When Arthur woke again, he found himself back in Camelot. Glancing out at the falling snow through the window, he sat up abruptly.
"What time is it?!"
"Well, our King is finally willing to rise. My mission is over at last."
At the familiar teasing tone, Arthur paused for a moment before spotting Merlin sitting on the bed—his face bruised and battered.
"…Merlin, why do you always look like you've been beaten to a pulp whenever I see you?"
Merlin's face immediately contorted with frustration. "What do you think?! I was pummeled by Gawain and Skadi five days ago! Beaten again by Lancelot upon my return! Kicked by Morgan and Manaka! And now Draven even dares to kick me when he sees me! All thanks to you!"
Arthur watched silently as Merlin jabbed at his bruised cheeks, then lifted his shirt to reveal even more dark marks across his torso.
Even without seeing it firsthand, Arthur could imagine the punishment Merlin had endured.
To this, Arthur wanted to say — well done.
Normally, he would have ordered Merlin to teach those brutes a lesson, but Merlin was too slippery to catch. Now, Arthur barely bothered.
Still, seeing Merlin's pitiful state didn't make Arthur as happy as he thought it might.
"Alright, stop playing the victim in front of me. Aside from Manaka, who else in Camelot can leave marks like this? Snap out of it, or I'll laugh at you," Arthur said, feeling a bit awkward as he looked away.
But Merlin wasn't finished complaining.
"It's about dignity, my lord! I used to be a great magician admired by all, and now? Who respects me even a little? The worst part is, as soon as I look healed, the beatings start again!"
Thinking of how Camelot's residents treated him like a punching bag, Merlin looked like he wanted to cry—though no tears came.
"Hmph! If you cared so much about dignity, you should've offed yourself when Uther ruled. Leave the explanations to me. Now, change back."
"My king understands me after all," Merlin said, breaking into a smile. With a flick of his hand, all his bruises vanished.
It seemed the kicks were more venting than real damage.
"Have I been unconscious for five days?"
"Yes, you truly deserve to be my king."
"Ah, so that's how it is. I suppose a mountain of work has piled up. Merlin, bring all pending documents here, along with my old desk."
"Wait—shouldn't you eat first to regain your strength?"
"Too late for that. If we don't start now, we'll be working through the night."
As they spoke, the dormitory door opened.
A soft melody floated in with a girl pushing a cart full of food. Knowing Arthur's habits, she had prepared it early.
"My Lord Prince, you're awake at last. When Gawain brought you back, Manaka fainted from worry."
"Sorry to have caused concern."
Merlin chimed in, "Yes, and don't forget—drawing the Holy Sword was so terrifying, I had to force myself to make that restriction. Then Gawain and Skadi beat me up. I'm the most innocent one here. I didn't do anything wrong."
Isn't it just normal to get beaten for no reason here?
In Camelot's upper circles, it's practically tradition.
"Speaking of the Holy Sword of the Stars, I've suffered quite a bit over it."
Arthur stretched out his hand, and with a flash, a golden sword adorned with intricate patterns but a simple overall shape appeared.
He sensed that, if needed, the sword could dissolve back into light and be stored within him. It could attack as pure light or strike with just a swing.
Unlike the Sword of Promised Victory from the Type-Moon records or the ancient sword, this Holy Sword belonged fully to Arthur, without the Wind King's barrier or the constraints of Avalon and the Thirteen.
While losing the ultimate defense, the sword's power was boosted to the absolute maximum.
Even the Holy Sword of the Stars in the records was a treasure owned by the planet, temporarily wielded by Artoria and the old sword. But Arthur's Sword of Promised Victory was openly and completely his.
In other words: a true anti-planet weapon.
"My lord prince, please take care of yourself and don't do dangerous things again. Manaka has always worried about you—at least don't make him anxious," the girl said, placing a hand over her chest.
"Don't worry, it was just an accident. There won't be a next time."
"That's right—a usually calm person suddenly doing something so reckless, and I got beaten for it!" Merlin took the chance to agree.
No, I'd beat you even if nothing happened.
Never mind—this guy doesn't care about the beatings. He just wants to have fun.
"Even though I accepted my fate, I was still upset when I got those messages. The Age of Gods has ended, but a broken old sword is throwing a tantrum, demanding I compromise and set restrictions before I can use it. It's just a weapon—why be so delicate?"
Arthur's eyes darkened as he stared fiercely at the Sword of Promised Victory.
The sword trembled slightly, as if complaining and flattering at once.
"I love my master most! I resisted only because I was forced—this wasn't my idea~!"
Arthur didn't understand that.
He swung the sword angrily, smashing it against the corner.
Like slamming a keyboard in a losing game—sometimes you just need to vent.
But with a holy sword?
The next moment—
Boom!
The ancient castle of the Pendragon kings shattered today.
Bathed in golden light, most of the castle melted away, leaving nothing behind.
A chain reaction followed, and the castle's core crumbled in seconds.
The golden light didn't dim as it tore through the outer city walls, flying northward.
The cold wind and falling snow slapped Arthur's face. He stared blankly at the gaping void left behind, the sword returning to his hand.
"…"
Demolishing a castle—definitely first-class destructive power.
Could this sword be as foolish as Gawain?
At the same moment, far to the north of the British Isles, a giant dragon's roar suddenly echoed through the land.