Return to the Day of the King Selection

A familiar field filled the view.

The cool evening breeze gently brushed against the face, the setting sun cast a warm glow on the body, and the scent of fresh green grass wafted through the air.

"This…"

Mordred looked around.

This wasn't the underground chamber of Yggdmillennia, but a meadow. In the distance stood a structure with a strikingly familiar style, surrounded by people dressed in attire from her era. Her ears could still pick up the familiar accent.

"Have I… returned?"

Mordred recalled.

She and Naoki had reached the Holy Grail's location, and before anyone could be attacked, they made a wish to the Grail.

[Return to the day of the king's selection, challenge the sword in the stone.]

And so…

Gazing at the sword embedded in a large stone before her, along with the inscription carved into it—[Whosoever pulls this sword from the stone shall be the King of Britain]—

"So this is… the sword in the stone that Father King pulled?"

The Sword in the Stone—Caliburn. Compared to the Holy Sword Mordred knew, the one before her resembled a ceremonial blade more than a weapon for battle. Its blade was too slender, as if it might snap if bent, and its ornate decorations made it seem unfit to be tainted by blood.

By pulling this sword, she could prove that Father King's judgment was wrong and demonstrate her qualifications to be Britain's king.

With that thought, Mordred approached the stone. Under the gazes of everyone around, she reached out and grasped the sword's handle.

There's no way I can't pull the sword from the stone—Mordred had always believed this.

But now, as she gripped the hilt and tried to pull it out…

"I… can't pull it?"

As if rooted deep within the stone or connected to the entire earth through it, no matter how hard Mordred tried, the sword remained firmly fixed, not budging an inch!

"What is this?!"

How could she fail to pull the sword from the stone? She was undoubtedly destined to be king—she had even defeated King Arthur himself! The sword should've been easy to pull!

Mordred gripped the hilt with both hands, summoning all her strength to yank the sword free.

Yet, just like before, despite exerting every ounce of her power until her hands ached, the sword showed no sign of loosening.

The golden sword, standing resolute in the stone, seemed to mock her, reflecting the twilight's light toward her.

"Sorry, may I try?"

At that moment, a familiar voice came from behind.

Her body jolted as if struck by lightning, Mordred turned to look—and saw a face identical to hers.

'Father King!'

Mordred instinctively wanted to shout.

But she quickly realized something was off. The Father King she knew was always just and impartial, with a cold, emotionless expression like a deity and a gaze devoid of feeling. But this Father King… looked so young, so innocent.

'Come to think of it, that jerk Kay once mentioned that Father King wasn't always like that at the start.'

Kay, a Round Table Knight, had served the King the longest. As Arthur's childhood friend, he occasionally shared private stories about Arthur's youth with other knights. The most frequent tale, unsurprisingly, was when Arthur first pulled Caliburn, traveling Britain with Merlin.

Honest, proactive, always giving her all. Aware of her inability to stand alone, slightly insecure, and appearing immature. She openly rejoiced in happy moments and expressed sorrow candidly when sad…

Overall, she was a pure young girl, brimming with dreams and aspirations, ever optimistic no matter the time or place.

"Sorry…"

Seeing Mordred linger, Artoria grew slightly anxious. And seeing that anxious expression on her face, for some reason, Mordred stepped aside as if fleeing.

She felt guilty staying there.

"Before you take that, you should think it over."

Just as Artoria stepped forward and grasped the hilt, a voice rang out in both Mordred's and Artoria's ears. Accompanied by the scent of flowers, a white-robed Mage appeared behind them.

"I won't harm you, so don't do that."

"Once you take that sword, until your final breath, you will cease to be human. Not only that, but by taking it, you will be hated by all of humanity, and you will face a tragic death."

Merlin!

Mordred nearly lunged to punch him instinctively. The Round Table Knights, including herself, had been toyed with by this scoundrel plenty during their lives!

But just before she could move, Artoria's words stopped her.

"No, many people are smiling. I think that can't be wrong."

Artoria spoke with a smile, her face showing not overwhelming joy but a hint of unease.

She didn't know if her decision was right or if she was the most suitable person to be king. Perhaps someone else was better suited, someone who could build a more peaceful kingdom.

But no such person existed, nor would one appear in the next decade. So, for now, someone had to bear this duty.

Looking at Artoria's slender figure from behind, Mordred suddenly felt a bit naive.

It seemed she had never truly grasped the weight of the phrase [becoming King of Britain]. She had only admired the King, influenced by her mother, idolizing Father King and aspiring to be like him because of that admiration.

As for what to do after becoming king, or the burdens to bear, she hadn't given it much thought.

"Father King…"

Mordred whispered.

And in that whisper, Artoria pulled the sword from the stone.

A fierce wind suddenly blew, as if celebrating the birth of Britain's King. Even the fading twilight light surged several times brighter, enveloping Artoria, who raised the sword, in a golden glow.

"You've chosen a difficult path, but magic comes at a price, King Arthur. To protect Britain, you must sacrifice what is most precious to you."

Facing Artoria, who had become something beyond human, Merlin spoke with a tinge of sorrow.

That was the last voice Mordred heard.

The twilight light reflected by Caliburn grew blindingly intense, overwhelming her vision in an instant and submerging her consciousness.