Faced with the looming crisis, Arthur silently opened his system panel.
[Host: Arthur Pendragon]
Magical Artificial Lifeform
Talents:
Demonic Appearance MAX
Beautiful Young Man MAX
Fantasy Charm MAX
Sword of Stars MAX
Dynasty Protection LV87
Miracle LV5
Power of Beauty (Remaining)
Skills:
Clairvoyance MAX
Holy King (Ordinary) MAX
Inch Power · Craniotomy LV80
Word Spirit LV47
Telekinesis LV32
Divine King LV5
Equipment:
Shield of Radiance
Sword of Selection
Holy Sword of Stars
Magic Card: Wind
Props:
Water from the Ganges
[Quest: Broken Sword]
Reward: Heaven's Will, Kunlun Wonderland (Domain)
Status: Incomplete
[Quest: Forbearance]
Reward: Fruit of the Sacred Tree
Status: Incomplete
Arthur immediately began to consider his enemies.
The weakest among them: the White Dragon, one of the apexes of all fantasy species. Then came the Roman Empire. And above them all—Gaia and Alaya, the two great restraining forces… and the Pigeon God.
If he thought about it carefully, every one of them belonged to the immortal faction.
...That's far too flattering.
No doubt about it—he was still far too weak.
Realizing his shortcomings once again, Arthur immediately dispelled the reckless impulse that had flashed through his mind for a glorious 0.1 seconds, and turned instead to those around him.
Yes, using tools is safer.
"Sister, you really should be more proud. If not for you, Britain would've been destroyed by the Grail's energy. It was you who protected this land, even at the cost of your power as the island's master. Once this gets out, no one will be able to deny your status as a hero. You deserve the gratitude of the entire kingdom."
Many more comforting words followed.
It wasn't until nightfall that Morgan finally began to recover. She collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion and fell fast asleep.
"Let's go. Sister is too tired. Let her rest. We'll take care of what comes next."
Arthur's expression shifted—cold and sharp, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes as he led everyone silently out of the workshop.
And so, the sleeping giant that was Britain, silent for years, finally began to stir—operating more frantically than ever before.
Arthur summoned the Knights of the Round Table. He summoned the magi. He summoned his key ministers.
Except for Morgan, who remained asleep, every member of Britain's leadership—whether stationed in the north to repel Saxon incursions or busy enacting internal reforms—dropped everything and returned to Camelot that night. All of them appeared at the round table.
No small talk. No ceremony. The meeting began in a solemn, tense atmosphere.
Merlin withheld the full truth of Arthur's origin and reported only the essential facts.
Following a cascade of intelligence updates, Arthur swiftly assigned roles and directives.
That night, he did not sleep.
Instead, he remained in his office, eyes locked on the magic sand table before him.
Sitting across from him was Merry.
"The operation has begun. From here on, it's a death match. Either we die and lose everything, or they do. There's no in-between. But even then… I wonder. Will the 'end' I imagine be a fleeting moment—or a lasting peace?"
"You've stated the obvious truth. But tell me, my king, how do you feel? The soul gifted by God, the designated monarch… now defying God himself."
"Hmph. Don't joke, Merry. I don't know any god. And if I did, we'd still be mortal enemies. Against the enemy, should there be any emotion other than the will to kill?"
Arthur cast her a cold look.
In truth, Arthur had no confidence in defeating the God of the Bible.
And he wouldn't be facing just that god—but the two greatest conceptual powers in the world: Gaia and Alaya.
"The subconscious of humanity and the planet's will… they are adversaries Britain can't fight head-on. And they're precisely the type I'm worst at dealing with. We're fundamentally incompatible."
"Do you regret it, Your Majesty? You know the trajectory of fate. Had you chosen to follow it, you wouldn't be under this crushing weight."
Merry chuckled, watching him intently, awaiting a perfect answer.
As expected—Arthur did not disappoint.
Even now, he thought as a king.
"I should be the one asking you that. You turned your back on your destined Red Dragon and wasted time with Sister Morgan. You even went looking for ways to save me. That's not like you—a great magician who's seen all truths, yet chose to rebel. How foolish. Do you regret it? If you hadn't stood by me, things wouldn't have gotten this far."
"Oh dear, you wound me~ Even now, you say such things? How cold, big sis~☆"
"That's who I am. If you're dissatisfied, switch sides."
"Ehh~ No can do. Neither God nor the world can offer what I've gained by staying at your side."
Arthur frowned at her. His eyes flickered—dim now, much dimmer than before.
That made him extremely unhappy.
"Tch. It's true. My clairvoyance no longer sees the future."
"Nothing to be done. In this era, it's big sis's clairvoyance that counts."
"Hmph. Enough nonsense. Time to show your value. I want to see our first move."
He tapped the magic sand table.
In an instant, the terrain shifted. The golden territories of Britain, the white lands of the Saxons, and the red border of Rome lit up before them.
But within Britain's borders, there were many gray zones.
Areas untouched, unclaimed.
Lands where Fantasy Species still lived freely.
"First, we deal with the fantasy species. With history this far off-track, and everything now a life-or-death matter, there's no longer any room for coexistence or environmental compromise."
Britain had the technology to manufacture holy swords—modeled after the Noble Phantasms of Heroic Spirits.
Arthur's Holy Sword of the Stars was EX-level.
Gawain's Rotating Sword of Victory: A+.
The Sword of Selection: B.
Standard knight-issued holy swords: C.
They could even fire laser beams, though the destructive power remained moderate.
Not because of a limit to technology—rather, it all came down to materials.
Until now, Arthur had resisted full-scale slaughter of fantasy species. Some showed potential. Some were peaceful. So only the dangerous ones were culled, while others were relocated or exiled. An uneasy, delicate ecosystem of coexistence had been built.
But now—
There was no longer a need to hold back.
Every remaining fantasy species on the British Isles—except those truly valuable or tameable—would be harvested.
Their flesh, their souls, their bones and skins—all would serve as materials to upgrade the armaments of the British military.
And then—
-End Chapter-
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