A blond, delicate-looking boy stood upon a golden plain. Beneath the setting sun, the distant heavens were dyed in hues of orange. Known as Artolis, the slender youth slowly lowered the sword in his hand, gently wiping the sweat from his face. His refined, handsome features were filled with exhaustion.
"Artolis, enough. Stop training, it's time to head back."
From afar, a tall and broad fifteen-year-old boy strode over. Seeing his "younger brother" so fatigued, his expression softened with concern."You plowed the fields this morning and trained in swordsmanship all afternoon. You've worked the entire day. You need proper rest at night."
"Don't worry, brother Kay, I'm fine."
The youth's voice rang clear and melodious, like the sound of windchimes drifting across the fields.
All around, massive windmills turned lazily, their colossal blades capturing the endless currents. The tremendous energy gathered stirred the river's waters, irrigating farmlands stretching for dozens of kilometers, while the sweeping gusts set grass and trees swaying in every direction.
Facing the mighty wind from a towering windmill more than ten meters tall, Artolis smiled."Since these windmills never stop moving, I also won't tire."
"That's because they were designed by Grand Duke Equinus. But you're human. You're not the same as a machine."
"Machines? I always thought someone was inside pushing them around…" The youth tilted his head, blurting a question of childlike innocence. "I really wonder how that Grand Duke managed to create something like this…"
Kay could only sigh at such naïve words. He knew well this "Artolis" was hardly as pure as he pretended—his remark about the windmills was clearly just an excuse."Enough. Let's go back. If we're late, father will scold us."
"Mm."
Artolis nodded. But his gaze wavered, his thoughts clearly drifting somewhere far beyond this field.
Artolis was ten years old.
But in truth, "he" was not named Artolis. Her real name was Artoria—surname unknown. According to her foster father Sir Ector, she had been entrusted to his household.
From the age of five, Artoria's memories of the years before had all but vanished. What she did know was that ever since then, she had lived together with her foster parents and foster brother Kay, amidst the fertile farmlands of Windmill City.
Though it seemed she lived as a child taken in out of pity, and though their family was poor, her life was far from miserable.
The knight Sir Ector and his wife treated her exceedingly well—like their own son. Apart from the strict command that she must never reveal her true gender, she was given the same, if not better, treatment as Kay.
Kay himself harbored no resentment; instead, he treated her as tenderly as a younger sister.
Thus, while they lived simply—even impoverished, to the point where they needed to farm with their own hands—Artoria's days were serene.
Her routine was always the same: working the fields in the morning, training in swordsmanship in the afternoon. And though her body ached with exhaustion, she never once found fault with such a fulfilling life.
Even if, by night, her rare hours of rest were spent "learning" in dreams…
Artoria did not complain.
"Once again, we meet, Lya."
"Good morning, Teacher Merlin."
The instant her eyes closed upon her bed, her consciousness drifted, descending upon a boundless sea of blossoms.
When her vision cleared, the sky above mirrored the real world. Beneath the azure vault stretched endless fields of flowers in full bloom, their fragrance riding upon the breeze.
In the midst of this sea stood a tall, slender youth with silver hair, his smile serene as he looked upon the ten-year-old girl."Strictly speaking, it should be 'good evening.'"
"In the outside world, yes, it is evening. But here, the sun still shines brightly, does it not?" Artoria countered. "Morning and night… are merely relative."
"As expected of you, Lya. Clever as always."
Merlin's smile deepened, approving of her sharp words."And so it is with diligence. It is always relative."
"Yes, Teacher."
The girl straightened. "By that measure, I am still not diligent enough."
As though her entire being had caught fire, she stood ready before him. The silver-haired magus cleared his throat, his gaze calm as ever as he looked down upon the girl who barely reached his chest.
"Then, let us begin today's lesson."
No one could say when it first began. But ever since, each evening upon falling asleep, Artoria found herself summoned here—to the sea of flowers—where she was instructed by the man who called himself Sage Merlin.
At first she had been startled. Not only by this dream, but also by his title.
The name "Merlin the Sage" was known throughout the land. While not as dazzling in recent fame as Grand Duke Subutai of Windmill City, far more people knew of Merlin's name.
So of course, she could not dismiss his claim outright.
And soon, she grew accustomed. Each night she accepted his teachings within this dreamscape.
Teachings that were always strict. Always severe.
Merlin never once softened his lessons.
Today was no different.
"First, we will continue our study of statecraft."
He raised his hand, and countless motes of light gathered, sketching the geography of Britain in the air."To know one's land is the foremost duty of a king."
"Remember how the Windmill City you live in was personally built by the most virtuous of knights, Grand Duke Subutai. Every stone, every stream, every wall and garden—he knows them all."
"In the same way, you must learn every river, every fortress of Britain. For one day, they shall determine your fate."
As ever, he used the deeds of Grand Duke Subutai to inspire her.
Artoria nodded earnestly. Indeed, she thought, the Duke was remarkable beyond measure. The tireless windmills stood as proof enough. Her eyes focused upon the glowing map with total attention.
Time in dreams flowed strangely. She did not know how long she studied, only that eventually she had memorized them all.
"Second, swordsmanship."
With a flick of his hand, the flower fields vanished—transformed into a battlefield. Phantom swordsmen surged forward in countless numbers.
"The swordplay you practice by day is only the basics. True growth comes through battle. Just as the Duke once marched north, slaying countless beasts before felling Vortigern himself—you too must overcome every assault. Until you do, there shall be no rest tonight."
The girl gripped her wooden blade, her body already drenched in sweat.
Time passed. How long, she did not know.
At last came the customary question.
"If your people doubt your gender," Merlin asked, "how will you answer?"
"Through my deeds and my dignity," she panted. "A king has no need to explain."
Merlin smiled.
But in that smile, there was no approval. Only scrutiny.
"Excellent."
"Remember this, Lya: as king, you were born to exhaust every last drop of yourself for this land."
Artoria had never once wished to be king. Not in her waking life.
Yet here in dreams, she was never given the chance to object.
She opened her lips, ready to nod—
—when suddenly, another voice rang out.
"For that point, I must disagree."
Confusion welled up inside her.
Before she could react, Merlin's smile froze.
"Eh—? Eh!? I certainly don't recall inviting you in!"
"If you hadn't, do you think I couldn't walk in myself?" came the reply, cheerful and genuine in contrast to Merlin's stiff, false grin. "I do have legs, after all, great Magus Merlin."
Artoria blinked. Who was this?
Looking from Merlin's startled face to the new arrival, she could tell instantly: a familiar acquaintance.
But… too young.
He looked barely older than her foster brother Kay.
Merlin sighed, helpless. "I recall you support Princess Morgan. What business have you here?"
"Who said supporting Morgan means I cannot support another as well?" The newcomer—a handsome, dark-eyed boy—answered smoothly. "That's politics. You never put all your eggs in one basket."
"Besides—why can't two people both be king?"
The blunt honesty of these words left Merlin momentarily speechless.
Then the boy turned suddenly."By the way… what's your name?"
"M-my name?" Artoria stammered instinctively. "It's Artoria… no, Artolis…"
"Artoria, is it?" the boy smiled. "Then from today onward, I shall be your true teacher."
"As for this old man—kick him aside. I'll show you the real path!"
"Ah, introductions. I am Subutai Equinus. But you may simply call me Teacher Su. I can shoulder that title."
Merlin: "…"
Artoria's mind raced. Subutai Equinus—?
"The Grand Duke of Windmill City!?"
She jolted, excitement bursting through her weariness.
She had grown up in Windmill City.
She had heard Merlin himself use the Duke as example again and again.
To her young heart, no name could have been more stirring.
Thus, Merlin's plan had backfired.
In trying to guide her, he had handed her straight into another's hands.
From that night on—
The child who would be king had two teachers.
One who taught her to rule.
And another who taught her to become the true Knight King.
The Legend of King Arthur
[You have invaded Merlin's dream.][And you have torn apart his disguise.]