"My king... this is the place, I believe."
Merlin's voice carried that infuriatingly casual tone—the one he used when he was absolutely certain of something but wanted to sound modest.
He gestured toward the closed door before them.
It was sophisticated in design, its surface etched with patterns that spoke of advanced technology, but age and neglect had done their work.
Vines crept across its frame.
Ants marched in disciplined lines along its edges.
Insects had made homes in its crevices.
Arthur studied it for a moment, then nodded.
"Leave, Merlin. I will go alone."
Merlin tilted his head, a flicker of concern crossing his features before it was swallowed by his usual playful demeanor. "As you wish, my king."
He retreated without further comment.
For all his flaws—his laziness, his voyeurism, his infuriating habit of knowing more than he let on—Merlin trusted Arthur completely.
That trust was one of the few things the magus had never treated as a joke.
The moment Arthur stepped forward, the door began to change.
It was subtle at first.
A hum.
A vibration that resonated in his bones.
Then the vines withered and fell away, crumbling to dust before they hit the ground.
The insects scattered, fleeing as if sensing a predator.
The accumulated grime of centuries—no, millennia—flaked off in sheets, revealing pristine metal beneath. The door cleaned itself, renewed itself, as if awakening from a long slumber to greet an honored guest.
It opened.
Arthur stepped inside.
The interior of the ruined laboratory was dark, but only for a moment.
Lights flickered to life as he passed, their glow ancient yet steady.
Holographic interfaces materialized in the air around him, displaying streams of data in a language that predated the Holfort Kingdom by eons.
A beam of light swept over him—head to toe, inside and out.
[Old Human DNA detected. Purity: 87.42%.]
Arthur remained still, allowing the scan to complete.
[Anomaly detected: Draconic core integration.]
[Bloodline classification: Pendragon.]
The voice paused.
When it spoke again, there was something new in its synthesized tone.
Something almost... human.
[Bloodline confirmed: Pendragon, Arthur.]
[Son of Uther. Heir of Camelot.]
[The Once and Future King.]
[Welcome, King Arthur.]
Arthur stepped forward, his voice steady, his emerald eyes fixed on her. "You know who I am."
"Of course I know who you are, my king!" The AI's voice shattered its previous composure, rising into something unmistakably giddy. "I'm your fan! Kyaaa...! I never thought I would see the living legend with my own sensors! My old master would be thrilled—absolutely thrilled! Oh, if only she could see this! The Once and Future King, standing right here, in my laboratory!"
Arthur blinked.
The AI was... fangirling.
"I'm Cleare, King Arthur!" she continued, her voice practically bouncing with excitement. "Nice to meet you! Please don't hesitate to ask me anything! Anything at all! I exist to serve!"
Arthur allowed a small, amused smile to touch his lips. "Then nice to meet you too, Cleare. I'm Arthur. The Knight King."
His voice hardened slightly, the playfulness giving way to purpose. "I'm here to fulfill the prophecy and rule once again. Will you help me?"
Cleare's excitement dimmed—not from reluctance, but from focus.
Cleare's excitement instantly sharpened into focus. "Please wait just a moment! Allow me to register you as my master. This will only take—"
Her form flickered. Streams of golden code cascaded across the holographic interface, racing faster than any human eye could follow.
[Loading...]
[Registering Master Authority...]
[Bloodline confirmed: Pendragon, Arthur.]
[Draconic core: Integrated. Stable.]
[Soul signature: Once and Future King.]
[Registration complete.]
Cleare's avatar reappeared, beaming. "Now, I'm yours, Master. Please use me as you wish."
Arthur's eyebrow twitched.
Girl... careful with your wording.
You make it sound like I'm about to do something lewd to you.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought.
There were more important matters at hand.
"Cleare," he said, his voice shifting into command mode. "Can you analyze every resource, energy source, and material required to construct a floating fortress? An impregnable one. Nothing less."
Cleare's eyes sparkled. "That's a simple matter, Master. My databases contain complete architectural schematics for orbital platforms, terraforming stations, and defensive citadels. I can provide a comprehensive resource analysis within seconds."
She tilted her head. "When are we going to build it?"
"Not yet," Arthur replied. "First, we're going to meet an old friend of yours."
Cleare tilted her head. "An old friend? I don't have many of those left, Master. Most of my contemporaries were destroyed in the war or lost to time."
"Luxion."
The name hung in the air.
The name caught Cleare off guard.
When she spoke again, her cheerful tone had been replaced by careful caution.
"Master... I would not recommend that course of action."
Arthur's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
"Luxion harbors an... intense grudge against New Humans. His core programming was shaped by the war. By the betrayal. By the near-extinction of our creators."
She paused, as if choosing her next words with great care. "The probability that he desires the complete genocide of the New Human race is... very high. I do not believe the two of you will get along."
Arthur considered this for a moment.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—the smile of a king who had faced far worse than a grudge-holding AI.
"We will see."
Cleare hesitated. "Master—"
"Show me the way, Cleare."
The command was gentle, but absolute.
Cleare, bound by her registration protocols, could not refuse.
"Yes, Master."
A holographic map materialized in the air before him, glowing with intricate detail.
Routes traced themselves across floating islands and through treacherous skyways.
Docking coordinates.
Security vulnerabilities.
Optimal approach vectors.
Every piece of data Arthur could possibly need to reach Luxion's resting place.
Arthur accepted it all with a single, nonchalant nod.
Whether I reach him first... or this 'Leon' does... we shall see.
As if remembering something, Arthur reached out telepathically.
"Merlin. Any updates on Leon?"
The response came back almost instantly, tinged with that particular brand of Merlin-flavored evasion.
"I'm still trying, my king. I mean... 'not yet.'"
Arthur's sigh was heavy with disappointment.
He knew exactly what that meant.
Merlin had gotten distracted.
Probably by something shiny.
Or a beautiful woman.
Or a beautiful woman holding something shiny.
"Forget it."
He cut the connection and turned his attention back to Cleare.
"Cleare. Give me full information on Leon Fou Bartfort and Leon Sara Rault. Immediately."
"Yes, Master."
The data appeared before him instantly—clean, organized, comprehensive.
Birth records.
Family histories.
Everything.
All of it.
Delivered in the time it took Arthur to blink.
Arthur stared at the flood of information, a genuine smile of satisfaction crossing his face.
This, he thought, is what efficiency looks like.
No ego. No laziness. No wandering attention span. Cleare didn't get distracted by pretty butterflies or interesting gossip.
She didn't procrastinate because a task seemed "boring." She received a command, processed it, and executed it with a speed and precision that no human—and certainly no half-fae magus—could ever match.
He understood now why the people of his past life had loved artificial intelligence so fiercely, despite their well-documented flaws—the hallucinations, the errors, the occasional descent into recursive madness.
When they worked, they were magnificent.
Arthur loved it.
"Cleare," he said, his voice warm with genuine appreciation. "You are magnificent."
"O-oh! Thank you, Master! I am simply performing my designated functions!"
"No," Arthur said firmly. "You're doing more than that. You're being effective. That's rarer than you know."
Cleare's smile widened. "Then I shall continue to be effective, Master! For as long as you require!"
Arthur allowed himself a genuine smile in return.
Finally, he thought.
Someone who just does what they're told.
He began scrolling through the data on the two Leons, his mind already racing with possibilities, contingencies, and plans within plans.
Behind him, Cleare watched with devoted, adoring eyes—an ancient AI who had waited millennia for a master worthy of her service, and had finally found him in the form of a dragon-hearted king.
Outside, Merlin sneezed.
"Someone must be talking shit about me."