Weird. So weird.
Merlin's face was full of humility. His posture, his demeanor—serious, respectful. Most importantly, the way he carried himself had utterly changed. Arthur saw it. Kay saw it. The knights and nobles alike saw it. And they all looked like the sky had just collapsed.
Who is this guy, and what did he do with the real Merlin?
Wait, you're telling me Merlin can be serious?
No, no, no! That's a massive misunderstanding. When Uther was alive, even when that "humble king" was chasing Merlin down with a sword, this guy just watched it all with popcorn in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. Expecting Merlin to be solemn? Dream on.
And honestly, it's Merlin. The odds of him being sincere? Practically zero.
Just in case, Arthur reached out and pinched Kay. When Kay winced in pain, Arthur confirmed: not a dream.
Well, he hadn't slept in days. Hard to tell what's real anymore.
He frowned, stood tall with the Sword of Selection in hand, and swept his gaze over the crowd with faint contempt.
"Gentlemen, I am Arthur Pendragon. You may call me King Arthur."
"…..."
Shameless.
And yet most present understood—Arthur wasn't here to chat.
The knights loyal to him would naturally support him. Those who'd received benefits beforehand already knew how to play along. As for the nobles opposed to Arthur? No sweet words would change their minds.
Besides, what would talking accomplish?
Nothing.
If you want to inspire the people, you speak to the people of Camelot. That's where it counts. With knights, you speak of loyalty and honor. With nobles, it's power, wealth, and cold, hard interest.
That's how you win them over.
"Those who acknowledge me must pay tribute, swear loyalty, and shout my name."
Direct and brutal.
No one expected the succession to unfold like this.
But soon, choices were made.
Amid the clanking of armor, the knights—nearly all of them—knelt and declared their allegiance in the highest form of knightly etiquette.
"King Arthur!"
"King Arthur!"
"King Arthur!"
As expected.
The nobles exchanged glances, momentarily stunned. Their forced smiles twisted with unease as realization hit—they were not the majority here.
Wait—was that Sir Geiger, their ringleader in opposing Arthur, now bowing and shouting louder than anyone? His voice shook the walls, his face lit up with fervor, and the intensity in his eyes made nearby nobles flinch.
He was more fanatical than the ones who had already sided with Arthur.
What the hell, Geiger?! You're our leader!
The anti-Arthur faction stood out like sore thumbs, stunned and completely dumbfounded.
Not just them—Arthur, too, was stunned.
Wasn't that gluttonous lecher supposed to organize the noble resistance at the coronation? Arthur could swear he never even talked to that pig.
Artoria frowned. "This is... just... absurd."
"What? You disagree?" Arthur smirked, sword resting on his shoulder. "Give it a second. There won't be any opposition left."
"That's impossible!" Artoria scoffed.
But people are simple and complicated all at once.
There are constants across time and culture—like how individuals get swept up by the crowd.
This applies to actions, speech, and especially thought. Among nobles, it's even more pronounced. They're experts at reading the room. They know that anyone who opposes the dominant current will be crushed by the tide.
No fools make it this far in politics.
And sure enough, the shouts grew louder:
"King Arthur! King Arthur! King Arthur!"
Every knight. Nearly every noble.
All with perfect etiquette.
They were showing loyalty—or at least pretending to.
Arthur's coronation went off without a hitch. Flawless.
"From this moment on, I am King Arthur, Lord of Camelot!" Arthur raised the Sword of Selection high.
It felt like that moment all over again—the day he pulled the sword.
The crowd was just as loud. Just as fanatical. The awe in their eyes? Unchanged.
But...
"Are they really that excited just because Arthur became king?" Artoria murmured.
Watching their fervor, something didn't sit right.
Her intuition screamed that this was more than loyalty. Something else was going on—especially with Gawain over there wiping a bloody nose, red-faced and starry-eyed.
And then Morgan appeared.
She approached with a crown studded with gems in hand, looking far less gloomy than in recent days.
She smiled gently. Her hands trembled slightly as she struggled to hold herself back from something.
She hadn't seen Arthur much since arriving in Camelot. Even barging into his chambers using her "sisterly privileges" had only yielded glimpses of the overworked boy king buried in scrolls and correspondence.
She'd left heartbroken.
For a time, she regretted forcing him to draw the sword.
But now it was over.
Once Arthur wore that crown, maybe he'd finally have time again—time to spend with her.
The innocent girl smiled sweetly and lifted the crown. "Arthur, I'm proud of you. You did it. This is your destiny. You'll make Camelot shine. I believe in you—and I'll help make it happen."
"Thank you, Sister Morgan."
And Arthur donned the crown.
As he did, he asked warily, "Sister… you wouldn't happen to know why Merlin agreed to officiate today?"
Only two people could've made that happen: Artoria or Morgan.
It sure wasn't Artoria.
Which meant—
"Oh, that?" Morgan smiled even brighter. "I visited you a few days ago—though you didn't notice. I heard what you said. Something about, 'Even if that incubus is a hedonistic monster, his presence in the ceremony will help validate the prophecy.' Something like that?"
"…And?" Arthur's face paled.
Morgan puffed up. "So Merlin came to me yesterday and kept mocking you. I was furious! So I told him that my Arthur is perfect, and he'll make the kingdom stronger than even Artoria ever could!"
Arthur: "???"
Why was Artoria dragged into this?!
Better than her? Spare me! If she gets annoyed, she'll be chasing me with a sword again!
"So... what did you do?" Arthur's voice trembled.
"I made a bet with Merlin! If Camelot thrives under you, he won't cause trouble. If not, he can assassinate you and crown Artoria instead. But that's impossible, because you have me! So you can be king in peace!"
She raised her fists triumphantly, expecting praise.
Arthur was in pieces.
I—(British swear word)—thank you very much—(British swear word)!
He'd never wanted to toss Morgan out a window more than now. His fingers itched around the Sword of Selection.
Just a little more…!
Merlin. The great British sword sage. Assassin.
Could he survive that? Not a chance!
And even if he won the bet, there were no actual rewards. No benefit for winning. Instant death if he lost.
You absolute genius.
Arthur gave her a look usually reserved for especially dense turnips.
He turned stiffly to Merlin, who was smiling like a pleased cat. Arthur's fear became contempt.
You monster. You manipulated a fool just to eat this mighty dragon!
"I… thank you, Sister," Arthur managed, his face twitching.
Kay looked just as disturbed.
The title "Enchantress" was clearly earned. She was a disaster in human form!
Arthur slumped onto the throne, soul shattered.
[Mission (Draw the Sword) Complete. Reward issued. Body optimization beginning…]
The moment the crown settled on his head, the system finally completed his long-standing quest. His lifespan was stabilized. He'd expected joy, tears, triumph.
All he felt was despair.
(British swear word) Camelot's doomed!