Isle of Britain, Kingdom of Wales, territory of Ector.
At this moment, more than a month had passed since the so-called "Day of the King's Selection."
Under the witness of knights from all over the country, the girl who was born with a noble mission finally became the king she had dreamed of. The knights who had witnessed the miracle all submitted to the king's side, on the one hand, sincerely shouting the king's name, on the other hand, doing their best to serve as the king's vanguard, jointly building their beautiful home... although Artoria really wanted to say so.
But the real situation was actually: compared to before, Artoria's life had basically not changed. Those knights, after witnessing the miracle of the god and the holy king making a covenant, did not, as ordinary people had expected, express their allegiance to Artoria, this "chosen king"—most of them remained silent and quietly left this small town.
"Just as Brother Kay said, no one wants to be that [God's Representative], and no one wants to live under a [God's Representative]."
To the Celts, the Picts lurking in the northern highlands and the Saxons from the southern coast were indeed a huge threat—but for the kings and nobles on the Isle of Britain, the threat of these foreign tribes combined was by no means greater than the threat of a "king who is above them."
Those foreign tribes just wanted to rob their food and land, but Artoria... she wanted to take their power and their lives!
What? You say Artoria has no intention of being above these vassal kings? Her original intention was to unite these vassal kings to fight against Vortigern, and then rule this island together?
No, it's impossible. Such a thing will not happen again. Even if the original Artoria really thought so, after Shiroryu and her made that holy covenant of the "ideal kingdom," she and the other vassal kings were destined to not be able to coexist peacefully.
"The grace of God is only spread within the king's ideal."
From then on, there was only one true king recognized by the gods, and that was [Artoria Pendragon]. And those false kings who had usurped high positions... either took the initiative to surrender and submit; or rose up in resistance, and then were eliminated by the king. There was no third path.
"Then guess, what choice will the first person to come here make?"
"Do I even need to think about it? Of course, it's to rise up in resistance!"
"Then I'll bet a salmon that he will choose to submit."
"Deal!"
In their spare time, Shiroryu and Kay made a bet. Compared to that king who had not even a tiny bit of territory but was already busy to death... the two of them had a lot of free time, and could squander it as they pleased.
"By the way, guess again, what is that Al guy doing now?"
"Her? She's probably being treated as some rare thing and being watched by people."
...
Artoria had been a little troubled recently. No, it should be said, very troubled.
As a king in the true sense, logically she should now start recruiting people, expanding her territory, and raising her king's banner to conquer the four corners of the land. But unfortunately, her dream "died" at the first step.
Recruiting people? Here? In this village where she had lived for ten years? Recruiting the uncles and aunts who had watched her grow up?
"Ah, isn't that little Arthur? You've grown up in just a few days, you've even become the king of Britain?"
"How about it, on account of me secretly giving you honey before, you can also make me a lord!"
"Come on, you old braggart also want to be a master—you can't even manage the few livestock in your own home!"
"But, Arthur, I heard you have a very majestic dragon..."
Those villagers gathered around. There were enthusiastic ones, curious ones, daydreaming ones... they talked one after another, making the ahoge on top of Artoria's head droop, looking listless.
Fortunately, this situation did not last for too long. Just as the young king was in a dilemma, a voice full of dignity rescued her:
"What are you all doing here? Is all your work done!"
In the hearts of these villagers, this aged old man was clearly much more prestigious than that young new king—before Sir Ector could even raise his horsewhip, they had scattered like birds and beasts, leaving only a mess behind.
"Sir..." The girl looked at this foster father with a grateful gaze.
And the old knight tried his best to keep a straight face, wanting to lecture her as he used to—but he failed, because he already understood that the girl before him was no longer his foster daughter; she was a true king. A king, naturally, had to have the dignity of a king.
"Don't be too lenient with those people. You should treat them like livestock. When you need to use the whip, whip them hard. Also, you'd better not recruit your first men here. They are too familiar with you, which is definitely not a good thing. You should go to a brand new place, there will be a brand new beginning. But you can take that brat Kay with you—although he always has this or that problem, at least he is capable enough, and cunning enough, to save you a lot of trouble."
Ector kept nagging about something. Merlin had actually told Artoria these things long ago, but for some reason, even though the meaning was about the same, hearing them from this old knight gave her a completely different feeling.
Artoria was a little surprised to find that this knight, who in her impression was always very robust and spirited, seemed to have suddenly become much older.
"By the way, and this, I'll give it to you too."
As if thinking of something, the old knight took the girl to their family's "treasure house."
—It was called a treasure house, but in fact, there were only three things placed here. A spear, a suit of armor, and a dark blue knight's cloak.
"I can't give you the spear and armor, those are for that brat... this cloak is quite warm, you can take it." Ector, with an unquestionable tone, forcefully put the cloak on Artoria.
To be honest, it was a bit big. The 154cm Artoria wearing this cloak was like wearing a blue quilt. But she was still very grateful for the old knight's kindness.
A cloak—this was a symbol of honor, a reward that only the most heroic knight could get. For the old knight to give her this cloak, he must have placed high hopes on her, right?
With this thought, the young king turned and left, embarking on a new journey. And looking at her departing back, the old knight who had just been a little stooped suddenly stood up straight—he slightly raised his head, clenched his right hand into a fist, and beat it heavily on his chest.
There was no need to think, because the familiar oath had long been engraved in his soul. The moment his fist hit his heart, it had become an instinct and came out of his mouth:
"All Hail Britannia!"
"All Hail Pendragon!"
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