Wayland walked for a few steps before looking back at the Sword in the Stone one final time.
The longsword, which looked so ordinary in the sunlight, was surrounded by layer after layer of knights who refused to give up hope.
By now, they had likely forgotten their chivalric codes, their eyes fixed solely on the absolute power that the stone promised.
Some even were attempting to physically lift the rock.
Wayland looked around the area once more, but he still couldn't find any sign of the cross-dressing Artoria.
Releasing his disappointment, he followed Kay away from the hillside.
Along the way, many knights who had failed to pull the sword were walking in the same direction. They were likely heading for the selection tournament as well.
"You're not an official knight?"
Kay had noticed Wayland's clothing earlier--a robe made of coarse hemp.
In Britain, once you became a knight, you entered the ranks of the nobility. Even at the lowest rank, a knight was separated from the common people by an insurmountable chasm.
Kings and lords were more than willing to spend money on their knights.
Once you pledged your loyalty to them, you'd be given at least one set of armor. While magical gear was prohibitively expensive, a standard set of chainmail or a gambeson was a given.
Wayland's current attire was more like that of a commoner or a knight's squire.
The selection tournament, also known as the Knightly Trials, consisted of two main parts. The first was the selection tournament itself, where commoners and squires could participate in various trials and, if they proved themselves, be elevated to the rank of an official knight.
The second part was the Knights' banquet--the true Knightly Tournament. What had originally started as a way for knights to settle blood feuds through duels had evolved into a massive festival for all knights.
In times of peace, these tournaments were the best way to advance one's rank.
But now, King Uther was gone, and the Usurper King Vortigern had invited foreign invaders to overrun every inch of British soil. These tournaments hadn't been held for quite some time.
This temporary tournament had been proposed by the knights who had failed to pull the sword. Their logic was simple: since no one could pull it, they should use the ancient and sacred tradition of a knightly tournament to decide their leader.
Winner takes all.
Kay's expression was cold as his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
'Pathetic.'
This was nothing more than a lie told by failures. These men were likely secretly rejoiced that no one had pulled the sword, as it meant they still had a chance to seize the throne for themselves.
Well, he would take great pleasure in shattering their dreams.
"I'm not," Wayland answered, slowly shaking his head. He had noticed the era-appropriate clothing he was wearing--likely Scathach's handiwork.
She really was meticulous.
'If only she'd be a bit nicer to me, she'd be even cuter.'
"Then you should participate in the trials."
Kay stopped in front of a large field.
It was an old wheat field, with traces of stalks still visible around the edges. The center had been cleared away, leaving a large, open space.
Before Kay and Wayland had even arrived, a large group of people was already standing in the clearing. Several knights at the front were in the middle of a heated discussion.
"Small towns don't have the luxury of proper arenas. This farm is the temporary tournament grounds. But since someone of your meager level has nothing to do with the actual knightly tournament, you'll be participating in the trials over there."
Kay pointed toward a far corner of the field.
Wayland looked over at the crowd gathering in the distance. They were a motley crew, dressed in various tunics and mismatched gear--a "misfit" cloud in comparison to the armored knights nearby.
"When does it start?" he asked.
"Many here are still holding out hope for that sword. They all think they're special, not realizing that every gift of fate has a price tag attached to it from the moment it's given. Once those ignorant fools arrive, the tournament will begin."
Wayland looked at Kay.
He had just heard a familiar phrase--a famous quote from Marie Antoinette.
The book, written by Stefan Zweig, chronicled the life of the "Beheaded Queen" from her childhood to her marriage into royalty and, finally, to the guillotine.
The key question was: how did Kay know that phrase? Was it just a coincidence?
"Look at that man over there--the one talking so loudly. It's as if he thinks whoever has the loudest voice has the most authority."
Wayland moved closer, following Kay's gaze.
He saw a man in golden armor that shimmered with an air of immense wealth in the sunlight. He held his helmet in his hand, revealing a mane of wine-red hair. His other hand was raised high as he barked commands at the people around him.
"Red hair is a trait found in a few Celtic tribes living in Ireland. But Ireland is currently under Vortigern's control. For him to be here, right under the nose of the Meikyuu intelligence division, either means he's one of Vortigern's men, or he's in collusion with them."
Wayland had heard the word "Meikyuu" twice now. It seemed the books in the library regarding King Arthur's legends had indeed been altered or censored.
Why would the Clock Tower do such a thing?
"Cretins and monsters, everywhere you look," Kay said, his smile devoid of any warmth. "The man standing respectfully to his left is from Wales--one of the local lord's men. They claim to be loyalists of the late King Uther and have used that name to gather quite a following. But the man on his right is even more interesting... he's from Camelot, and the stench coming off him is so revolting I can smell it from here. It's the black magic of the abyss--the power Vortigern gained through his pact with demons."
"Why did he risk coming here alone?"
Wayland was curious. Even if Vortigern's influence was vast, there were still many righteous knights here--not to mention Kay and Merlin.
"Because he's confident in his own abilities. His name is Allenbert, and he's considered the First Knight of the Meikyuu. He's also a master of disguise. Aside from myself, no one here can see through his true face. He's a very troublesome person to deal with."
At those words, Wayland immediately looked away, making sure Allenbert didn't notice his gaze. "So we're just going to let him stand there?" he whispered.
"Merlin just had to put on this show without controlling the information flow. That's what invited all these parasites," Kay said, looking down at the sword on his hip with a terrifying smile. "But since he's here, leaving won't be as easy as he think."
Wayland gave Kay a mental thumbs-up.
Truly worthy of being the third seat of the future Knights of the Round Table.
His personality was exactly to Wayland's liking.
"It's almost time."
Kay watched as more and more people gathered. "The trials and the tournament will run concurrently. The local lord will act as the organizer. Following tradition, there will be one duel after another. The ultimate winner will be elevated to the rank of knight. From there, you can enter the service of any king or lord you choose. With enough military merit, you could eventually become a baron or even rise high enough to take their place."
Wayland nodded. Even though he was currently inside a memory and had no intention of pledging his loyalty to anyone, it seemed that winning this tournament would be the key to completing Scathach's trial.
"Go on," Kay said, waving his hand. Without waiting for a response, he headed toward the center of the clearing.
Wayland stood there, watching Kay's retreating figure. Another question formed in his mind: Why was Kay being so helpful to someone he had just met? Was this memory a fabrication of Scathach's, or was it a true record of history?
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]