"Ugh~ My head... hurts."
Time travel.
Without any warning or reason, the moment he opened his eyes, the scenery and surroundings became completely unfamiliar. His senses quickly returned, and while he seemed to have endless strength surging through his body, he felt so weak he couldn't even lift his arms. The contradictory, confusing sensation left Arthur speechless for a moment.
He was stunned for a few seconds. His ears were filled with the sound of rolling wheels and the uncomfortable vibration beneath his body.
Is this a carriage?
"What did you say, Arthur?"
Arthur looked toward the source of the voice and saw a stunningly beautiful woman with long platinum-blonde hair seated opposite him.
She looks familiar. Do I recognize her?
—Morgan le Fay!
"It's nothing. I just felt a little unwell just now. Mother, don't worry about me," Arthur responded instinctively.
Then he froze.
Even though he had never encountered this language before, he could understand its meaning and speak it fluently.
A strange yet familiar feeling.
A strong yet fragile body.
Everything was contradictory. The overwhelming sense of disharmony made Arthur fall silent. Panic rose in his chest, and his heart wouldn't stop racing. But he knew that finding the cause of this incident wasn't the most urgent task. More important was ensuring the woman in front of him didn't notice anything strange.
So, Arthur chose to remain quiet, lowering his head gradually.
Morgan noticed everything Arthur did.
Under normal circumstances, this reaction would have aroused her suspicion. But with the special day fast approaching—and given her previous impressions of Arthur—everything seemed perfectly natural.
"Are you still unwilling to cooperate with my plan?" Morgan muttered, her tone soft but with a hint of coldness in her eyes. "Arthur, you must understand—I should be the one first in line to the throne. All my actions are justified. Do you really think it's reasonable that all of Camelot hinges on a silly prophecy and a broken sword?"
That's the most ridiculous thing, right?
Morgan had always scoffed at such ideas.
The highest and most powerful position in a country, neither inherited nor earned through ability. Instead, they gather a group of people to attempt pulling a sword out of a stone—one inscribed with "The one who pulls this sword shall be the chosen king of Britain"—when in reality, it's just a sword sealed by magic?
Even if it was merely symbolic, success in this stunt would still cause serious damage to the Pendragon family's prestige.
It was absurd. Completely ridiculous.
But now, Morgan found herself powerless to stop this farce from unfolding.
"If this continues, a mere fourteen-year-old will take the throne that should rightfully belong to me. Is that fair?!"
Morgan nearly screamed, her tone overly emotional.
Rather than questioning Arthur, it sounded more like she was venting her frustration at the injustice of it all.
Arthur remained silent. The crucial information he had just heard made him extremely uneasy.
Sword drawing? Choosing a king? Camelot? Arthur?
The body's memories began to resurface.
From the names and places now appearing in his mind, he could basically conclude he was living in an era preserved in myth—the legend of King Arthur.
The woman before him was the Princess of Camelot, Morgan le Fay, known as the Enchantress of Britain.
And he—he was 'Arthur.' Arthur Pendragon.
Of course, he wasn't 'the' Arthur, the legendary King of Camelot. He was just a tool created by Morgan with magic half a year ago—a biological puppet meant to usurp the throne through a classic bait-and-switch.
There was a prophecy circulating through the land: a great King would one day pull the sword from the stone, become the ruler of Britain, and defeat the white dragon. People were eagerly awaiting its fulfillment.
So as long as someone named 'Arthur' pulled out the sword at the right time and place, everyone would believe he was the chosen king. No one would care whether the original crown prince was dead or alive. Even Merlin would have no choice but to stay silent.
That was Morgan's plan.
Simple and crude—but effective.
Since she couldn't obtain the throne herself, she created a controllable King Arthur.
And so, he bore the name Arthur.
From the moment he gained consciousness, everyone—including Morgan—called him that, training him to be a puppet king.
Unfortunately for Morgan, 'Arthur' was more knight than king.
Noble in spirit. Upright in values.
Such an "Arthur" naturally refused to cooperate with Morgan's conspiracy. Yet, as her son, he didn't wish to expose her scheme either. So, on the eve of the sword-drawing ceremony, he chose to take poison. And thus—here he was.
After piecing together these memories, Arthur looked up at Morgan, his expression complicated.
"Arthur, you don't need to doubt the legitimacy of my actions. Even if what we're about to do is considered a conspiracy—so what? The prophecy of the white and red dragons, the sword of the king—they're Merlin's conspiracy. Allowing an unworthy fool to become king and lead Britain to ruin would be the true sin. If we have the power, then this is the greatest good we can do," Morgan said earnestly.
If it were anyone else, Morgan wouldn't have explained so much.
So what if this 'son' was her own creation?
In her eyes, he was just a slightly more valuable tool. She used schemes to deceive, temptation to seduce, torture to coerce. And if all else failed, she'd brainwash or overpower someone through magic.
She had many means. She didn't earn the title of Britannia's Enchantress for nothing.
But…
Morgan's gaze softened as she looked at Arthur.
"Arthur, unlike your brothers, you're my most beloved—and only—son. I've given you all my love. So please, don't make things difficult for me, alright?"
What a strange little creature. When did this change happen?
At first, she'd treated him as disposable. But now, Morgan realized she'd come to view him as her real son. Despite never experiencing romantic love herself, she now felt something like the tenderness of a new mother.
Perhaps this is maternal instinct?
In truth, Morgan—who lacked understanding of many mortal emotions—had hastily labeled the strange warmth in her heart as "maternal love."
"Mother..."
Facing Morgan's gentle expression, Arthur found it hard to reject her outright, though his answer remained unchanged.
A king?
Oh, please.
There are countless examples from ancient times to now—just looking at the history of China, emperors had an average life expectancy of around thirty years.
In short: becoming a king = dying early = dying miserably.
End of discussion. You couldn't drag him to that throne even if you beat him half to death!
Arthur narrowed his eyes, scanning the area.
The luxurious carriage was small. Coupled with his physical weakness, his chances of escaping from Morgan were practically zero.
What to do...?
It's just a con.
He didn't care who ruled the kingdom. He considered himself an ordinary person.
He couldn't be a knight, nor a king—ruling a country was beyond him. He had to refuse because he knew his own limits. Still, perhaps he could give Morgan some advice.
Even if his 21st-century knowledge couldn't help her steal the throne, it might help improve her public image and slowly soothe her resentment.
Being king was the pinnacle of power, yes—but everyone from the 21st century knew it wasn't a blessing.
The endless government affairs would rob him of all freedom.
Besides, even without Morgan's help, Arthur could just invent something, start a business, and become a carefree rich man. Or he could get a noble title and enjoy a second life in wealth and comfort. Wouldn't that be great?
Yes—if he could just get Morgan to realize how miserable a king's private life really was, he could laze around as a salted fish in this era~!
So, let me say this here—
"I..."
But the words never came.
[The program is loaded and binding is complete. Hello, dear host. The Great King System is happy to serve you.]
Arthur: "..."
Great. The mandatory cheat code for time travelers has finally gone online. But sorry—I, Arthur, just want to live an ordinary life.
[Scan complete.]
Host: Arthur Pendragon
Talents: Red Dragon Factor-False (artificial), Demonic Appearance MAX, Power of Beauty (incomplete), Beautiful Young Man MAX
Special: Magical Artificial Life Form
[Warning: Host's life form is incomplete. According to the system's calculations, the host will experience rapid aging in two years and three months, and will die of exhaustion in three years and nine months.]
Arthur was stunned. He turned to look at Morgan, eyes blank.
British swear! Sister, what's wrong with you?! You gave me all your love... and this is it?!
This is your so-called deep love for your son?!
I—Arthur—am a time traveler, and I only have three years and nine months left to live!
The emotional whiplash, more intense than a roller coaster, made Arthur take a deep breath.
He resolved then and there that this second life he had gained would not be wasted due to an early death!
[Task Triggered]
Draw the Sword
Requirements: Pull the Sword from the Stone and claim the throne of Camelot.
Reward: One-time body optimization. (Note: After optimization, host's lifespan will be adjusted to the normal human range.)
Perfect. Very motivating!
"I, Arthur, am determined to be king!" Arthur declared solemnly, raising his hand with great conviction.
"Ah, I knew little Arthur would understand me," Morgan said with a relieved smile, secretly dispersing the puppet magic she had prepared.
And so, the carriage—carrying two people with entirely different motives—rolled steadily toward the sword-drawing ceremony.