Chapter 121

The man's inability to lift the mysterious hammer soon earned him a shower of amused laughs, much to his displeasure. "If you guys are so strong, why don't you give it a try? This thing is far heavier than it looks," he defended himself.

And in response to his words, plenty of people who just stood around watching couldn't help themselves from stepping up.

"Step aside," one man said, rolling up his sleeves. "Let a real man show you how it's done."

He clambered up onto the pedestal, bracing his boots against the cold stone as he wrapped both hands around the weathered handle. He grinned, playing up the moment for the small crowd that had gathered. He even gave a wink to a group of giggling tourists recording the scene on their phones.

But the second he pulled, his grin faltered.

It didn't budge.

He strained, veins standing out on his neck, his boots slipping against the aged stone, but the hammer might as well have been welded to the earth.

"C'mon, mate, you skipping arm day?" someone shouted, earning a round of chuckles.

The man stepped back, panting, his pride dented. "Alright, alright. It's just stuck. That's all."

Another stepped up, then another, each one met with the same unyielding resistance. The hammer didn't shift, didn't so much as wobble. A few tried the slow, steady approach, gripping it with both hands and attempting to lift with their legs. Others went for the classic, overconfident heave, as if willing the hammer to rise through sheer force of personality.

None succeeded.

By now, a decent crowd had formed, phones held high to capture the scene, a mix of laughter and whispered speculation rippling through them.

Given how popular this statue was as a tourist spot, and how interested everyone was in anything special happening in this city, people quickly got attracted by all the chatter on social media.

As the crowd grew, so did the determination of those trying to lift the hammer. Some tried clever approaches—wedging sticks beneath for leverage, or trying to twist it instead of just lifting—but none had any more luck than the first few.

A pair of teenagers even wrapped a belt around the handle, forming an impromptu pulley system, but the leather snapped under the strain, sending them stumbling back into the fountain with a splash, to the crowd's roaring laughter.

It was turning into quite the spectacle. Vendors began to set up nearby, selling cold drinks, snacks, and hastily printed T-shirts with slogans like "I Tried to Lift the Hammer" and "King for a Day." The fountain plaza started to feel more like a festival ground, and it wasn't long before local news reporters caught wind of the commotion.

One particularly bold tourist even brought over a portable speaker, blasting epic orchestral music as the next wave of challengers lined up to try their hand.

"I'm telling you, it's got to be a trick," a woman whispered to her friend as they watched another muscle-bound tourist struggle and fail. "Maybe it's magnetic, or maybe it's glued down."

"Glued?" her friend scoffed. "What kind of glue could be that strong? It got to be magic."

The whole thing turned into a crazy part, but soon enough, a strong, cold voice broke through the noisy, lively atmosphere.

"What is going on here!" It wasn't a question; it was a command, and it quickly got the attention of the crowd, which grew quiet; only the music was still blasting away.

The voice belonged to a tall, imposing figure in dark armor. His aged face was cold as ice. A long blue cloak tripped with white fur hung down his body, almost reaching the ground.

All the knights of the Round Table were well known, and each had their own reputations.

Sir Gareth was well known as the only female knight, and beloved by all.

Sir Percival was revered for his sunny and kind disposition.

Almost all the knights were kind, just, and all-around good people; only a single knight had a less-than-stellar reputation.

Even Lancelot and Mordred weren't given the same treatment as that one person.

And that was the king's royal strategist, the cold knight Sir Agravain.

The crowd fell silent at the sight of him, the festive atmosphere cooling like a sudden winter breeze. Even the boldest tourists took a step back, some lowering their phones as if the very act of recording might earn them his ire.

Sir Agravain's eyes swept over the scene, taking in the scattered tourists, the dripping teenagers still recovering from their failed pulley attempt, and the hammer itself, still perched arrogantly on the stone pedestal beneath the statue of the Young King.

For a moment, his hard gaze lingered on the hammer, his lips thinning as if in disapproval. Then he turned his attention to the crowd, his voice like the crack of a blade on a shield.

"This is a sacred place," he said, his tone as sharp as the chill in his eyes. "Not a playground for fools and tourists. Return to your business, and stop making a spectacle of yourselves."

The crowd's awe deepened as knight after knight emerged, each a living legend in their own right. The gathered tourists exchanged hushed whispers, eyes wide as they recognized the iconic figures stepping into the square.

Sir Kay, tall and broad-shouldered, approached first, his armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Unlike Agravain, his expression held a hint of amusement, a sharp contrast to the cold strategist beside him.

"Come now, Agravain," Kay said, his voice carrying a rough, brotherly warmth. "No need to scare off the tourists. They're just curious. It's not every day you find a hammer like that in a place like this."

Beside him strode Sir Gawain, his fiery red hair catching the light like a sunrise over the battlefield. He gave the crowd a reassuring nod, his presence alone enough to calm their nerves. Next came Sir Tristan, his face shadowed by a deep hood, his keen eyes flicking between the hammer and the crowd, ever watchful, ever silent.

Sir Gareth and her brother Gaheris weren't far behind, the former's warm smile and gentle wave doing much to ease the tension Agravain had cast over the square. Percival, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the marble, offered a kind, almost fatherly nod to the onlookers as he took his place among his brothers-in-arms.

Even Mordred appeared, the gleaming red armor and horned helm as intimidating as always.

With all these knights here now, the crowd had grown quiet, eagerly awaiting what this all was about.

"Now, why don't someone explain just what is going on here?" Gawain asked.

The crowd remained silent, eyes darting between the assembled knights and the hammer still perched defiantly on the stone pedestal. For a moment, no one spoke; the only sound was the distant murmur of the city and the soft splash of the fountain's water.

Finally, one brave tourist, a young woman in a bright yellow raincoat, cleared her throat and took a hesitant step forward. She had the look of someone who had just realized they were standing in the presence of living legends and was struggling to find her voice.

"W-We just… it's this hammer," she stammered, her eyes flicking nervously to Agravain, who regarded her with a frozen stare. "It just… appeared here, on the pedestal. No one knows where it came from."

Gawain stepped closer, his fiery red hair catching the sunlight, his green eyes narrowing as he studied the hammer. "Just appeared?" he repeated, his tone curious rather than accusatory. "You mean it wasn't here yesterday?"

The young woman shook her head quickly. "No, sir. I took a picture here just yesterday, and it definitely wasn't there then. It just… showed up this morning, and no one can move it."

Kay folded his arms, his expression shifting from mild amusement to interest. "So, it's not just stuck, then? It's more than that?"

"It's like it's part of the stone itself," another tourist chimed in, an older man in a baseball cap with a camera slung around his neck. "We've had all sorts try to lift it. Big guys, strong guys, even a couple of construction workers. It won't budge."

Mordred scoffed from her place near the edge of the group, arms crossed, the light catching on the jagged edges of her armor. "Maybe it's just a cheap trick. Some magic prank to make fools of you all."

Gawain shot her a sideways glance, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps. But it's an odd place for a prank, don't you think? Right at the foot of the King's statue?"

At that, the knights all grew a bit more serious, their eyes shifting to the hammer itself. It was an imposing thing up close, its metal head dark and etched with unfamiliar runes, its leather-wrapped handle worn but solid. It didn't match the aesthetic of Camelot at all, clashing with the clean marble and polished stone of the plaza.

Kay stepped closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over the hammer. He glanced at Agravain, who remained silent, his cold eyes fixed on the object. Then, with a shrug and a grin, Kay reached out and wrapped one massive hand around the handle.

"Release it, Kay, that is not something you should touch."

Kay paused, his fingers wrapped around the worn leather handle, and turned his head toward the speaker. His grin faltered for just a moment, his eyes narrowing as he met the sight of Arthuria in full armor.

And finally, he let go of the hammer, sure that there had to be a reason for her words.

Arthuria stepped forward, the sunlight catching on the polished silver of her armor, her white cloak trailing behind her like a banner in the breeze. She moved with a calm, unhurried grace, the weight of command evident in every step.

The crowd, already awestruck by the presence of so many knights, fell completely silent. Phones were lowered, breaths held. Even the boldest tourists dared not speak in her presence.

Arthuria reached the base of the statue, her eyes fixed on the hammer, and for a moment, the entire square seemed to hold its breath. She studied the strange object, her expression unreadable, under her helm.

The knights, even the usually brash Kay, watched her in respectful silence, each instinctively stepping back to give their king space. Mordred tilted her head, watching with a curious gleam in her eyes, while Gawain's normally warm expression grew serious.

Under the watch of my knights and my people, I cast my eyes onto the hammer of Thor, Mjolnir.

With my Fae eyes, I saw far more than just metal. With my divine gaze, I saw right through its essence. "Whosoever holds this hammer, should he be worthy, shall wield the power of Thor."

I slowly resisted the words laid on the hammer, the magical restrictions of Odin.

Beside her, Gawain stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he glanced from the hammer to his king. "Your majesty, what is it? You speak as if you recognize this thing."

I nodded, finally looking away from the hammer, satisfied with what I had seen, what secrets I had uncovered. "I do. This is no ordinary weapon. It is Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor."

The knights around her exchanged glances, confusion mingling with curiosity.

"Thor?" Kay asked, folding his arms over his broad chest. "As in the same guest who should be arriving? Why is his hammer here?"

"Yes, the very same one. And Mjolnir was forged in the heart of a dying star, enchanted by the All-Father himself. It is a weapon of divine power, bound by the will of Odin. Only those he deems worthy may lift it."

Mordred's red eyes narrowed behind her horned helm. "Worthy?" She scoffed, her gauntleted fingers flexing. "And what counts as worthy, exactly?"

"That is entirely up to Odin to decide, as it is his enchantment, but I'm sure you are smart enough to figure out what it truly means." I said, layering my words, and the smartest of them quickly picked up on what I meant.

"Your Majesty," Gareth spoke up, her youthful face creased with concern. "Do you intend to try and lift it?"

I chuckled, the sound quiet yet clear enough for my knights to hear. "No, this weapon is not meant for me or any of you. My blade is Excalibur, my spear is Rhongomyniad. I have no need for a weapon that is not mine, nor do any of you."

I straightened, letting my voice carry the full weight of my command. "Heed my words, knights of mine. None of you are to touch this hammer, nor attempt to lift it. It is not our test to take, nor our prize to claim. Leave it for those whom it calls."

I saw the flicker of understanding in their eyes, the subtle shift as they accepted my decree. Even Kay, who rarely took orders without a hint of challenge, gave a small nod, his expression turning thoughtful as he glanced back at the hammer.

"However," I continued, my gaze sweeping over the watching crowd, the tourists still lingering at the edge of the square, their phones still pointed our way, "I will not forbid others from trying. If they wish to test their worth, let them. Perhaps this city, this world, will find a new champion among them."

"Should any be proven worthy and gain the powers of a god, I invite you to my castle!" I said as I looked at the stunned crowd. "Let them try, but have some enforcement knights keep the order." I gave one final order to Agravain as I turned, my white cloak trailing behind me as I headed home.

(End of chapter)

So Mjolnir is here, and naturally, a mysterious hammer is gonna draw attention, and given this time it didn't land in the middle of nowhere, lots more people would notice it.

And with Arthuria telling the whole world the truth about said hammer, it's going to be chaos. After all, this is the power of a god! Surely everyone will want to try to lift that, won't they?

The next chapter or two will be seeing us learn more about Mjolnir, Thor, and the situation with the power of a god waiting to be picked up.

I wonder who would be interested in such a thing?