Chapter 111: Prelude  

British Dynasty, Fourth Year, Fifth Month.

Since the formal declaration of war by Rome and the Baptist King, only two major events had stirred the land.

First—Merry returned safely from her mission in Rome.

Second—Skadi led the Ghost Shark Force, Britain's elite naval unit, to two consecutive victories at sea, utterly annihilating a Roman fleet.

Aside from those, all other developments were merely routine reports—skirmishes and engagements resembling those of prior years. The Saxons could not be fully destroyed, and the British made no move to exterminate them outright.

So, in the eyes of the common people, peace still reigned. Life remained as leisurely as before.

But within Camelot's castle, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful.

Ministers moved briskly through the halls, some calculating figures and delivering intelligence, others sorting documents, responding to regional requests and anomalies. The knights were immersed in war-related logistics and coordination.

Everyone had a role to play—and Arthur had taught them well: In war, nothing is trivial. Even the intelligence reported by a low-ranking soldier must be taken seriously. A seemingly minor detail might determine the outcome of a battle.

This truth was well-known, yet difficult to practice. Status inevitably filtered perception. What a general sees differs from what a soldier on the ground sees.

Even with the best intentions, subconscious bias could still lead to oversight.

Until one day—Merlin cast a shared dream across the entire administration.

In it, the officials found themselves as ordinary foot soldiers. They lived through a battle lost because of a single ignored detail. They watched their comrades fall, and saw Britain collapse into ruin.

When they woke, shaken and pale, they understood.

They understood why the little things mattered.

Arthur was very pleased.

In that moment, he felt he'd finally discovered the correct way to use Merlin.

Of course, while his officials labored, Arthur himself was hardly idle.

He sat in his study, examining the magical device on his wrist. It resembled a watch, fitted with a small, glowing crystal.

"...Yes, that's it. The goal is to draw the Humble King into action. As for the Saxons—reduce the killing where possible. We'll need them later for labor: paving roads, building cities." Arthur murmured.

This device was a new model of communication crystal.

More stable. More efficient.

Previous models were unreliable in areas saturated with True Ether. A skilled warrior's mere presence could disturb the ambient magic and sever connections. If such interference disrupted communications between Arthur and the front lines at a critical moment—it would be disastrous.

Arthur had learned that lesson early.

Still, as he held the device, he hesitated.

Some orders had already been issued. But what if they failed? The public might grow restless.

War was never a sure thing. Every engagement was a gamble. And though Arthur had always been lucky—never cheated, never failed—every command he issued was a wager. If he guessed wrong, the cost would be real: wasted supplies, wasted lives.

After a moment of reflection, he gave the order.

"Sir Lamorak, begin relocating the civilians from your city to the new settlement. Draven will handle their accommodations—both housing and employment."

He waited. Once the confirmation came, he exhaled in relief, then turned his attention back to the other fronts, issuing new instructions.

Just then—

"What does my king intend to do?"

Gawain, passing the office on business, paused at the doorway.

He couldn't help but speak.

"It would be so simple to destroy our enemies now. Both I and Sir Lancelot could wipe out the front lines with ease. So why delay? Even if we suffer no losses... for the people, surely swift action is best?"

Apparently, he hadn't fully absorbed the implications of their last council—particularly the matter of Vortigern, the White Dragon.

"My king has his own considerations." Merlin appeared behind him, smiling as always. "And you, Sir Gawain, need only perform your duty. Or do you doubt that our king will triumph?"

"Never." Gawain rejected the thought outright. "The idea that my king might lose... I cannot even imagine such a thing."

To Gawain, Arthur's eyes held absolute truth. From the moment he drew the sacred sword, he had stood above fate. His victory was a certainty, foretold by divine right.

The people believed it. So did Gawain.

"Good," Merlin said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now off with you. You'll be heading to the front soon. Best finish your handover with Sir Kay."

As Gawain turned to go, Merlin's smile faded.

"Gawain," he called again, his tone suddenly grave. "As a knight, what do you truly think of our king?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you believe he is strong?"

"Of course. He could shatter a fortress with a single strike."

"Indeed." Merlin nodded. "Or even a planet, with enough force."

He paused.

"But then—how many times have you actually seen him wield that power?"

Gawain froze.

That... was a difficult question.

Arthur rarely fought. Aside from the sword-drawing ceremony and the moment he received the holy sword, Gawain could not recall seeing him truly take action.

But those two moments had been seared into memory.

They were more than enough to convince Gawain of his king's might.

"Sir Gawain," Merlin said gently. "You can destroy a fortress with one strike too, can't you? Why do you belittle yourself?"

"That's—" Gawain faltered.

"You believe in our king. That's admirable. But don't let devotion blind you. He is indeed powerful—more than you or I. More, even, than he realizes. But he has never fully confronted that power."

Gawain fell silent.

"To protect him," Merlin continued, "you must help him recognize it. No one—not even I—can watch over him forever. You, as his sword and shield, must help him see the strength he hides."

That evening, moved by Merlin's words, Gawain approached Arthur after his work.

He made a strong request—for combat training.

Under Arthur's unreadable gaze (and Manaka's murderous one), Gawain dragged his king to the old training arena.

For the first ten minutes, Gawain held his own.

For the next ten—

Arthur absolutely demolished him.

Hung him up like laundry.

Beat him so badly that Gawain began to suspect Merlin's speech had been directed at him instead.

Merlin, you liar!

My king is unbeatable!

-End Chapter-

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