"'Whoever can pull the sword from the stone platform will be the chosen king of Britain...'"
Arthur carefully examined the sword—luxurious in every detail—and murmured softly, almost to himself.
A month had passed since the sword-drawing ceremony.
During this time, Arthur had come to Camelot.
The fortress city, hailed by the British as impregnable, revealed glaring weaknesses to Arthur's eyes.
It wasn't very large, nor did it boast the legendary pure white walls of myth. Its so-called wealth was only relative—while starvation was unknown, the common folk could scarcely spare extra money or food. Prosperity here was little more than an empty dream.
"Alas—the place everyone longs for, yet its streets lie so deserted. Can this be called prosperity?"
One could only imagine how hard life was in the rest of Britain.
No, perhaps it was unfair to compare today's Britain to the bustling first-tier cities Arthur remembered from the 21st century.
"Cold? Haha, I've been in Camelot for so long, and this is the first time I've heard such a description."
A voice behind him made Arthur frown, a chill creeping into his heart.
Without turning, he said, "Merlin, you may be the greatest magician in Britain, but no one denies it. Still, as I recall, your role is only that of a court magician serving the royal family. Since when does a court magician have the right to barge into the king's chambers without permission?"
"Oh dear, that's quite the headache—yes, a big headache," Merlin said, stepping forward and pinching Arthur's chin in mock affection. "Though my title is just court magician, I've always governed Camelot alongside the king. You know I have a good relationship with him."
"That would be the late King Uther, right? To me, you're just an ordinary court magician."
Arthur snorted.
In truth, calling Merlin 'just an ordinary court magician' was generous.
Stance-wise, Merlin and Arthur were undoubtedly adversaries.
Even now, Arthur nominally ruled Camelot, and Merlin—minister of the city—had only arrived with Artoria.
He had appeared, yet done nothing useful, failing even in his basic duties.
This seemed typical of Merlin. The people of Camelot had long grown used to it.
He neither helped nor hindered.
For that reason, Arthur treated Merlin with a laissez-faire attitude.
"And from what I understand, your relationship with your father isn't good. I might even say he hates you."
"Who's your father~? Easy to say, provided you truly are Uther's child."
Merlin smiled meaningfully.
"Hmph. No need for sarcasm. It's no concern of mine. At least it changes nothing."
Arthur paused, unwilling to continue the argument. "Just tell me why you came to see me. Also—where is Morgan?"
"Haha, Morgan? We should be causing trouble for Knight Kay right now."
Merlin's smile turned mischievous.
It seemed he had played another prank on Morgan the Supervisor and pinned the blame on Kay.
Similar antics had become commonplace in the past month. Morgan, Merlin's spy, was easily fooled and the subject of many humiliations. Either Morgan or Kay ended up the unfortunate target—it was embarrassing either way.
"You're as bad as ever."
"Don't say that. I'm a incubus. From a incubus's perspective, I'm actually quite kind."
"Other incubi behave themselves as long as they get food and don't come to the mortal world."
"But Camelot needs me."
"Not now. You can go."
"You said something that makes me sad again. The new king is truly evil-minded—a tyrant!"
"If you want to slander me, say it outside. No one will hear you here."
Arthur glanced around the impoverished castle.
Having recently taken over, Arthur had audited the finances and promptly dismissed most servants, replacing them with knights.
At least these knights—at this stage—were loyal to their king. Those favored might one day join the Knights of the Round Table and achieve unparalleled glory.
Of course, that was just wishful thinking.
Arthur would never allow knights who only sought glory to join.
In his mind, only absolute loyalty qualified a knight for the Round Table.
That said, he wouldn't look down on knights. At least they didn't need money.
Knights who brought their own rations and worked 996 hours a week? Simply awesome.
Thinking of this, Arthur glanced at Merlin.
If this guy ever surrendered, 007 shifts wouldn't be a dream.
"How dare I? I wouldn't say anything bad about King Arthur. Everyone who sees you outside is a fanatical follower now. If they heard me badmouth you, they'd tear me apart. Please forgive me."
Merlin smiled awkwardly.
He was genuinely curious about Arthur's almost godlike charm.
If measured by pure looks, Merlin—being an incubus—was not inferior.
But Arthur's charm was more than mere attractiveness; it was a force—power, curse, protection, a concept.
Simply meeting Arthur's gaze captured one's mind. It was mental manipulation.
"Let's get down to business, King Arthur—"
"Stop. Stop calling me that so affectionately. When did you ever acknowledge me as king?"
Merlin grinned.
"No, I doubt I ever will."
"Then just call me Arthur."
"Huh? Why?"
"Because being king is not just a status, but a responsibility. I'd feel uncomfortable being called that by anyone but my subjects. If you weren't one, if you were in danger, I wouldn't go out of my way to save you, and my conscience wouldn't condemn me."
Arthur's expression grew serious.
"Oh, I see. Arthur, you're quite kind. If you hadn't done that with Morgan, maybe I could have nominated you for the Knights of the Round Table."
"Kindness is all it takes to join? Sounds like the standards are low."
"It's not just kindness. Your strength was proven in that duel—you defeated my disciple with a single sword. That's what you should be proud of."
"You don't need to remind me. I know I'm just ordinary. That day I just got lucky. What's the use of a miracle that can't be repeated? Also—don't insult me with comments about kindness."
"Ahahaha, that's praise straight from the heart."