The forest slowly disappeared behind them. No one spoke. The knights moved in perfect formation. They were silent. Sylas stayed quiet too; he didn't know how to start a conversation with people he never met, or more importantly what to ask.
He realized it's better to stay quiet until he learns more about Arthur. He doesn't want to risk getting exposed.
But it was difficult—the more he stayed quiet, the more questions filled his head—like who were those people? Why did they kill the real Arthur?
To distract himself from everything, he scanned the area. He was in a different world. The air felt fresh. The sunlight was warm on his skin. They followed a trail, and on both sides, tall grass swayed in the wind. Flowers covered the fields, and birds flew above them.
Some people were in the fields working, while animals helped them pull carts filled with crops. The road was smooth, though some parts were muddy from animals doing their business.
Then, up ahead, he spotted a massive castle on top of a hill, surrounded by a stone wall, with a river flowing along the left side.
As they got close, someone shouted, "Sir Arthur has returned!"
The large wooden gate slowly opened. When he entered through the gate, people stood on both sides, cheering as he passed by them. Some started tearing up, some exploded with excitement. All Sylas could see in their eyes was hope. He felt something heavy pressing down on him as he passed by them.
He walked forward, back straight, trying to copy the same presence his father carried. He didn't feel like a king… but they believed he was.
[Progress Updated: 2,000 / 25,000 Believers]
The guards guided him up the hill. More people started to gather to see their new king. He kept moving forward; he couldn't bear to look at them. Their eyes filled with hope, and he knew he would let them all down.
He pressed his hand against his chest, trying to prevent his heart from exploding out.
"He should come clean now," he thought to himself, but he didn't.
After climbing the hill, he saw a massive castle at the top, looking like it was built to see everything from above—to keep an eye on the villagers, to protect them. The closer he got, the clearer it became. The castle was built from smooth white stone—perfect, not a single crack or flaw anywhere. Tall towers stood at every corner. Each tower had a golden tip, with red flags waving in the wind.
As he stepped toward the castle, a woman stood waiting near the gate. He stopped.
He recognized that face.
He walked toward her, eyes locked on her, as everything else disappeared.
For a moment, everything around him faded—because the woman looked exactly like his mother. She had silver-blonde, braided with gold threads. Her eyes were warm.
His heart started racing. He knew it wasn't her—but still, a part of him wanted it to be true.
He dropped his sword and ran toward her. His eyes filled with tears as he wrapped his arms around her. She pulled him in, holding him tight.
"I missed you too, Arthur."
That snapped him out. She wasn't his mother. Even though she looked just like her.
He felt sick for even letting himself believe that. He wiped his eyes quickly before anyone could see.
A soldier handed him his sword again. The queen smiled softly and turned toward the castle's balcony.
Below them, thousands of people were waiting.
A knight stepped forward and raised a horn. The sound echoed across the village.
Then a man in a red cloak—maybe a royal advisor—stepped up and spoke.
"By the will of the sword, and the legacy of the crown… the King has returned!"
He turned toward Sylas and motioned for him to step forward. As Sylas moved beside him, the man shouted, "All hail King Arthur—ruler of Camelot, chosen by the blade!"
At once, the people dropped to their knees. They cheered.
"Long live the King!"
[Progress Updated: 25,000 / 25,000 Believers]
Sylas raised the sword high into the air. The cheering grew louder. He didn't smile. He just looked at all of them.
They believed in him. Every single one of them.
And that belief felt heavier than any sword he had ever carried.
"That's him. The new king." A boy said out loud to his mother.
An old man dropped to his knees, eyes filled with tears.
But when Sylas looked back, one person didn't kneel. A man stood there silently, watching him too closely.
He stepped forward and knelt slowly.
"Hello, young king," he said.
His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made Sylas's chest tighten.
He didn't know what to say. His mouth opened, then closed. That stare cut through him like the blade he couldn't draw.
Then someone called from behind.
"Merlin, let's go. We have work."
The old man smiled at Sylas before turning away.
Then a voice called out.
"Please take Arthur to his room."
"Yes, Queen Igraine," one of the guards said.
They guided him inside.
The room was large, but quiet. Not fancy. Just peaceful. Stone walls. A red carpet. A tall bed with gold and red blankets.
One wall held swords and shields. Another had a window, and through it, he could see the entire city below.
There was a small table in the corner, a few scrolls, and a single chair. No mirrors. No decorations. Just stone and steel.
He lay down and closed his eyes, trying to forget everything.
The sun went down. The moon rose.
The light hit him on the face, waking him up.
When he opened his eyes again, someone was looming above him—with a dagger, ready to stab.
The blade came down.
Sylas rolled to the side, dodging it. He reached for the sword—but it wouldn't draw. He slammed the handle into the attacker instead.
They both hit the ground. Sylas climbed on top of him.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm Merlin. Now—who are you?"
He was calm. Not once did he blink. His eyes were locked onto him.
The lie he was carrying just suddenly got heavier.
He sat Merlin up and started talking. He told him everything. How the real Arthur had been killed. How he looked just like him.
Merlin didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"I didn't kill him," Sylas said.
"So… what are you going to do now?" Merlin asked.
Sylas stayed quiet for a moment, then answered.
"I don't know."
Merlin leaned in close.
"Once people find out you can't draw the sword… they'll know you're a fake."
Sylas said nothing.
Merlin climbed out the window, gave one last look, and vanished into the night.
He didn't sleep that night. Not even for a second. He stared at the ceiling and thought about the sword, the people, and the lie.
They believed in him now. But belief is fragile. Like glass.
The next morning, he had breakfast with the queen and his half-sister. He tried not to look at the queen too long, but it was hard. She looked just like his mother. After five years, it felt like she was really sitting there.
He tried to keep it in, but the tears came anyway. He cried as he ate.
She stood up, walked over, and gently wiped his face. Then she hugged him.
And he let her.
For that moment, he let himself pretend.
A small part of him wanted to stay. He had no one back home. But here—he had a mother. A sister, even if she kept giving him evil glares.
He could live here. He could let the belief win.
Then Merlin walked in.
"Let's go, Arthur. We have a plan."
His mother gave him a soft nod.
So he followed.
On the way out, he looked at Merlin.
"Why are you helping me? Are you going to expose me?"
He smiled.
"I don't need to. When you fail to protect them… they'll know."
Sylas frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see," Merlin said. "Fake king."
They rode through the city on horseback. People praised him. They called him their king. Their protector.
And for the first time…
Sylas felt the weight of it.