Arthur sighed as he looked at Gawain lying on the ground, pretending to be dead.
Alas, the Sun Knight had grown wise—no longer so easy to fool.
"Lord Gawain, it's not like you to back down from a fight. The name of the Sun Knight would weep if you did. Besides, at this point, will you defy my orders and let me down?" Arthur's voice carried a mixture of reproach and challenge.
At once, Gawain sprang up.
He truly had no intention of stealing Arthur's weapon—but lying there feigning death and being struck by Miss Killer Whale's Sword of Stirring Tides was hardly comfortable.
"But, King, that weapon clearly belongs to you. I'm not qualified to wield it."
"The Holy Sword will fulfill its greatest potential in your hands—that's my judgment. Do you doubt me? You are the strongest Sun Knight in Camelot, superior to me in both spirit and skill. If you are unqualified, then how could I possibly become the Holy Sword of the Star?"
Arthur's tone was sharp. Just draw it when I tell you. Why all this talk?
Why so obedient now?
As a knight, who wouldn't crave their own holy sword?
Arthur knew Gawain's eyes had lit up the moment the Lady of the Lake revealed the sword. Gawain and Lancelot had always struggled with broken weapons—and lost. His desire for the Holy Sword burned hotter than Arthur's own.
"Besides," Arthur continued, "I want to see you defeat Sir Lancelot with this sword. You are my nephew and a mighty knight. How can you not have a sword of your own? If you become the Holy Sword of the Star's wielder and return to Camelot, you will be my chief Knight of the Round Table."
Gawain found no words to argue. After a long moment, he wiped tears from his eyes and nodded firmly.
"I swear, King Arthur, I will draw the Holy Sword of the Star."
With solemn resolve, Gawain stepped onto the flower-lined path toward the glowing heart of the lake.
Skadi, watching beside Arthur, noticed Merlin's barely concealed intent—he must make the king the wielder of the Holy Sword of the Star. She whispered, confused, "Aren't you going to stop him?"
Arthur shrugged, "Relax and watch."
Gawain thrust his hands into the radiant light and shouted with all his might.
A wave of searing heat spread outward, evaporating the lake water, scorching trees, and sending golden-red beams piercing sky and earth.
Thankfully, Merlin swiftly reversed the damage with his magic, restoring the scene in an instant.
The incantation shifted abruptly: "Your Majesty, you cannot rest now."
Merlin—damn him.
Skadi muttered darkly, "Merlin will be chopped to pieces soon."
The light in the lake's center faded, and Gawain emerged, sword in hand, grinning proudly.
"My king, my mission is complete!"
Arthur remained silent for a moment, eyes shifting between Gawain, the sword, and the lingering radiant glow.
That sword… it looked like the Rotating Sword of Victory, didn't it?
No, no—it was too soon to jump to conclusions. The Holy Sword of the Star changed form with its wielder's vision. Perhaps this was what Gawain imagined it should be.
Arthur turned to his companions.
"That sword… it's like the sun."
"Oh, that's the Rotating Sword of Victory—the Shadow of the Sword of Stars."
"...Very well. Lord Gawain has drawn the sword. From now on, the Holy Sword of the Star has a new wielder—a knight of Camelot. Everything's successful. Let's return to Camelot."
Arthur spun on his heel and walked away, eager to escape the burden of reality.
"Don't run from reality, my king. The Sword of the Star will cry," Merlin said, grabbing Arthur by the arm.
But Arthur struggled wildly.
"No! No! I won't draw the sword! I don't want to be a holy swordsman!"
Drawing the sword meant fighting. Fighting meant going to the battlefield. Going to the battlefield meant being cut down.
The equation was clear: King Arthur would never draw his sword.
Besides, this was the Holy Sword of the Star. If Arthur truly became its wielder—fighting planetary enemies, or even the planet itself—he wouldn't survive eight hundred times over.
"Why resist? Most don't even get the chance to wield it," Merlin pleaded.
Arthur, unexpectedly strong despite his lack of training, fought back fiercely.
"I… can't fight!"
"You don't have to fight, just draw the sword first."
The stalemate lasted long. Eventually, they agreed: if Arthur failed, they'd return to Camelot.
"Your Majesty, perhaps you don't realize—without the Sword of the Star born in this era, Camelot and even Britain would have fallen. It is necessary to correct history and save the world. Please take this seriously," Merlin urged.
Arthur still refused.
Imagine this: Gawain, with the Sword of Victory in his left hand, the Sword of Oath of Victory in his right, and the triple blessing of the sun at noon—what power could he unleash?
The White Dragon Vortigern, the Flower Magician, the planet's enemies—they'd all be nothing against the Super Ape Man.
"What are you looking at? That's not the Sword of the Star in your hand. You useless idiot gorilla, try again! If you don't become its wielder, I'll stew you when we return to Camelot!" Arthur yelled.
Gawain shivered.
If it were Arthur's will, their comrades—and Morgan—would be happy to stew themselves.
With trembling hands, Gawain reached into the light once more—but it was as if he touched nothing.
"Lord Gawain, believe in yourself. Failure is the mother of success!" Arthur encouraged him, eyes blazing.
"Yes. I will."
Again, the same failure.
Gawain spun around stiffly, staring at Arthur dryly.
Arthur was speechless for a moment, then muttered, "Failure is the mother of success… but success doesn't recognize its relatives."
No matter how many tries, Gawain's hands passed through the light without grasping the sword.
Merlin's expression said it all—I told you, your chosen Sword Master is resisting.
Arthur had no choice but to call back Gawain and step toward the lake's center himself.
Before he reached out, the sword's light blazed brighter—as if it recognized its true master.
Arthur took a deep breath, hands trembling as he reached for the radiant blade.
The moment their touch met, sky and earth shifted color, and a flood of knowledge poured into Arthur's mind.
He understood then: the Holy Sword of the Star was not merely a weapon, but a contract—a brutal pact.
Once drawn, the wielder became a planetary guardian, bound to serve in life and death.
Britain itself would follow the planet's will—and march toward destruction.
Arthur would be the one to end the Age of Gods, with his own hands.
Yet the sword still refused to fully form.
His power paled before the sword's grave responsibility.
"My king! You can set thirteen constraints to limit the sword's power, so you can wield it," Merlin advised.
Constraints? Honor, bravery, survival, surpassing oneself, not harming spirits, fighting evil, rejecting selfishness?
A joke. What kind of weapon would that be?
Arthur didn't want to become a Star Sword Master, but fate had thrust him here.
If so, he would do it on his own terms.
After all—it was only a weapon. How disrespectful to bow to it.
"Then here's my promise: this sword must follow my will and slay all my enemies."
"What—?!" Merlin gasped, about to protest, then stopped himself.
Such a selfish vow would surely disqualify him.
Sure enough, the sword unleashed a mighty energy wave, straining to break free from Arthur's grip.
"Give it here!" Arthur frowned. "Behave yourself! I won't tolerate a mere sword's tantrums!"
Strong will shatters all rules in an instant.
An impossible miracle unfolded.
All laws reversed, common sense overturned.
A golden-blue longsword appeared in Arthur's hand, then dissolved into brilliant light and merged with his body.
Its name was—EXCALIBUR, the Sword of Promised Victory.
The radiant glow around Arthur was but 5% of the miracle's full power.