Chapter 69. The Distorted Coronation Ceremony

Chapter 69. The Distorted Coronation Ceremony

"Artoria, you…"

Ian was completely caught off guard by Artoria's words at this moment.

He and Morgan did, in fact, plan to secretly control the entire Knights' Order.

But that didn't mean Ian intended to personally join the Knights — that was never part of the original plan.

"Sir Ian, please don't be so surprised."

Artoria stood up.

The petite girl held a parchment filled with names and walked toward Ian.

"To be honest, among the names of knights listed here, I only recognize Gawain and my brother."

"But—"

Artoria looked at Ian.

"What I can be sure of is that Sir Ian's strength far surpasses my brother's."

"If he can become a member of the Knights' Order, then Sir Ian, who is stronger than him, deserves the same recognition."

"..."

Ian hadn't expected that his efforts to cover up the plan of getting all his children into the Knights' Order would lead Artoria to quickly associate it with a matter of capability.

Damn it.

If Kay were stronger than him, this association might not have arisen.

Then again, without the guise of "King Lot," his real combat experience was more than double that of all his children combined.

If Kay had that level of power, he'd probably have gone to settle accounts with Vortigern himself by now.

However, that didn't change the fact that this arrangement wasn't part of the plan.

Ian began to hesitate.

Seeing the man before her remain silent, Artoria stepped closer, eventually pressing her cheek directly against his chest.

"Though it might be selfish of me to say this, Sir Ian, forming the Knights' Order is truly very important to me."

"So, even if it might not be what you want, I still want to insist on my stance."

"Please, help me, Sir Ian."

[You realize that Artoria is determined this time.]

[You don't know what will happen if you refuse her.]

[But your instincts tell you it won't be a good choice.]

[After much deliberation, you decide to temporarily agree to her request.]

"Very well, Artoria."

"If you are determined to add my name to that list, then so be it."

"Really?"

Artoria looked up, her brilliant blue eyes glistening with tears.

"I knew it, Sir Ian would never refuse me!"

Ian couldn't fathom why Artoria would shed tears over this.

But the more he looked at her, the stronger his urge to kill that Magus of Flower grew.

How could a young girl in her prime be burdened with such things?

[You use a hug to comfort Artoria.]

[After calming down, Artoria fully accepts the list of knights you've drafted.]

[She promises to grant all those on the list the recognition they deserve — and, of course, the Knights' Order will be further expanded in the future.]

[You leave Artoria's room.]

[Upon returning, you recount the matter to Morgan.]

"What did you just say?"

Morgan, standing by the window, turned her head and glared at Ian.

"That woman wants you to join the Knights' Order as well?!"

"That's right, Princess."

"No way!" Morgan refused outright without the slightest hesitation.

"Gawain and the others have already become members of the Knights' Order. Why on earth must you join too?!"

Ian wasn't surprised by Morgan's reaction.

In fact, if she hadn't reacted this way, he would have felt uneasy.

"Princess, while this request may seem excessive, if we don't agree to it, our entire plan could come to a halt here."

"However—"

"If you truly don't want this, I will refuse her immediately."

"..."

Morgan fell silent.

Ian knew she was carefully considering his words.

After a long pause, the proud Princess finally spoke in a soft voice:

"Ian, do you still love me?"

"Of course, I love you, Princess."

"Then—"

Morgan displayed an expression that suggested she was making a difficult decision, one she could not back away from.

"Then do as you said."

"However, you'd better not forget what you just said — that you love me."

"Of course, Princess."

"My love for you is eternal."

[In the end, Morgan agreed to everything.]

[You knew it stemmed from her unyielding obsession with the throne.]

[At this stage, there was no way she could back down.]

[You realized that, deep down, you had hoped she would refuse your joining the Knights' Order, but the result was the opposite.]

[Still, it didn't matter — at least you could still fulfill your original promise to help Morgan claim the throne at all costs.]

[Time gradually eased the inner turmoil within you.]

[Today is the day Artoria is officially crowned as king.]

[Early in the morning, Morgan demanded you bring her satisfaction, not stopping until she was completely content.]

"Princess."

While helping Morgan put on her garments, Ian asked:

"Though I know I shouldn't question your decision, the coronation ceremony is happening shortly."

"Doing this… is it really appropriate?"

"It's precisely because it's the coronation that I did this."

Morgan adjusted her attire and began combing her hair in front of the mirror.

"Not opposing her openly is already the greatest restraint I can muster."

"Why shouldn't I participate in the ceremony in my own way?"

"…"

Ian knew Morgan was in a foul mood, so he said nothing more.

He embraced her gently and spoke softly.

"Princess, just be patient a little longer. You will sit on that throne."

"Ian, I am in such pain."

"Princess, I understand."

As the two lingered together by the mirror, a knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?"

Ian shouted toward the ill-timed intruder outside.

"It's… me…"

A weak voice responded. It was the voice of a young palace maid.

"Lord Ian, the King of Knights wishes to discuss something with you."

"…"

Ian glanced at Morgan, whose reflection in the mirror radiated allure, her expression a mix of charm and reluctance.

"…Princess."

"Go." Morgan spoke with a calm demeanor.

"But Ian, remember to manage that 'long lance' of yours properly."

"Of course, Princess."

[You temporarily leave Morgan.]

[Guided by the maid, you arrive at Artoria's door.]

[You sense something feels off.]

"Lord Ian, I will take my leave now."

"Alright, go ahead."

Watching the maid's figure retreat into the distance, Ian hesitated briefly before finally knocking on the door.

He didn't know what awaited him behind it.

But he knew he had to knock.

"Who's there?"

Artoria's cold voice rang out.

To outsiders, she always maintained this distant tone.

"It's me."

The moment she recognized Ian's voice, Artoria's demeanor seemed to change entirely.

"Please wait a moment!"

A few minutes later, the door slowly creaked open a small crack.

But even through that narrow opening, Ian could see her clearly — Artoria, dressed in a white gown.

Confirming there was no one else around, she cheerfully spoke:

"Sir Ian, please come in!"

[Artoria leads you into the room.]

[As soon as you see the decor of the room, you are once again struck with deep astonishment.]

[Everything is so… unusual.]

"Artoria, what happened to your room again?"

As Ian had expected, Artoria's room was entirely different from the last time he had visited.

If it had previously been a clumsy replica of Morgan's room, this time, it truly reflected her own unique style — or perhaps something closer to King Uther's taste.

"Because you said it looked strange, I changed it."

Standing before Ian, Artoria's face turned bright red with embarrassment.

"Sir Ian, does it still bother you now?"

"…Not bad." Ian answered honestly.

"At the very least, I think this style suits you much better."

"Really?!" Artoria's face lit up with joy.

"That's wonderful!"

But then, as if she had just remembered something, she lowered her head and gently took Ian's hand.

"Sir Ian, do you know what day it is today?"

"…"

Hearing this, Ian felt a slight unease creeping into his heart, but he maintained a feigned smile on his face.

"It's the day everyone has been looking forward to since you drew the sword from the stone and made it a reality."

"Congratulations, Artoria."

"Umu…" Artoria responded shyly, her face flushed red.

"But Sir Ian, to be honest, I feel a little nervous."

"So—"

"Could you help me with something?"

"Artoria, you know there are certain things that wouldn't be proper for me to do, don't you?"

"Of course, I know." Artoria quickly replied.

"That's why this request absolutely won't cause any trouble for you, Sir Ian!"

Ian's confusion deepened.

"Well, if that's the case… what exactly is it?"

"Sir Ian, the way you taught me to enjoy wine last time was really interesting."

"So…"

With a slightly reddened face, Artoria reached out and lifted the white cloth covering the table nearby.

Beneath the cloth were several bottles of wine sealed with wooden stoppers.

The girl gently sat on the edge of the bed, nervously clutching the hem of her dress.

"Sir Ian, I want to complete this ceremony with a glass of Camelot wine that you mix."

"…"

Ian found himself being enlisted as a bartender — there was no good reason for him to refuse.

Luckily, thanks to Morgan, he had at least some knowledge of this field. Moreover, the wines Artoria had prepared were all of the finest quality.

Several types of wine blended perfectly within an exquisite decanter, forming a clear liquid that swirled and released a rich, aromatic fragrance.

At this moment, Ian truly understood why professional bartenders were so particular about their tools.

Decanters that could harmoniously blend wine like this weren't easy to come by.

However—

The decanter appeared to be full, with a risk of spilling if tipped too much.

But Ian had a solution.

Under Artoria's shy yet expectant gaze, Ian picked up a clean wooden stopper that had been rinsed in the wine.

"Artoria, if you feel uncomfortable, let me know."

"Mm~…"

Her legs trembled slightly.

The wooden stopper was gently inserted, sealing the liquid within the decanter and preventing any from spilling.

The flow from the inner fountain was blocked, ensuring no streams would escape.

"Is it alright?"

Ian helped Artoria to her feet.

"Or… should we stop here?"

"No." Artoria leaned closer to Ian, resting against him.

"This is perfect."

"Thank you, Sir Ian."

"I don't feel the least bit nervous anymore."

[The ceremony to crown Artoria proceeded amid an air of reverence and grandeur, but for you and Morgan, it felt like an unbearable farce.]

[Standing amidst the faceless crowd, you were cast as mere background figures in a story that now belonged to someone else.]

"..."

Morgan's expression teetered on the brink of collapse as she watched Artoria ascend the throne.

Were it not for her vice grip on your arm, channeling her fury into you as her silent anchor, the situation might have spiraled into chaos.

"That wretched girl..." Morgan's voice trembled with barely restrained anger.

"How dare she claim that throne!"

"It's alright, Princess. That throne isn't the one we seek," you whispered soothingly, your tone gentle yet firm.

"You once told me there would be a throne far grander, one meant only for you."

"But seeing her like this—"

Morgan's face contorted, her usual poise fractured by an unbridled storm of resentment.

"Ian, I can't stand it! Why her? Why not me?!"

"..."

You understood Morgan's pain all too well.

She had never accepted the so-called fate etched into her existence from birth.

In this moment, Artoria was her most loathsome rival, a symbol of all she had been denied.

Yet within your heart, a quiet turmoil brewed.

"Princess, does all of this feel unbearably unfair to you?"

"Yes!"

"I see."

You placed a hand on Morgan's shoulder, steadying her as her fiery gaze and vehement words laid bare her anguish.

But even as you reassured her, your eyes never left Artoria.

Sitting upon the throne, she radiated an aura of cold authority. And yet, you saw it—beneath her composure was the same defiance.

Artoria "mocked" this coronation as much as Morgan resented it.

The difference was that Artoria wore her victory as a crown, while Morgan drowned in her sorrow.

Yes, it was unfair.

And as someone willing to stain his hands for her cause, you knew exactly where your loyalty lay.

"Princess, even now, I remain your finest pawn, do I not?"

"…"

Morgan glanced at you, confusion flickering in her fiery gaze, puzzled by the timing of your words.

But it was a truth she had proclaimed many times before, and she saw no reason to deny it now.

"Of course, Ian. You are my most exceptional pawn."

"Then I'm glad to hear it."

You rose to your feet.

If you were merely a pawn, then being discarded was only natural, wasn't it?

If you were merely a pawn, then carrying out sordid deeds was just another duty, wasn't it?

If you were merely a pawn, then employing any means necessary to achieve victory was entirely justified, wasn't it?

In that case—

Sacrifice the pawn to take the queen.

Your gaze shifted to the girl seated upon the throne, her serene visage illuminated by the golden light of the ceremony.

Yes, exploiting the genuine trust she held for you, leading her toward utter ruin, was nothing but the logical next step.

Let it begin here, at her most exalted moment.

Shame her upon the throne she holds so dearly, in a way only you could orchestrate—hidden from the eyes of all others, yet devastatingly personal.