(This chapter is from Artoria’s first-person perspective.)
I went to bed very early last night.
Naturally, I woke up very early today as well.
It wasn’t even light out when I woke up; my phone showed 4:21.
After finishing breakfast and watching a bit of TV, time passed exceptionally quickly.
The sky had cleared, and today was another hot day.
The person who should be awake was up, bleary-eyed and listless.
The person who shouldn’t be awake was also up, full of energy and radiating light.
Breakfast today was very somber.
No one spoke, only exchanging the usual greetings.
Halfway through the meal, the Witch put down her chopsticks.
She rested her chin in her right hand, her palm against her face, with a faint, ambiguous smile playing on her lips.
Her golden pupils watched me with a predator’s aggression, looking somewhat…
er, charming?
“Choose me to be your Queen, Arthur.”
I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing the Witch before me.
From those pupils that were quite similar to mine and Mordred’s, I couldn’t see any hint of a joke.
“…Are you serious?”
“Hey, hey.
Are you an idiot?
How could such a thing be real?”
Her words confused me.
I really couldn’t fathom what this perverse woman was thinking.
I remained silent for the moment, signaling for her to explain herself properly.
“Just treat it as acting, okay?
How about treating me as your girlfriend or fiancée?
You’ve already married Guinevere anyway, so you have experience in this area, right?
At least there shouldn’t be any psychological barriers.
And according to Mordred, your relationship with Morgan isn’t bad either, so you shouldn’t have too many qualms, right?”
“If you don’t provide a proper reason, I’m afraid I cannot agree.”
“Then…
Arthur, am I pretty?
Am I beautiful?”
At this moment, a smile bloomed on the witch’s lips, her golden eyes sparkling.
Despite her pale skin and white hair, she was like a blooming red rose—vibrant, dripping with beauty, and incredibly charming—yet the thorns on her stem made people instinctively unable to approach, leaving them only able to admire from afar.
It was as if she truly were an enchanting, soul-captivating witch, as if my heart had already been captured by her.
But…
it was only “as if.” If it were an ordinary person, they would surely be bewitched and head-over-heels, right?
But I am different; I have seen more beautiful existences, for example—
“…
Not as good as Guinevere.
My assessment is, not as good as Guinevere.”
That said, apart from Guinevere, the witch was on the same level as Morgan or Merlin.
The witch pouted in disappointment and returned to her normal posture—legs crossed, an extremely arrogant seating position.
“Ah, that most beautiful woman in all of Britain, who is also the legendary root of all evil…”
Although she was annoyed, the witch didn’t seem to find any other suitable retort.
After a long while, she smiled again, staring into my eyes as if trying to see through my soul, and asked: “But, Arthur.
In this 21st century, Guinevere must be gone, right?
It is said she spent the rest of her life in a convent?
Since that is the case, using her as a standard for evaluation is definitely not acceptable, right?
What about besides her?”
“…
She was indeed beautiful.” Since it had come to this, I could only speak the truth.
“Then, I will be your queen; surely I am qualified, right?”
“A king’s marriage is a union of political interests and has little to do with whether the queen is beautiful.”
“But hasn’t your country been destroyed?
Do you still have any political interests to speak of?”
Indeed, Albion had vanished into legend.
The current United Kingdom had almost nothing to do with me.
Even if I truly revealed myself and said that Britain was about to be destroyed and I had come to save it, no one would be willing to believe or follow me—besides, I might not even be the King Arthur of this place; if I really did that, I would probably have to fight the real one.
However…
I am not a shallow person.
Even as a tyrant, I have my own principles.
“Sigh…
what a pain.
How about this then?
Choose me as King Arthur’s queen, but not as a partner to Uther Pendragon; that should be fine, right?
This is already my bottom line; it cannot go any lower.”
I frowned slightly—this witch was smarter than I had imagined, even capable of understanding the distinction between King Arthur and Uther Pendragon.
She did not seem to be the illiterate country girl with childish thoughts that I had assumed, but a truly bewitching witch who brought disaster and destruction with her charm, and she possessed an agency no less than Kriemhild or Medea.
“So…
witch, what exactly do you want to do?”
“Treating your lovesickness, of course.
What else could it be?” Her words made my eyelid twitch, and a bad premonition spread in my heart—while the witch just continued to chuckle: “A witch brewing a potion to cure a warrior’s illness, isn’t that a very normal thing?
Lovesickness must be cured with a potion made of emotions.
If I don’t become your girlfriend, or fiancée, how can I brew a potion that can cure lovesickness?”
“But…
in my opinion, there is no causal relationship between the two.”
“Who says the witch’s world is reasonable?” The witch’s smile became more unbridled, and her gaze grew increasingly aggressive, making me unable to look directly at her, making me afraid to face her.
“Things ordinary people think are worthless, like lettuce, are high-quality potion ingredients in the eyes of a witch.
Things ordinary people think have infinite value, like courage, are worthless to a witch.
Arthur, your illness is the same.
Your root cause is love, so of course, I must use love as an ingredient to brew the potion, right?”
“I…” I found myself unable to utter a word of rebuttal.
“Hey, Arthur, you aren’t going to try to say you aren’t sick, are you?
You were like that last night; can you still say you aren’t sick?”
“I must think this through…
I need time.”
“Didn’t I tell you it’s just acting?
What is there to consider?
You are a king, after all; haven’t you watched court plays before?
No matter what the actors on stage are playing, in reality, they are just colleagues, right?
I haven’t seen many actors get married just because of acting, have I?
Or are you saying you think the current state is fine and you don’t need to do anything at all?”
Of course, she didn’t know that for me, the role of King Arthur was just a character I was performing on stage.
I looked at Mordred.
Today she was unexpectedly silent, as if she had been in cahoots with the witch all along.
“Mordred, what is your opinion?”
“I…” Mordred opened her mouth, then quickly lowered her head.
“Sorry, Father, I don’t know…”
So she really was in cahoots with the witch—at the very least, she knew the witch was going to take action today.
In other words, in her mind, I would, as the witch said, seek release through self-destruction when my fatigue became unbearable.
Because she felt that since I had done such a thing before, it was very likely I would do it a second time.
This made me feel disappointed and frustrated.
Because the most important people around me were starting to lose faith in me.
“Mordred, do you think…
I would really choose self-destruction without saying anything?”
Before Mordred could answer, the witch began to play the fool: “Alright, what is this?
It’s just acting, what’s the big deal?
Why act as if I’m really going to be your fiancée?
Arthur, don’t you think about how you treated me the night before last?
Our grudge hasn’t been settled yet; how could I shamelessly suck up to you?
Do you really think your cooking is that good?
It’s far worse than what they sell at restaurants!
Let alone high-end ones!”
“That is exactly what I cannot understand…
Witch, why do you want to cure my lovesickness?”
“I was just dragged into this.
You were the one who insisted on having me live here, you were the one who forced me to come here.
Since I’m here, I certainly can’t just stand by and do nothing, right?”
“So, is your goal still to kill me?”
“If I just leave you alone, you will die on your own.
Is there any need for me to do that?”
This was a very convincing reason—since my goodwill was unconditional, so was hers.
She was just relying on some inexplicable reserve and pride, answering my doubts in a roundabout way using rhetorical questions.
After hesitating for a while and thinking for a while, I gave a judgment—or rather, a promise.
“I will not die…”
My promise was interrupted by the witch before I could finish, her tone becoming sarcastic, like a true French person.
“No, you will die, Arthur.
No matter how much you endure, there will eventually come a time when the people around you cannot endure it.
When that time comes, you will surely only be able to do what you did at Camlann—do nothing, quietly welcome death, leaving the wailing, broken people beside you to collapse over your corpse, right?
How should I put it…
although you are very strict with strangers, you have reached the point of infinite tolerance for those around you.
If you don’t change this bad habit, you will eventually die, and you will die a miserable death—you don’t really think your cause of death was something messy and other, do you?”
Since it had come to this, I really had nothing left to say.
All I could do was remain silent.
However, the witch still looked relaxed, as if this were nothing major.
“It’s just acting, the very first step in the process of a witch brewing a potion, which is extracting the ingredients.
Once the ingredients are extracted and the potion is made, you drink it, and I guarantee it will cure you.”
After thinking about it, I asked again: “Then…
what is your potion?
I mean, through what method does it achieve its healing effect?”
The witch laughed quite unbridledly, like a red rose blooming to its extreme, enticing me, confusing me, trying to make me make a mistake—it seemed she felt I would definitely agree.
She said softly: “It’s a Forgetfulness Potion, oh?”
“Forgetfulness?” Hearing this word, my heart suddenly twitched.
“Arthur, you have memories of your past life, right?”
“Don’t you have them too?”
“Please, at this point, are you still playing dumb with me?”
That refers to the memories of my life before my previous life—that is, my memories from when I was an ordinary person.
Although I have forgotten the vast majority of it, some memories still remain; otherwise, I couldn’t have adapted to this era so quickly.
“Did Mordred tell you?”
“No, I figured it out myself.
After all, you are familiar with this era to an extent that defies common sense.
It’s obvious that you once lived in this era, something happened, and you retained your memories before becoming King Arthur.”
I furrowed my brows and asked, half-guessing and half-curious, “…Who exactly are you?
Are you really Jeanne dArc?”
“Of course not.
No matter how you look at it, I’m not, right?” The Witch spread her hands, seemingly finding my question incredibly foolish.
“This name is just a disguise, a code name—I’m sure you know that, right?
My memories are all fake, so how could this name be real?
But as for what my name actually is, even I don’t know.
Maybe I’ll find out one day, maybe I never will.
But what does it matter?
This is where I’m different from you—I am me, I am certain of that; no matter how memories change, I myself will not change.”
I let out a long breath and said, “Regarding that question…
you already know the answer, do I need to repeat it?”
The Witch nodded with satisfaction and continued explaining her potion: “This potion is very simple.
As long as you forget all the memories of everything you loved in your past life and completely accept the identity of Arthur Pendragon, your illness will be cured.
After that, you won’t feel exhausted, you won’t have thoughts about it being hard to keep living, and you won’t have those incredibly stupid ideas like being a ‘King of One.’ You will accept your past, you will accept your present, and you will accept everyone who loves you, rather than shutting everything out of your heart.”
Forget everything I loved in my past life…
The memories of my past life have already vanished without a trace; I’ve forgotten my own name, forgotten what my parents looked like—I’ve forgotten everything, leaving only a blank space.
It seems all my loved things have already been forgotten; there’s no need to take any potion at all…
…No, that’s not right.
There is one thing, one existence, that I haven’t forgotten yet.
In a daze, I saw a tiny life.
Late at night, I open the door and place my shoes on the rack.
That tiny life looks up with round eyes, acting spoiled and affectionate, rubbing against my leg.
In that moment, it was cute to the extreme.
In that moment, I was happy to the extreme.
Then, somehow, surging emotions erupted in my heart—I am already dead.
The reason for my death has been forgotten, but I have indeed been dead for a long time.
Now that I’m gone, will it go hungry?
Will it get hurt, get sick, or live a miserable life?
Will it be run over by a car while crossing the street, or get into fights with other strays and be left with many scars?
I don’t know, and I don’t dare to imagine.
Just thinking about it makes my heart ache as if it were carved out, and my eyes sting uncontrollably—yet no tears can flow.
However, on the other side, something called ‘Reason’ was coldly calculating and evaluating—the Witch wasn’t wrong.
My heart had been closed off for a long time.
I seemed kind to those around me, but in reality, I was rejecting everyone.
That’s why, in Avalon, when the power of the prophecy took effect, I said those words…
“Ah…
so, that’s what those words meant.”
I murmured to myself.
At this moment, I finally understood the reason I said those things.
The Witch didn’t know.
So she frowned slightly and asked, “Which words?”
“You can imagine what I said.” This was a secret belonging to those close to me; I really couldn’t reveal it.
“If you really want to know, you can go ask Mordred…”
“Even at a time like this, you’re still playing riddles with me?
Do you want to die that badly, Arthur!?”
The Witch stood up.
The beautiful petals suddenly ignited, turning into flames, making the entire rose even more seductive and beautiful.
Perhaps, there was a possibility that I really had started to like the Witch a little—but, it could only go this far.
“Anyway, thank you for your kindness, Witch.
But…
no, I can’t accept it, and I can’t do it.”
“Clatter…”
Suddenly, something fell to the floor.
As if struck by an electric shock, Mordred immediately bent down and picked up the spoon that had fallen.
The spoon had been twisted out of shape, almost into an’S’ curve.
Mordred hadn’t even touched the porridge in front of her; she had just been silently listening, silently enduring the words I was saying…
The smile on the Witch’s face vanished, and her eyes stared fixedly at me, like a snake watching its prey.
Her voice also turned low, shifting from temptation to threat.
“Arthur…
everything from your past life is already gone, those who loved you are far away, and I’m afraid even your memories are blurred beyond recognition, right?
What exactly is it that you refuse to forget?
Why are you always unwilling to accept the identity of ‘King Arthur’?
As King Arthur, the people you love and those who love you are right beside you, or about to come to your side.
Why won’t you accept them, why won’t you face them?
I cannot understand.
I need an explanation.”
“Speaking of which, you probably won’t believe it…” At this point, I suddenly didn’t know how to explain.
Should I tell Mordred that it’s because of a cat I raised in my past life that I can’t let go?
What would she think?
Would she feel that she, Morgan, Merlin, and even Guinevere aren’t as important as a cat?
“…Forget it, it’s nothing.
I can’t recall many memories.
But…
I can’t forget, and I don’t want to forget.
If I must forget…
we’ll see when the time comes.”
“How many years has it been?” the Witch continued to ask in a low voice.
“Twenty-two years, since I was eight,” I answered truthfully.
“You’ve been unable to forget all this time?”
“If I could go back to that time and finish everything that needs to be handled, it would probably be fine, right?
But I no longer have the chance.
Just like my life as King Arthur, the things I want to change can no longer be changed…
So, Witch, you cannot be my Queen, and I do not agree to your treatment plan…
I’m sorry.”
In the end, I am not King Arthur; I am merely an actor imitating King Arthur.
King Arthur is a radiant existence, certainly not some dark Evil Dragon.
Virtue has nothing to do with me, and faith is alien to me.
On the contrary, I garnish beauty with cruelty, I cover truth with lies, I imitate light with darkness, and I replace courage with fear.
I kill more people for the happiness of a few, and enslave more nations for the prosperity of one.
I employ all sorts of schemes and intrigues, spreading panic and despair throughout the world I can reach.
As expected, from the bottom of my heart, I never considered myself King Arthur.
Words like ‘King Arthur of One’ were not only perfunctory to Mordred but also to myself.
I just felt that if the need arose, I could play the role again; I was truly and sincerely rejecting the identity of King Arthur, rejecting the pressure, and rejecting all the experiences…
How could such an existence, such trash, be compared to that glorious King of Knights?
Only by constantly rejecting, only by constantly suggesting to myself that I am an actor, can I stay away from those pressures, those curses, the miserable faces of the dead, and the terrified faces of the living.
Thus, in the darkness, like the Usurper King, I am locked to the throne, bearing the entire island alone, quietly waiting for my own destruction, hoping for that moment to come sooner.
Only now, through the Witch’s questioning, do I finally understand all this…
So, that’s how it is.
So that’s how it is…
“Truly…
utterly foolish…”
Sitting in my seat as if sitting upon a throne, I murmured to myself.
The Witch sneered, looking down at me from above, and said—
“Exactly, you’re absolutely right.
Well then, let me return those words to you—it seems you have quite the self-awareness, King.
Ar.
Thur.” She paused, then sat down.
“But…
whether you agree or not is one thing, and what I do is another.
If you won’t recognize me as your girlfriend, can’t I just recognize you as my girlfriend?
Arthur, accompany me for some shopping today.
These clothes of mine are too old-fashioned; I don’t like them.”
I was stunned for a moment, shocked by the Witch’s bizarre logic.
However, I soon let out a breath and said, as if possessed—
“Fine.
Let’s do that then.”