(This chapter is from Artoria’s first-person perspective.)
The tears could not be wiped dry, just as the sinking of Britain could not be stopped.
Morgan kept crying and crying; I couldn’t wipe them away, and she couldn’t stop them herself.
In the end, I could only let out a long sigh.
As if stimulated by this sigh, Morgan’s tears stopped immediately.
But she did not speak, there was only silence.
I didn’t know what to say, so I could only remain silent.
Fortunately, it wasn’t just her and me here; Merlin was also present.
Merlin spoke up, breaking the sorrowful silence.
“Artoria…
since you feel that you are not Artoria, who do you think you are?”
“I don’t know…
I used to remember my name.
But then too many things happened, and I forgot.”
“In that case, how should we address you?
The greatest purpose of a name is to be used for address.”
“What name should I use…” I thought for a long time, but as expected, I couldn’t remember what I should be called.
I had no choice but to accept reality helplessly: “I can’t think of one…
then let it still be Artoria.
If it’s just used as a name to be called by, I don’t hate it that much.”
“Artoria, when I first proposed searching for the Holy Grail, you were opposed to it.
It was only later, under the pressure of the Knights of the Round Table’s 12-to-1 vote, that you reluctantly agreed to the search,” Merlin said calmly.
Still so gentle, still so pleasant to hear—as if he had lost all emotion.
“As you know, my eyes can see through the eras.
Even if I didn’t know the exact location of the Holy Grail, I knew the general direction and the nature of the Grail.
Perhaps the Holy Grail does indeed have the power to grant wishes, perhaps it really could maintain Britain’s mystery, but in the end, the complete break from the Age of Gods was a decision made by the Holy Grail’s master and creator.
The Holy Grail at this time does not have the power to forcibly designate a set destiny…
The prophecy you made was definitely not caused by the Holy Grail.”
“Other than the Holy Grail, I can’t think of any other reason,” I said.
“It indicates that this is a grander, higher-order mystical existence than the Holy Grail…”
A higher-order existence?
What else could it be?
Could it be the Counter Force of the Planet or Humanity?
My knowledge of magecraft is [_
More importantly, my memory tells me that I have never been in contact with an existence of this level.
“I feel like…
I’ve never been in contact with such an existence…”
“You must have.
Artoria, you must believe the judgment of the greatest magus in the world!” Even though my eyes couldn’t see, Merlin’s lily-like smile automatically appeared in my mind.
“And it started very early, even before you became Artoria.
That is why the words you once spoke would evolve into a definitive prophecy.
That is why your life was fixed, and even until the final moment, you still could not find release.”
I was speechless.
This was not the conclusion I wanted, but it was an undeniable reality.
Then, who exactly was it?
Why turn me into King Arthur?
Why make me experience a life like this?
I didn’t understand, I didn’t know, I didn’t accept it…
yet I could find absolutely no reason to support such negative emotions.
“However, the King’s story has ended.
Soon, we will know what is going to happen…”
Hearing Merlin say this, I also began to wait.
What exactly would happen?
In what form would my life continue?
I was very lost, lost for the first time like this.
For the first time, I felt that I had indeed burned out, sitting in my seat in a daze—fortunately, the sea of flowers in paradise is truly beautiful, with all sorts of vivid flowers that one can never finish looking at, stretching all the way to the end of one’s vision.
My current seat is also very good; although I am still being held tightly, it has gradually become warm.
“…If only there were movies.”
For some reason, I let out such a strange lament.
Neither Morgan nor Merlin responded.
They didn’t know what a movie was, and thus didn’t know how to respond to me.
Immediately after, my brain began to wander involuntarily.
Many movies related to King Arthur automatically appeared in my mind, such as ‘Legend of the Sword’, ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’, the realistic ’04 version of ‘King Arthur’, and the nostalgic ’85 version of ‘King Arthur’.
I even thought of many movies or masterpieces based on King Arthur, such as ‘The Lion King’, ‘If the Emperor had a Text-to-Speech Device’…
Wait?
The Emperor’s prototype is also King Arthur?
It seems GW is indeed a group of British people, and the Emperor really is just a space version of King Arthur…
Just like that, many memories that I previously couldn’t recall at all surfaced in my mind, a jumbled mess, utterly chaotic.
If I weren’t in the Paradise, held tightly by Morgan and feeling no pain at all, I would have thought this was the life review before death—though come to think of it, it was indeed strange that I didn’t have a life review when I died before…
Thus, my thoughts became increasingly muddled and my ideas more bizarre as time slipped away in this daydream.
I seemed to have returned to a time long, long ago, to the very beginning.
My own time felt stagnant; only when the external environment changed could I realize just how much time had passed.
However, in this Paradise free of pain and illness, there was no night, and the sun in the sky remained fixed at a single point, motionless.
Morgan and Merlin both remained silent.
I seemed to have been in stasis for a long time, yet it also felt as if I had only been spacing out for five or six minutes before I managed to snap back to my senses.
“…By the way, what happened to Mordred?
Did she… This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
did she die?” I asked suddenly.
“Oh…
I see.
She must be in a lot of pain right now, isn’t she?
I…
I want to see her, to say a few words to her.” My tone was incredibly calm, and even I didn’t understand why.
“Perhaps seeing her of my own accord would cause her more pain?
But I think if we talk things through, her suffering might be eased a bit, right?”
“Artoria…
rest for a while first.” Morgan’s voice finally stopped trembling.
It was very gentle and reassuring, just like a mother’s.
“The King’s story has ended.
Before a new story begins, take a good rest.
There’s no need to rush regarding Mordred; she needs to rest properly as well.”
“Mm…
okay…”
Morgan’s words seemed to possess a special magic, and I immediately agreed to her request.
Then, I closed my eyes.
My mind was still wandering, but it soon returned to peace.
Perhaps my broken body had truly reached its limit?
This time, I fell asleep very quickly.
There were no dreams, no bizarre memories, no chaotic thoughts, no incurable rhinitis, no joint pain from rheumatism, no sudden awakenings from the feeling that ‘there’s still important work to finish,’ no interruptions from emergencies, no constant stream of Assassins, no hunger that could never be satisfied, no numbness from being corroded by dark magic, no tangled mess of worries…
there was nothing, absolutely nothing, not even darkness.
For the first time since I became Artoria Pendragon at the age of eight, I slept so peacefully and comfortably.
When I opened my eyes, the sky was still just as blue, and the sea of flowers was still just as vibrant.
I was still lying in Morgan’s arms, but Merlin and Mordred were now by my side.
The two of them sat next to me, gazing up at the future sky, their purple and golden eyes filled with a distant look, lost in thought.
Because of my persistent rhinitis, I tended to snore while sleeping.
But judging by their reactions, they hadn’t noticed I was awake, which meant I probably didn’t snore during this sleep, right?
This put me at ease; at least I hadn’t disturbed them.
“Artoria…
are you awake?”
Morgan asked me.
Since I had opened my eyes, of course I was awake.
But I understood that Morgan wasn’t asking if I had woken up, but rather if I intended to keep sleeping.
“Yes, I’m awake,” I replied.
Merlin and Mordred immediately turned their gazes toward me.
The difference was that Mordred only took one look before averting her eyes.
“Do you want something to eat?” Morgan asked.
“Is there anything good to eat here?”
“There is honey, fruit, vegetables, and various fungi—none of them are toxic.”
“Mm…
is there any meat?” I asked bluntly.
Because I really did want to eat meat; eating meat was what made me feel most comfortable and satisfied.
Morgan didn’t answer…
After a long, long time, she finally responded.
“Artoria…
you want to eat meat?”
“The last time I ate meat was in Rome, wasn’t it?
Or was it Ravenna…
after that was a very long march, and I didn’t eat meat the whole time.
I didn’t have time to eat any after returning to Britain before this happened.
So I really want some…
chicken or pork would be fine, but what I want most is beef, especially beef pan-fried in palm oil…
or mutton soup simmered with mushrooms, both are delicious.”
However, as I poured my heart out, tears once again dripped onto my face.
My mind immediately went blank; I couldn’t fathom what part of that had made Morgan sad.
So, almost as an instinct, I tried to apologize.
“Ah, sorry, Sister, if there’s no meat— mmm mmm…”
My mouth was instantly covered.
Morgan used a great deal of force to cover my mouth.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but not a single word came out.
I blinked and thought for nearly ten seconds before finally realizing where the problem lay.
This was Avalon, a Paradise without pain or illness; such a thing as ‘meat’ did not exist here.
Even if an animal were willing to sacrifice itself, it couldn’t produce edible meat—because only by draining an animal’s blood can you cut off delicious meat.
Meat that hasn’t been bled is difficult to process, and even when made into a dish, it’s not tasty at all; it doesn’t count as meat.
But…
why cry?
If there’s no meat in Avalon, you can just say so; it’s not a big problem.
Things like mushrooms, tofu, and various tubers can all serve as meat substitutes, can’t they?
I really wanted to say that, but my mouth was blocked by Morgan.
She didn’t want me to continue speaking, so I could only comply for now.
Morgan’s chest heaved violently as she took several deep breaths to suppress her emotions.
“…I understand, Merlin.
We’ll do as you said.
I won’t oppose it anymore.”
Suddenly, Morgan lost all her strength and let go of me.
I propped myself up with my left hand and stood up with difficulty.
Then, Merlin and Mordred stood up as well. This story is hosted at g.com.
Their expressions…
how should I put it?
They looked lost and dejected, yet there was also a sense of relief.
Fortunately, there was no sorrow; if even they showed expressions of grief, I really wouldn’t know how to face them.
Only Morgan sat despondently among the flowers, looking so broken she seemed as if she might wither at any moment.
“…So, Merlin, what are we doing?” I asked softly.
“Was this discussed while I was asleep?”
“Yes, my King…”
Hearing that title, I immediately interrupted Merlin: “I am no longer a king, Merlin.
The crown of the island of Britain has been lost forever; it can only be reforged by future generations themselves.
From now on…
just call me Artoria.
It’s a nice name.”
“Very well, Artoria.” Merlin quickly adapted to the change.
“…Artoria, while you were deep in sleep, I reconsidered our current situation and overturned my previous deduction—the King’s story has indeed ended, but that power within you that determines fate has not dissipated.
Therefore, you need to continue your life.”
“Aren’t we just waiting for that moment to arrive?” I asked calmly.
“Or did something happen?”
“…Nothing happened, and it is this very phenomenon that overturned my previous prediction.” Merlin paused, took a deep breath, and summoned her courage before answering: “Artoria, the one speaking is you, but that power turned your words into prophecies, and those prophecies linked together to form a trajectory.
That trajectory is the story of King Arthur…
Therefore, there is no entity forcing you to do anything.
The only existence that can decide Artoria’s fate is Artoria herself.”
Perhaps because I had just woken up, I didn’t understand what Merlin was saying.
I lacked any sense of reality regarding Merlin’s words.
In my impression, something called ‘power’ should at least be perceivable.
For instance, my dark magic was something that could cause destruction and be easily felt.
But things like ‘fate’ or ‘prophecy’—forget about me, even gods couldn’t feel them.
Only those sages with extraordinary wisdom could vaguely perceive the existence of such things.
I was reasonably adept at minor cleverness like schemes and political maneuvers.
As for perceiving fate, forget it.
Realizing I didn’t understand, Merlin let out a breath and explained to me in simpler terms: “Let’s put it this way, Artoria.
Suppose there is a book that records everything in the world; this book is called the ‘Akashic Records.’ The power born with your soul is the pen that can write in this book.
The pen itself cannot write; only the holder of the pen can.
Your will and your words are written in this book by this pen.
Thus, your experiences become your will.”
“I don’t think that’s how it is,” I immediately retorted.
“I don’t actually have the talent of a king.
I can’t become a model, a signpost, or a star in the sky.
If I really had this power, shouldn’t I have possessed talent instantly?
As soon as I spoke, shouldn’t everyone have immediately agreed, even striving for it as an ideal?
But no…
I am still an ordinary person.
I can only manipulate everyone through interests, distribution, fear, lies, and all sorts of unseemly things.
Remember Pellinore?
I spoke to him a lot, but he didn’t agree.
He even broke the sword of selection and tried to kill me, saying I would only bring destruction, hurling insults at me.
I responded to his malice.
Later, I captured him alive, poisoned him with poisoned wine in front of everyone, and then ordered the butcher to skin him, preserve it with lime and salt, put it on a scarecrow, and place it on top of the fortress tower.
Only then did everyone barely refrain from resisting me—this was something I had to do.”
I was indeed a tyrant; there was no doubt about it, and no one could deny it.
If one truly had great talent, who would want to be hated by everyone?
Only a truly incompetent king is forced to act this way.
Even so, the journey was full of stumbles and difficulties, breaking through bottom lines bit by bit until I became someone everyone hated.
To the point that before the expedition to Rome, more than half of the Knights of the Round Table had retired because of the Holy Grail quest, and even Tristan, just like in the original story, left behind the words ‘The King…’
After returning to Britain, the remaining army and nobles all rebelled.
Then, for some inexplicable reason, a venomous snake appeared during the negotiations, and everyone began slaughtering each other like mortal enemies.
Most died at Camlann, to the point that I didn’t even have the desire to live on.
If I truly had the power of destiny, why did it turn out like this?
Why wouldn’t everyone believe me?
Why did I have to constantly coerce, apply pressure, and put a knife to their throats before they would nod?
This shows that it wasn’t me controlling this power, but this power controlling me.
I was just an actor with a hollow exterior.
I had no other choice; I gave my all to perform and this was the best I could do…
What else could I have done?
I kept these words bottled up inside, not wanting to say them out loud, otherwise it would sound like I was complaining.
In the end, I was just a liar, pretending to be King Arthur, playing out her life.
That’s right, I’m a big liar.
I’m not King Arthur at all, not Artoria.
I just put on a layer of skin, a vengeful spirit disguised as King Arthur, disguised as Artoria.
Mimicking her, playing her role, walking the path she once walked, and reaching the same conclusion as her.
And now, this skin has even become a part of me.
Am I to act for a lifetime?
How could I possibly agree?
How could I possibly accept this?
I…
I really want to rest.