uncontrollably as he continued.
“So I ordered an inquiry! I summoned the high priest for counsel, but after that… I don’t know how, but yes! The high priest framed him—for treason! But I swear, this wasn’t my doing!”
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