"My king, you misunderstand. I am here to serve you, not as a spy sent by the nobles."
Draven didn't even know how such a feeble lie slipped from his lips.
Arthur's response only made him look paler.
"If it hasn't come to that point—if those parasites waiting to die don't send a spy—then they might as well stop wasting air."
"I'm... just a minor noble, sidelined and powerless. Even if I were a spy, I could never threaten you."
Arthur chuckled darkly. "Let me guess. Your mission is to probe my character, my stance on the nobles, and my primary goals for Camelot, right? Anything else to add? And you call yourself a minor noble? Haha, sometimes modesty isn't just a virtue—you're stuck with it forever. Are you sure you won't reconsider?"
In that moment, Draven felt the insurmountable gulf between himself, the aristocracy, and Arthur.
Though he'd heard whispers and doubts about Arthur following the sword-drawing ceremony, he'd dismissed them as nonsense.
A king with such wisdom—who else but the true Chosen King?
Despite what others might say, Draven had never wavered in believing Arthur was the rightful ruler of Camelot.
That was when Draven surrendered his will to someone for the first time.
"It's a pity, Your Majesty, that you seem so obsessed with appearances and don't trust me at all."
After this recollection, Draven sighed helplessly.
He was tired of being distrusted because of his looks, especially when he had truly pledged himself to the king. It was the first time he begrudged the face his parents gave him—usually, his charm sufficed to ease suspicion, but not with Arthur.
Setting aside the frustration, Draven looked down at the notebook in his hand.
It was a gift from Arthur—filled with plans and, cleverly, a disguised warning. If Draven didn't fully commit now, he would never get another chance.
"There's no need for this, my lord."
Flipping to the first page, he saw Arthur's orders since arriving in Camelot.
Draven skimmed over known changes, but paused at the unknown.
Arthur had commanded Agravain and his followers to select people from all walks of life—idle hooligans, fresh soldiers, veterans, merchants, bards.
Below was a note:
"The common folk have no way to acquire knowledge, so they remain ignorant and cannot discern right from wrong. This ignorance is a power the aristocracy has always taken for granted—but they forget this limitation was born of fear. The gap between classes can be used to rally, incite, and sway public opinion."
"Every legend begins as a rumor; no one cares if it's true or false. When ten people repeat it, it's a rumor; a hundred, a legend; a thousand, an epic; ten thousand, the truth. I say Morgan le Fay is kind and innocent—an innocent princess caught in power struggles. Tomorrow ten people spread it, the day after a hundred, and soon, it becomes accepted truth."
Draven blinked. No one had called Morgan a witch recently, and the fear surrounding her had faded—even he had forgotten.
He read on, finding many more astounding ideas—though they seemed unrelated to current events.
"Is this His Majesty's contingency plan?"
The next section detailed the day's events:
"The coronation ceremony is planned for a month from now. I refuse to invite the other kings. Meanwhile, we send spies into their territories to spread word of Arthur Pendragon. Using their dissatisfaction with me, we provoke the Saxons to attack Camelot."
"The humble king's lands lie far from Camelot. Even if victorious, his return would be difficult, so he won't act. But Saxons are human, with desires and weaknesses. We order spies to contact low-ranking generals' families, providing routes, maps, strategies—passed up the chain to guide the army."
"Ten years ago, after the great victory, humble king Vortigern chose not to destroy Britain. Not for lack of power, but because he had other plans. According to Morgan's information, Vortigern is now immobile. Once his plans are ready, his threat will sweep Britain. Thus, he won't act now."
"Three attack plans exist for Camelot, all feasible yet dead ends. By guiding the Saxons and using unexpected tactics, we can defeat them with fewer troops. Success will deter future tests by the Saxons and warn other kings that Camelot is no easy target. Then, we wait for negotiations."
Further text was obscured by magic; Draven couldn't see beyond.
But even this was enough.
At the bottom, a fresh note was penned in a different hand:
"Note: Lord Draven, I was very displeased by what happened with your nephew yesterday afternoon. I do not wish to see it again."
"...That's a bit much, Your Majesty."
Yesterday, Draven's idiot nephew had sought his help to join Arthur's Knights Guard. Draven refused.
That wasn't the problem.
The problem was that the meeting happened in Draven's own mansion, with only servants listening—meaning the king's spies were everywhere.
"Oh my, why stop? Keep turning the pages. I'm really curious. This note was written over twenty days ago. It's fascinating—a mere mortal relying on wisdom to do what even a top magician like me struggles with. Seems Artoria really can't beat Arthur."
Draven spun around abruptly, distancing himself from Merlin—still hunched, eyes gleaming.
This guy had practically been lying on his back, spying on him.
Worse, Merlin had seen all of Arthur's plans.
Wait—was this part of Arthur's plan too?
"Sir Merlin, it is extremely rude to pry into others' private affairs without permission!" Draven clenched his fists, feeling powerless as a servant for the first time.
Even if it was all orchestrated by the king... he still wanted to knock Merlin senseless.
"Don't be so formal. I'm curious about our king, too," Merlin smiled.
He was the greatest magician in British history—a near god.
He gave life to flowers, hope to mankind, and foresaw the future.
These were his symbols, earning him the title Magician of Flowers.
But that was not his true nature.
Though human in appearance, he was not even a beast at heart.
Cold-blooded and emotionless like an insect.
All his actions were neither interest nor affection, but instinct—the natural push of the world's truth.
To Merlin, who comprehended this era from beginning to end, the entire world was merely a painting.
Yet even he was fascinated by mankind's creations.
More precisely, he felt he should be fascinated and eager to understand human emotions.
Today, he had awakened to an unfamiliar, truly human feeling.
Its name was the pursuit of knowledge.
A pursuit focused on one person alone.
The specialness is reserved for one person only.
"Arthur Pendragon, you are indeed special. More important to me than all of Camelot."
Merlin smiled innocently, like a child.
Draven broke into a sweat, feeling...
"Your Majesty, it seems I have caused you trouble."
Merlin was no longer just a troublemaker—now, he seemed intent on dissecting Arthur himself.