(This chapter is from Artoria’s first-person perspective.)
Looking back now, it truly was a long process…
Vortigern did not rule at all; there was no order on the island of Britain.
Nobles hid in fortresses and strongholds for self-preservation, villagers turned into bandits and pirates to survive; people struggled amidst hunger and chaos, facing misfortune, death, and one mundane, lightless day after another.
In such an environment, what kind of hardships did someone who began a life of wandering at the age of eight face?
To be honest, I’ve forgotten.
Just as I’ve forgotten what fear feels like.
I am no longer an actress; I have truly become King Arthur herself.
Because my own time is continuous, it doesn’t suddenly become someone else or skip a large chunk of time like a play, using such abruptness to remind the actor that they are just an actor.
Additionally, I don’t know if he simply feared me or if I lost the ability to dream.
From the age of eight to sixteen, that half-incubus Merlin never once appeared in my dreams.
Naturally, I never experienced Artoria’s supposed “Journey of Flowers” or the “elite education” from Sir Ector and Sir Kay.
Just like that, without parents or family, I was forced into a world where order did not exi—
Waking up every day to cold and hunger, turning into a wild beast for survival, discarding my humanity—I couldn’t live without fighting, I couldn’t live without killing; my already twisted mind and body became even more distorted.
As a result, much like a wild beast, life was utterly monotonous, like being trapped inside a house with no way out.
It felt as if I did something, yet also as if I did nothing—what I killed today wouldn’t be recorded in my memory; I only vaguely remember that I did kill something.
Whether it was a hungry wolf in the wilderness, a bandit on the road, or a noble who wanted to enslave me, it didn’t matter—or rather, the reason, process, and result were all too repetitive for specific memories to remain in my mind.
Perhaps it really was too monotonous; even my memories of life before becoming an actress have gradually blurred, leaving only a rough outline.
I only know that I did have parents, but I no longer remember their faces or names.
I only know that I did have a small home to stay in, but I can’t recall its layout.
I only know that I did save a kitten in the heavy rain, very small, needing goat milk powder.
That kitten gradually grew up and must have been six or seven years old before it died.
But as for what color its fur was, I can only guess—maybe, perhaps it was orange?
I’m not sure; I really can’t remember.
“…King?”
A deep male voice appeared by my ear, releasing me from my memories.
I looked at the owner of the voice.
He had cheerful blond hair and a youthful, square face.
Wearing silver armor and possessing a very sturdy build, he held a massive two-handed sword—a knight as standard as they come.
This was Gawain, one of the legendary Knights of the Round Table.
His gaze was concerned yet tinged with confusion, likely not understanding why I would space out at a time like this.
“I was thinking of some things from the past.
A long time ago.
During these twelve years that Vortigern has occupied the royal city, everyone has had a hard time.
Now, the moment of destiny has arrived; even someone like me can’t help but feel a bit melancholy.” I brushed him off casually, then shifted the topic to move past it: “By the way, Sir Gawain, stay outside the city with Sir Kay, Sir Tristan, and Sir Agravain, along with the soldiers.”
“But, King…”
“Say no more, Sir Gawain.
From the day I pulled the sword of selection, defeating Vortigern became my destiny.
In this duel of fate, there is no need for others to intervene.” Feeling that my words were too poetic and hard to understand, I had to tell the truth: “—Let me be clearer.
I will enter the city alone and only need to face the Usurper King.
If you enter with me, I will have to protect you, and I might not be able to.”
The truth hurts.
Gawain, who had been eager to go, immediately looked as if his heart had been pierced and completely wilted.
What else could I do?
Should I just let them enter the royal city to die?
What would be the point of that?
However, they didn’t seem to understand.
The morale of the surrounding soldiers visibly dropped.
Agravain looked like he wanted to speak but stopped.
Kay turned his face away.
Tristan truly closed his eyes.
As their leader, I had to explain in a more tactful tone: “Vortigern has no army; it merely occupies the royal city like a nightmare, a literal evil dragon.
To deal with an evil dragon, one needs an existence of the same level, not an army for hunting.
Besides, a one-on-one is more in line with the knightly spirit, isn’t it?
This battle should be a one-on-one by me.”
“I understand, King…
We shall obey your command.”
As it turned out, Gawain was still very dissatisfied.
The knights and soldiers were also very dissatisfied.
They seemed to disregard their own lives entirely, thinking that wasting one’s life was a noble thing.
I am not a person good at expressing myself.
Often, I can’t even recognize my own feelings.
Faced with this headache-inducing situation, I had no other choice but to move the topic along.
Leaving those words behind, I entered the royal city, carrying Excalibur and the Rhongomyniad on my back, my entire body encased in armor.
The royal city was a grand fortress located at the peak of a mountain.
The part below the mountain was the city itself, which had already been occupied by the knights and soldiers I led.
Once the final fortress was conquered and I sat upon the throne, the Kingdom of Camelot would be restored.
There was nothing on the path to the fortress.
The gates of the fortress stood wide open, having not been closed since twelve years ago.
Thick black mist seeped out from inside the fortress; this mist was highly toxic to ordinary people.
If it were the original King Arthur, she could rely on the light emitted by her holy sword to dispel the darkness.
But I am not; my nature is also darkness.
Not only did this mist not harm me, it gave me a sense of familiarity.
The fortress was nested layer upon layer, the paths winding round and round.
Finally, after walking for over ten minutes, I reached the core of the fortress—the hall where the throne was placed.
Inside the hall, the density of the black mist had reached a point where even I couldn’t see through it.
I raised my left hand but couldn’t see it.
I held the pitch-black holy sword, but couldn’t see the sword itself.
It was as if vision had been stripped from my senses.
But my vision was not stripped away, because my eyes could indeed see something in this darkness—at the end of that darkness, at the end of this hall, a pair of golden eyes watched me.
They were a pair of monster-like beast pupils, identical to mine.
Those pupils showed no fluctuation, as if they, like mine, lacked a vast amount of human emotion, merely scrutinizing and alerting against me like a wild beast, with a hint of curiosity and a trace of relief.
“You have finally come, Uther’s bastard.
I have waited for you for a long time.”
Different from the rumors, the owner of the voice was a woman.
And this voice was exactly like mine, without the slightest difference.
If my memories weren’t continuous and if the Usurper King didn’t have abilities like illusion, I would suspect that the existence at the end of the darkness was another me, or my inner demon.
Evidence was laid out before me one by one; the conclusion no longer needed deduction.
“What the holy sword releases is the Breath of the Planet.
Whether the nature of this breath is fire, light, or something else depends entirely on the person wielding it.
The holy sword used by me erupts with a darkness that devours everything, rather than a brilliant light—the meaning of this, you know better than I do, Vortigern.”
I spoke very slowly, making myself appear confident and arrogant.
I felt I should be nervous.
But my heart was calm, without any sense of tension at all.
Perhaps it was because Vortigern laughed?
Although I could only see her eyes, I felt that she was indeed laughing.
“Father kills son, son kills father, brother kills brother, brother kills brother, even gender must be twisted, even humanity must be erased, all just to become a transcendent being…
The Pendragons, in the end, cannot escape such a fate.” Vortigern paused, as if merely to withdraw his mockery and lament.
“Then, nice to meet you, my blood relative, my child, how should I address you?”
“Artoria.
This is my name.” I answered calmly.
“Artoria…
Truly a good name.” In the darkness, Vortigern’s body leaned forward, and the darkness surged with his will.
“—Come closer to me, Artoria.
Cross the darkness, let me gaze upon your appearance.
Pass through the darkness, gaze upon my appearance.
Then, some questions will be answered, and new questions will need to be answered by you.”
During this process, I had a feeling that this darkness was not just a poison, but a cage.
A monster was trapped within it, yet the cage itself was something created by the monster—I didn’t quite understand why I had this feeling.
Finally, arriving before Vortigern, my eyes were able to pierce through the darkness.
It was a petite young girl wearing grand ceremonial robes, even more petite than me, who had been malnourished since childhood, as if she were an elf born from a black flower; just looking at her figure, she was very endearing.
However, every frill of the robes was connected to chains, and the chains were connected to the throne.
His arms were shackled to the armrests of the throne.
His waist was covered in chains.
His greave-like boots were completely embedded into the throne, as if someone had welded the two together.
He sat on the throne, completely bound by these pitch-black chains, unable to move, with only his head able to tilt slightly forward.
Truly a pathetic king.
A curve traced the corners of his mouth, very faint, almost imperceptible.
“My blood relative—Artoria, since you have come here, it means you already know your own fate.
Since that is the case, why still conform to fate and come here?
You could very well rebel against fate, tear apart all chains and shackles, instead of becoming a prisoner of fate like this, until you eventually die.”
Just like him, just like all the Pendragon kings who became kings of Britain in the guise of inhuman, transcendent beings.
So, why come here?
I couldn’t quite understand.
But since this question has been raised, I tried to answer from my perspective: “Before the great power of fate, we are all just actors on a stage, performing a play full of twists and turns, with no other choice.
And…
Vortigern, have you ever understood the legends and myths of those alien races you brought with you?”
“They are merely tools.
I have no interest in the backstory of tools.
Moreover, they are not handy.”
“They are the Angles, and their main god is named Odin.
Odin made a prophecy, saying that everything in the world would be destroyed in a great war.
He tried his best to prevent the prophecy from happening, doing many things that could not convince the public to that end.
But in the end, what was meant to happen still happened, and even the efforts Odin made instead became catalysts for the prophecy.
Vortigern, if Odin, who drew wisdom beyond mortals from the Well of Wisdom, was still like this, what can you and I, as mortals, do?”
“Lies.” Vortigern laughed contemptuously.
“Artoria, what pushed you to come here is not some so-called fate.
Only when you point your sword and your spear at me will fate manifest its power.
The spear was pulled out by you yourself, and the sword was found by you yourself.
You came before me by your own will, and you voluntarily shouldered the lives and fates of those people outside—tell me, Artoria, why did you do that?”
I really wanted to say that, actually, I didn’t know the reason myself, and actually, I hadn’t considered these things at all.
However, since things had reached this point, I understood it myself—there was a reason, I just ignored it.
There was a justification, I just buried it in my heart.
I searched my memories, I emptied my emotions, I rummaged through my reasons and justifications, casting aside everything that seemed plausible—finally, I found it.
“…Vortigern, many people have died.” My eyes were indeed fixed on the current Vortigern, but my thoughts seemed to transcend time and space, looking toward him from twelve years ago.
“Father died, mother died, grandmother died…
many people died.
A girl lost her home and was forced to wander in this unfortunate land.
Worse than beggars, worse than beasts, starving every day, struggling on the line between life and death every day.
There are many people like that girl in Britain.
Now, they have formed an allied army to come and take revenge on the perpetrator of that tragedy—I can answer you, Vortigern.
I came here, not because of the justice and ideals guided by fate, but because of the pain and personal vendetta created by fate.
I truly came here with the determination to kill you.
Otherwise, the souls of the dead will not be able to rest, and the souls of the living will not be able to sleep.
This is my reason.”
Vortigern seemed to freeze, without sadness, without a smile, without any emotion at all.
Just like him now, a king with nothing.
“…As expected of my child, you are just different from that hypocritical guy Uther.” Vortigern maintained a calm face and used a calm tone, but his words were intense, almost boiling.
“Artoria, you will kill me, and you will ascend the throne.
However, your fate will be more pathetic than Uther’s, more pathetic than mine.”
“I am clear about all this.
From the moment I pulled the sword, I knew my own fate.”
“Then come, Artoria.
Kill me, just as I killed Uther.
Sit on your throne, wear your crown.
One day in the future, you too will be killed by another Pendragon.
Your revenge, your country, the things you cherish, the things you despise, will all collapse with your death—this is the prophecy, this is fate.
As long as you step onto this path, this prophecy cannot be escaped, this fate cannot be stopped…
Come, Artoria!
Come, my blood relative, my child!”
Amidst a roar like a wail, Vortigern launched an attack.
Boundless darkness condensed, solidified, and became chain after chain, attacking me.
I swung the holy sword, severing these chains one by one.
Vortigern’s attacks were continuous; the darkness condensed again into curses, forming fine needles like a rainstorm, stabbing at me, cursing me.
I raised the holy spear, completely blowing away these curses.
The king on the throne did not move, while I below the throne walked forward slowly.
Even though he was right before my eyes, the distance between me and the king seemed as vast as crossing the sea.
The darkness turned into sharp swords, into long spears, into beasts, into terrifying things, attacking me, attempting to devour me.
However, my darkness defeated them time and time again, just like a young lion suppressing the attacks of an aging lion king.
After a long time, I arrived before him, blocking his attacks while gazing into his eyes.
Those golden dragon eyes were no longer calm.
They carried relief, anticipation, and a silent blessing.
Then, the holy spear was raised and thrust into the chest.
Blood spilled everywhere, staining the pitch-black ceremonial robes, flowing out along the throne in a crimson stream.
The darkness dissipated, and on the face that was identical to mine, a smile of relief and irony hung, and finally, he fell into an eternal sleep.
Subsequently, the overly petite body quickly dehydrated, decayed, and turned into ashes.
The remaining darkness exhausted its last bit of strength, stirring up a wind that blew the ashes out the window.
The sky finally cleared, and these ashes shimmered with golden light under the setting sun, finally drifting down onto the earth, becoming a part of this island.
The holy sword and the holy spear were thrust into the ground on both sides of the throne.
I sat on the throne, I wore the crown.
There was no joy, there was no sadness.
There was no excitement, there was no melancholy.
Calm, like a pool of stagnant water.
Silent, like the boundless darkness.