[Reward Claimed: 1× Summon Ticket (Knight of the Round Table)]
[Commencing Summoning Ritual…]
A massive magic circle burst into existence in front of him, drawn in golden geometric lines that shone like molten sunlight.
Even in his weakened state, Arthur felt the raw divinity in the air, pressure so intense it made the dying embers of the village bow as if in worship.
Wind howled.
Light spiraled.
Power gathered.
A figure stepped forth from the circle, emerging with quiet dignity.
A tall knight clad in polished silver armor, cape fluttering behind him like a banner of purity.
His eyes were gentle yet unwavering.
His presence was humble, yet radiated the unshakable righteousness of a true knight.
He knelt immediately upon seeing Arthur.
"My king."
Arthur's breath caught.
He knew this man.
Not from this world.
Not from his shattered memories.
But from his past life, from the FGO he once played, from Fate lore discussions, from history itself.
Sir Bedivere.
The loyal Knight of the Round to stand beside King Arthur at the end.
A man who carried Excalibur to the lake when the age of legends was dying.
And he was kneeling before him.
Arthur's vision blurred, not from injury, but from the shock slamming into him all at once.
I remember…
I… remember everything…
His past life.
The anime.
The Nasuverse.
The original "Mobuseka" events, the otome game where a mob protagonist navigated romantic routes with various gay princes.
His reincarnation.
All of it came crashing back like a tidal wave, drowning the simple identity of the village boy.
He was a fusion, a trinity of consciousness and soul merged into one singular being: the spirit of King Arthur Pendragon, the memories of a modern reincarnated soul, and the life experiences of Olivia's brother, a boy who had lived in this rural place and dreamed of becoming a knight, only to have that hope crushed by the harsh, bloody reality of the Sky Pirates' attack.
Looking down at the knight who had sworn his allegiance, Arthur's gaze was profoundly complicated, layered with the weight of two lifetimes and a legacy he had never asked for.
"Sir Bedivere... Long time no see, I guess?" he managed, his voice a rough whisper laden with unspoken history.
The silver-haired knight looked up, his own expression filled with a deep, poignant nostalgia, as if greeting a beloved sovereign he had thought lost for a thousand years. "Long time no see, indeed, my king."
"I have answered your summons, my king."
"Please forgive my belated arrival."
"Show me your enemies, and I shall fell them."
"Show me your burdens, and I shall bear them."
Arthur let out a long, weary sigh, the sound thick with melancholy as he gestured vaguely to the corpses of the pirates and the smoldering ruins around them.
"There is no need for that now. They are already dead."
His gaze swept across the devastation: the splintered ruins of his home, the neighboring houses still belching black smoke into the sky, the raw, gaping crater left by the pirates' mana explosives. His eyes lingered on the still forms of the villagers who had given their lives armed with nothing more than old hoes and wooden sticks.
His parents.
His neighbors.
Everyone who laughed with him, argued with him, shared meals with him.
They all fought as best as they could against the sky pirates, but there was never any real chance.
The pirates came with steel weapons, firearms, mana-powered machines, and crude mechas that tore through the rural settlement like monsters stomping through an anthill. The villagers were unarmed, untrained, and abandoned.
They could only protect their children and pray that help arrived fast enough to matter
In the end, the heroes always late, they had resources, the mean and the tools to put it all of this atrocity to the end, but their interest always paramount compared to live peasant.
Arthur let out a weak, bitter laugh at himself.
Even his own awakening came too late.
He wasn't some chosen hero. He wasn't a savior. He was just a boy, one who had lost everything in a single afternoon. His parents were gone, his hometown erased, the warmth of his old life ripped away with the same casual cruelty as a wave destroying a sandcastle.
If the kingdom or the nobles possessed even a shred of conscience, they would've at least given the villages weapons or defenses; guns, steel blades, a single airship patrol, anything.
But they gave nothing.
They were isolated on this floating island, utterly dependent. If they wanted to escape or seek help, their only option was to wait and hope that some higher-up or a wealthy merchant from the central kingdom would bother to pass by, to bypass the skies between islands or deigning to land their flying boat in such an insignificant, impoverished place.
The contrast was painful to look at.
The knights stood there with gleaming firearms, mana-steel equipment, magical armor, clean uniforms, and polished airships humming in the background. A complete picture of military power and proper training.
And the villagers?
Wooden sticks.
Old hoes and shovels.
Bare hands.
Arthur's fists trembled.
"They… they died because the kingdom never gave them the means to protect themselves."
The realization hit him.
In his past life, Mobuseka's setting was always mocked for its incompetent nobles—
spoiled
rotten
feminist tyrants
treating men as disposable toys
wasting budgets
ignoring rural territories
pushing their own agendas while commoners suffered
But seeing it firsthand…
This wasn't funny.
This wasn't satire.
This was a kingdom rotting from the top down.
And the late arrival of the so-called royal knights only confirmed it.
Arthur looked at Bedivere.
"Sir Bedivere… look at this."
His voice was strained, burning, shaking with barely buried fury.
"This is a kingdom that has firearms… airships… steel weapons… and knights in shining armor."
His expression hardened.
"But the villages?
"The people?"
"They have nothing."
"Nothing but prayers and wooden sticks."
Bedivere raised his head slightly, watching Arthur with a solemn, understanding expression.
"A kingdom that cannot protect its people has no right to call itself a nation."
Arthur inhaled sharply.
That one sentence carved itself into his soul.
He looked at the charred remains of his home.
At the blood in the dirt.
At the empty sky where the pirates had fled freely because no one was there to stop them.
He tightened his grip on the earth.
"Then I will build one."
Bedivere bowed deeply.
"Then I shall help you build it, my king."
The System chimed again.
[New Quest Unlocked: Foundation of Camelot]
[Objective: Establish Camelot]
[Reward: Permanent Stat Enhancement + Camelot Blueprint, Summoning Ticket (x2), Heroic Spirit Saint Graph (x1)]
Arthur felt something inside him ignite, an ambition far greater than survival.
If the kingdom was incompetent…
If nobles failed their duty…
If the military only existed to serve aristocratic whims…
Then he would create a Camelot that surpassed them all.
A kingdom of honor.
A kingdom of strength.
A kingdom where knights protected the weak.
A kingdom worthy of King Arthur.
"You shall cloak your presence, Bedivere. I do not want those men from the kingdom to know you are here yet," Arthur commanded, his voice low and urgent as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder from the distance.
Bedivere rose smoothly to his feet. "As you will, my king."
He lowered his head in a respectful bow, and in the next moment, his form dissolved into a brief flash of light.
The air rippled as if a thin layer of reality had been peeled away.
In an instant, he was gone, no traces, no sound, nothing.
A Heroic Spirit could vanish with such ease that it felt unreal, like he had never stood there in the first place.
The knights, with his sister Olivia trailing nervously in their wake, finally arrived at the ruins of his home.
It could barely be called a structure anymore; the door had been utterly destroyed, leaving a gaping hole that offered no privacy and a clear view of the devastation within.
"Young boy," the lead knight began, his voice carrying a tone of formal, detached sympathy. "Allow me to offer our condolences for the passing of your parents and the tragedy that has befallen this village. You have my word, on my honor as a Redgrave, that we will deliver justice for you and the survivors."
Arthur looked up, meeting the man's eyes directly. He searched them, but found no guilt, no remorse for their catastrophic delay.
Instead, he saw only a cold, simmering fury, not over the loss of innocent life, but over some other offense, some slight against their noble house.
As expected of the nobility, Arthur thought, the realization as bitter as ash in his mouth.
Expecting them to genuinely care for peasants or to apologize for their failure was a fool's hope.
Still, Arthur didn't let any of that show on his face.
He kept his expression calm, allowing only a faint hint of polite gratitude to surface.
"If that is all, then please allow me to express our deepest thanks on behalf of our village. My apologies, Sir Knight, but we have nothing of value left to offer you as a reward for your… assistance."
He saw it then, the flicker of disdain in the eyes of the knights standing behind their leader.
Their eyes wandered over the destroyed home, then toward Arthur, and finally toward his sister, who stood quietly behind him.
Arthur caught their expressions, those subtle smirks, the uncaring glance, the impatience.
All of it carved a silent fury deeper into his heart
These knights didn't care about justice.
Instead of righteousness or shame, their only concern was for potential profit.
He wondered, cynically, if the only reason they had bothered to come at all was because of the rumor that his sister possessed the rare gift of healing magic.
The lead knight, however, simply waved a dismissive hand. "Your thanks is payment enough. We will take our leave now. Farewell, young boy."
He turned on his heel to depart, but paused mid-stride.
In one fluid motion, he drew a standard-issue longsword from the scabbard of one of his subordinates and tossed it, hilt-first, to clatter on the ground at Arthur's feet.
"We saw your potential in the way you faced those pirates, boy. And your sister's gift is noted. Take this. Go and train yourself. Perhaps one day you may become a knight worthy of serving a great house like ours."
Without another word, they filed out, their polished armor glinting as they disappeared back into the smoke-hazed village.
The moment they were gone, the tense atmosphere shattered. Olivia, who had been trembling with nervousness throughout the entire exchange, did not hesitate to throw herself into her brother's arms.
"How are you, brother?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest. "Are your injuries truly fine? You're not just pretending for my sake, are you?"
"I am fine, Olivia. Truly," he reassured her, his voice softening as he gently caressed her blonde hair, soothing her. "This time… I swear I will be strong enough to protect you."
"No, brother," she said, pulling back to look up at him. Her eyes, still red-rimmed, now held a fierce, unyielding light. "I will protect you this time."
Her gaze was unwavering, locking with his. "Please. Do not refuse me. I want to train with you. I need to be strong, too."
Arthur looked at his sister, seeing not a helpless child, but a determined young woman forged in the same fire of tragedy as he was.
He gave a single, grim nod of acceptance.
A brilliant, relieved smile broke through her worried expression. "Yay! You're the best brother!"
She embraced him tightly once more, and for a long moment, the two siblings simply held each other, a small island of tender warmth and newfound resolve amidst the cold, tragic ruins of their home.