Volume 1: The Fourth Holy Grail War
Chapter 20 — The King of Knights
Two years passed in the blink of an eye.
For most kingdoms, two years was barely enough to recover from a single conflict.
For Camelot…
It was enough to change history.
The morning sun rose above white stone walls that stretched across the rolling plains.
Golden banners fluttered gently in the breeze.
Within the city, merchants had already opened their stalls.
The streets were lively.
Human craftsmen displayed finely forged weapons beside fairy artisans selling garments woven from enchanted flowers.
Children laughed as they chased one another through the market.
Some had rounded human ears.
Others possessed delicate fairy wings.
Yet none of them seemed to care.
To them…
This was simply home.
A city where humans and fairies lived together.
Something that had once been considered impossible.
Near the city’s central plaza, several young knights finished their morning sparring.
One of them looked toward the castle standing atop the hill.
“Is His Majesty returning today?”
An older knight shook his head.
“He left three days ago.”
Another smiled knowingly.
“Then he’ll probably come back with another village asking to join Camelot.”
Laughter spread among them.
It wasn’t an exaggeration.
That had happened often enough.
Ren had never liked remaining behind castle walls.
Even after Camelot was established…
He still wandered throughout Britain.
Helping villages.
Destroying monsters.
Resolving disputes between fairy clans.
Sometimes…
Simply listening to people who had nowhere else to turn.
Because of that…
Stories about him spread farther every year.
“The White Knight.”
“The Guardian of Britain.”
“The Dragon-Slaying King.”
“The King of Knights.”
Every region seemed to have its own name for him.
None of them had come from Ren himself.
They had been given by the people.
Outside Camelot…
A caravan slowly made its way toward the city gates.
The merchants looked exhausted after weeks of travel.
One of them sighed with relief.
“We’ve finally arrived…”
Another smiled.
“Once we’re inside Camelot…”
“We don’t need to fear bandits or monsters anymore.”
A young traveler walking beside them blinked.
“Is Camelot really that safe?”
An older merchant chuckled.
“If the King of Knights built it…”
“Then yes.”
Far above…
A lone figure stood upon a rocky cliff overlooking the plains.
His long black hair swayed gently in the wind.
A white cloak fluttered behind him.
Across his back rested two sacred weapons.
The divine lance, Rhongomyniad.
Neither radiated their overwhelming power.
Both remained completely restrained beneath Ren’s control.
At his side…
Gungnir rested quietly.
Unlike the holy weapons…
It possessed no dazzling aura.
Only an ancient pressure that seemed to exist beyond ordinary magecraft.
Ren silently watched the caravan safely enter Camelot.
A faint smile appeared.
“They made it.”
Behind him…
Footsteps approached.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Morgan walked beside him.
Time had changed her.
The young girl Ren had once met beneath the ancient forest was gone.
Now she carried herself with quiet elegance befitting one of Britain’s greatest magi.
Her silver hair flowed almost to her waist.
Her expression had become calmer.
More mature.
Yet…
Whenever she looked at Ren…
The familiar warmth in her eyes never disappeared.
“You’ve been avoiding the castle again.”
Ren smiled awkwardly.
“I wouldn’t call it avoiding.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“You disappeared before sunrise.”
“And somehow ended up escorting another caravan halfway across Britain.”
“…”
“I can explain.”
Morgan laughed softly.
“I know.”
“You’ve always been like this.”
The two quietly overlooked Camelot.
Neither spoke for several moments.
There was no need.
The peaceful scenery before them said enough.
Eventually…
Morgan broke the silence.
“Do you remember…”
“…the first village that took you in?”
Ren nodded.
“I do.”
“We barely had enough food.”
“We repaired houses with runes because we didn’t have proper tools.”
“And everyone argued over who had to gather firewood.”
Morgan couldn’t help laughing.
“Compared to this…”
“It feels like another lifetime.”
“It was.”
Ren answered quietly.
“So much has changed.”
Morgan’s gaze shifted toward the distant mountains.
“…Not everywhere.”
Her tone had become noticeably quieter.
Ren followed her eyes.
Beyond Camelot…
Dark clouds gathered above the horizon.
Not ordinary clouds.
Something…
Felt wrong.
“The reports increased again?”
Morgan nodded.
“Entire fairy clans have gone silent.”
“The Mors have appeared farther south than before.”
“…”
Ren remained silent.
He had noticed it too.
Britain…
Was changing.
The peaceful years had allowed Camelot to flourish.
But beyond its borders…
The island itself seemed to be growing weaker.
Ancient forests no longer felt as lively.
Some rivers had begun losing their purity.
Even the wind carried an unfamiliar heaviness.
Morgan suddenly changed the subject.
“I’ve made progress.”
Ren looked toward her.
“With Albion?”
She nodded.
“The consciousness within the dragon’s arm remains stable.”
“But…”
“I’ve begun researching how to prepare a vessel capable of housing it.”
Ren looked surprised.
“So soon?”
Morgan smiled.
“I’m only preparing.”
“I don’t even know if it’ll succeed.”
“Still…”
“If we don’t begin now…”
“We’ll regret it later.”
Ren looked toward the distant swamp where Albion’s severed arm slept beneath the waters.
Within it…
The consciousness he had named Mélusine continued to slumber.
Waiting.
For a future that had yet to arrive.
“I’ll help however I can.”
Morgan smiled.
“I know.”
“You always do.”
The wind gently passed between them.
For a brief moment…
Britain felt peaceful once more.
Far away…
A weary traveler finally reached Camelot’s gates.
The guards welcomed him immediately.
“What happened?”
The man lowered his head.
His voice trembled.
“A village…”
“…is gone.”
“No survivors.”
Silence fell.
Even the guards’ expressions darkened.
High atop the city walls…
Ren slowly turned toward the western horizon.
The breeze carried the scent of ash.
His smile gradually faded.
“It seems…”
“…our peaceful days are coming to an end.”
Beside him…
Morgan quietly nodded.
Neither of them realized it yet.
The legend of the King of Knights had only just begun.
The twilight of Fairy Britain was drawing ever closer.