He stared at the dense trees above, their branches filled with leaves. He didn't remember anything after he stepped through the door.
Now his back was against the cold, smooth ground—but he didn't mind it.
If anything, he liked it.
It reminded him of home.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking it all in—smelling the fresh air, letting the cool wind brush across his skin.
For a moment, he just stayed there, breathing it in.
Eventually, he remembered the reason he was here. He let out a sigh.
"Time to finish this trial."
He jumped to his feet, took a deep breath, and stretched his arms out.
"Let's do this."
While stretching, the temperature suddenly dropped. A cold wind swept over him, sending a chill through his body. He felt as if someone—or something—was watching him. He slowly turned, his hand still in the air.
That's when he realized he was completely naked—not even a leaf to hide his dignity.
He looked down, raised an eyebrow, and whistled, feeling impressed.
"Nice. Did it get bigger?" he questioned.
Feeling extremely proud and full of confidence, he walked toward the direction the wind came from and spotted a thin trail.
Seeing no other option, he followed it.
Eventually, the path led him to a fork that split in two. Not sure which direction to go—right or left—he sat on the ground, legs crossed, waiting, thinking.
Then, from the left, he felt the familiar cold breeze creeping up on him.
"I guess left wins."
He did what most people do in a horror movie.
He followed it.
The forest was quiet. The only sound he could hear was his foot pressing down onto dry branches.
After what felt like forever, he came upon a river in the distance.
It was wide, foggy, and massive. The water looked green. Moss and fog filled the river, making it impossible to see anything beyond the mist.
Next to the river, under a tall, thick tree, was a giant rock. In the center was a sword sticking out, like someone had plunged it in there.
An invisible spotlight shined onto the sword.
His eyes lit up with joy.
"Finally—something I can defend myself with."
He climbed up the rock.
He planted his foot onto the stone, grabbed the sword by its hilt, and pulled.
"Is it stuck?" He pulled harder.
He gripped the hilt tighter and tried again. Same as before—nothing.
"Damn you. How dare you mess with me," he said, looking around to see if someone was watching him. He pulled once more.
"Damn it, come out, you stupid sword."
He continued to pull, kicked, and wiggled the sword—until he heard footsteps.
That startled him.
The last thing he needed was someone catching him—naked, trying to yank a sword out of a rock in the middle of the forest.
Without a second thought, he climbed up the tree beside the rock and hid behind the leaves.
A man entered the clearing.
Sylas couldn't see his face due to the leaves covering his view.
The man climbed the rock and pulled the sword with ease.
He raised the blade. A golden sheath formed around it, engulfing the forest in golden light.
Sylas watched from above, mouth open—speechless—wondering only one thing:
How?
But then, out of nowhere, five men appeared and surrounded the sword-bearer.
Swords in hand, they lunged at him, but he blocked their attacks with ease.
Then two charged at him at once. Again, he blocked them and pushed them back.
Sylas wanted to help, but when he tried to leap from the tree, an invisible force locked him in place.
He couldn't move. It was like chains wrapped around his limbs, anchoring him to the tree.
The fight continued.
Then, out of nowhere, one of the men stabbed him from behind.
The others took their chance.
One after the other, they all turned on him—stabbing him repeatedly.
The man collapsed face-first onto the ground, motionless. And just like that, the group started arguing over who would take the sword and claim the title of king.
Voices rose.
Tensions spiked.
Screaming threats. Then one of them swung his blade.
That was the breaking point—they turned on each other.
Within seconds, every last one of them lay dead—except for one, barely clinging to life.
Suddenly, Sylas could move. The invisible force was gone.
He dropped from the tree.
The man looked up, eyes widened.
"What the fu—"
Sylas wasn't sure if the man was caught off guard… or confused by the naked boy with a good-sized surprise hanging on him.
But it didn't matter.
Before he could finish his sentence, Sylas kicked him in the face—knocking him out cold.
Without a second thought, he grabbed the sword and tried to draw it from its sheath.
It didn't move.
He tried again.
"What the hell."
He closed his eyes, slammed his foot against the rock, gritted his teeth, and with everything he had—pulled.
Just as he was about to slam the sword to the ground—
"You stupid sword."
A glowing screen popped up right in front of him.
It startled him so badly that he stumbled back and fell.
[System Notification]
[Trial: Gate of Legends – Stage One Complete]
[Title Acquired: The False King]
[Objective: Convince the Kingdom of Camelot you are Arthur]
[Progress: 0 / 25,000 Believers]
[Hidden Requirement: ???]
[Skill: Crown of Perception – Locked]
[Unlock Condition: Reach maximum believers and hidden requirement]
"What the hell is this?!"
He scrambled backward.
Leaning in closer, he waved his hands at the glowing message—trying to touch it—but his fingers passed right through it, like it wasn't even there.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sure he wasn't going crazy.
He sighed.
"First I lose my clothes, and now I'm seeing holograms? I think the door dropped me hard on the head."
He leaned in again to read the screen.
The name Arthur stood out.
It was the same name those men shouted before they stabbed that guy to death.
He wondered if this was part of the trial. If this was the mission.
He walked toward Arthur's body and turned him over—then froze.
The man looked exactly like him.
"I Guess that makes sense," he muttered. "I guess I'll be taking your place now, buddy."
He stripped Arthur's body and borrowed the clothes.
Now dressed, he stood up and scanned the area, just in case anyone else was around.
"What am I supposed to do with your body?" he muttered to the dead, naked body of Arthur.
"If someone finds it, they might think I killed him and took his place."
Right then, the familiar cold breeze hit him from behind.
This time, it felt like a whisper in his ear. A wave of sound. It sent a chill down his spine.
He slowly turned toward the lake—and saw a wooden boat drifting toward him.
Slowly. Smoothly.
It was empty.
Creepy.
But something was telling him to place the lifeless body of Arthur onto the boat.
His body moved on its own—like it was hypnotized.
He lifted Arthur into the boat and gave it a gentle push.
Slowly, the boat disappeared into the mist.
He ran back to the trail, not once looking back.
He returned to the fork and took the right path this time.
Not too long after, a voice echoed through the trees.
"Sir Arthur, where are you?"
Following the sound, he stepped into a clearing.
Five knights stood in perfect formation.
Their silver armor gleamed beneath the sun. Their helms were open-faced. Each one bore the symbol of a lion on their chest.
They called out his name—but when they saw the sword in his hand, one by one, they dropped to their knees.
"You have returned, King Arthur."
[Progress Updated: 5 / 25,000 Believers]
The screen popped up again.
He glanced at the glowing text, then at the knights kneeling before him.
"Let's get moving," he said.
One of them pointed at a nearby horse.
They expected him to ride.
He climbed onto it. It was his first time, so they had to help him up.
Without saying a word, they began guiding the horse toward Camelot—walking beside him in silence.
He didn't know what was going on.
But one thing he knew for sure:
He was now Arthur.
King of Camelot.