"So, what's next, my king? Shall we continue our adventurer—"
Merlin's voice trailed off mid-sentence.
His eyes blinked once, then widened with pure, undisguised shock as they locked onto the figure who had just entered the room.
Morgan. To be exact.
She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed beneath her chest, her white hair cascading over her shoulders, and her icy blue eyes fixed directly on the white-haired magus with an expression that could freeze hell itself.
"Aha! Nice to meet you again, Morgan."
Merlin's voice was warm, almost cheerful, the practiced tone of a man who had survived centuries by pretending everything was fine.
But behind that pleasant mask, his mind was already racing—calculating the distance to the nearest exit, weighing the odds of teleporting before she could reach him, and coming up distressingly short on both counts.
"Nice to meet you too, you degenerate fool," Morgan replied smoothly, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
Without breaking eye contact with Merlin, she strode forward and stepped hard on his foot, grinding her heel down with deliberate, sadistic pressure.
Merlin winced sharply, pain shooting up his leg, but his face—trained by centuries of bullshitting his way out of trouble—kept its pleasant, diplomatic smile. "So, how's the day been, Morgan?"
"There's no better day than the one where I finally get my revenge, Merlin." Her grin spread wide and devious, her murderous gaze boring into him like a dagger searching for the softest spot to sink into.
That did it.
Merlin's composure shattered.
He shrank back in undignified panic, his robes flapping as he scrambled behind Arthur, crouching low to use the boy's frame as a shield—a ridiculous sight, given that the great Magus of Flowers now had to hunch down just to hide behind a twelve-year-old.
He peeked over Arthur's shoulder, pointed a trembling finger at Morgan, and wailed like a manchild.
"My king! Look at her! She wants to murder me! Please—help!"
Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He didn't bother to turn around.
"You're a grown man, Merlin."
"A grown man about to be murdered!"
"Well, Morgan," Arthur said without hesitation, no longer shielding Merlin behind him.
His voice was calm, almost casual. "You can beat him, but don't beat him to death. His services are still needed in Camelot. We can't have our chief mage bedridden for weeks."
"Thank you, brother," Morgan said, a wide, predatory grin spreading across her face.
She instantly teleported in front of Merlin, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
"Ah! How could you do this to me, my king?!" Merlin screamed in absolute anguish, his voice cracking with betrayal as he was grabbed by the collar and dragged away by Morgan's teleportation spell.
"I've served you faithfully! I've been loyal! I've—"
The distant screams began almost immediately.
"OH SHIT—FUCK—DON'T—NOT THE FACE—!"
CRACK.
"I SAID NOT THE FACE!"
THUD. CRUNCH. WHIMPER.
The sounds echoed across the chamber, fading into the distance as Morgan dragged the unfortunate mage somewhere far away.
Arthur, Cleare, and Luxion all stood there with deadpan expressions, listening to the sound of Merlin being brutally beaten into a bloody pulp by an angry sister who had waited far too long for this moment of revenge.
"Partner," Luxion asked, his voice carrying a strange mixture of sympathy for the victim and undisguised gloating that his new master wasn't the one suffering, "will he be fine?"
"I believe the Sage Merlin will be just fine," Cleare said cheerfully, her voice bright and optimistic despite the distant sounds of agony. "He is Him, after all. A little beating won't kill him. Probably."
Another distant scream.
"MY SPLEEN! I NEEDED THAT!"
Arthur stared at the horizon, his expression carefully neutral. "Well. Maybe."
The sounds of Merlin's beating continued for another few minutes—each thud and yelp a small, satisfying punctuation to centuries of accumulated grievance. When the silence finally returned, it was almost deafening.
"So." Luxion's voice shifted, the humor fading into solemn focus. "What is the next goal, Partner?"
Arthur opened his System interface.
The Camelot System had updated the moment he'd officially established the faction—new quests, new rewards, new thresholds to cross.
His eyes scanned the latest entry.
[Quest: Once and Future King]
[Detail: Spread your prophecy once more in this world. Make them believe. Let the people know that the Once and Future King has returned—that he will save this world, change it, and forge it into something greater. Make Camelot Great Again.]
[Reward: Excalibur (1), Caliburn (1), Avalon (1)]
The Holy Trinity of Arthurian relics. The Sword of Promised Victory. The Sword in the Stone. The Sheath of Eternal Protection.
All of them, locked behind a single quest: Make them believe.
Arthur read the quest details again, then looked up at his new AI companions.
"I need you to create something for me. A product. A platform." He began to pace, his mind racing through possibilities. "A chatbot—accessible to anyone with a communication device—capable of answering questions across a broad range of topics. But the information will be controlled entirely by our database."
He paused, letting the vision crystallize.
"Implement a mature financial system alongside it. Online banking. Secure transactions. Something that commoners and nobles alike can use—something that makes their lives easier, more connected, more dependent on our infrastructure. And biotech products for our future endeavors. Medical breakthroughs. Agricultural enhancements. Everything that makes us indispensable."
Cleare's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "A complete technological ecosystem, Master. Information, finance, and biotechnology—all integrated, all controlled by Camelot."
"Luxion," Arthur continued, turning to the genocidal AI. "For you, military matters are yours. I want you to assess our current forces—Bedivere, the knights we'll recruit, the mechas we'll acquire—and develop a comprehensive defense and offense strategy. Camelot will not just be a technological powerhouse. It will be an impregnable fortress. A kingdom that no enemy can breach and no rival can challenge."
"Yes, Partner!" Luxion said.
"Yes, Master!" Cleare said at the same time.
They both spoke simultaneously, their voices overlapping in a strange harmony of eager obedience.
Suddenly, Morgan reappeared in front of them. Merlin was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps he was pretending to be dead somewhere, lying in a ditch and nursing his wounds.
Time would tell.
"What about me, brother?" Morgan asked, her eyes bright and eager.
She had just had her fun, and now she wanted her assignment.
"I don't know," Arthur said, shrugging helplessly. "Let's talk about it later, Morgan. For now, let's focus on spreading our fame, recruiting others for our cause, and strengthening ourselves. We need to create an impregnable fortress for Camelot, a place that no enemy can ever breach."
"As you wish, brother," Morgan said, nodding in agreement.
But she didn't leave.
Instead, she stepped closer—close enough that Arthur could smell the faint trace of ozone and wildflowers that always seemed to cling to her, a remnant of her dual nature as witch and fairy.
Her blue eyes searched his face with an intensity that made him momentarily still.
"Brother," she murmured, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "It has been too long. Too much time wasted on hatred. Too many centuries spent as enemies when we should have been family."
Her hand reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve—tentative, almost shy.
"I want to know you better. Your experiences in this world. Your memories of your past life. Everything that made you who you are now. I want to understand this place—its rules, its factions, its dangers. I want..."
She hesitated, her cheeks flushing faintly. "I want you to sleep with me tonight. As a brother and sister. Just... talking. Just being close. Just catching up on all the time we lost."
Arthur looked at her—at the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide behind her usual regal composure, at the hope flickering in her ice-blue eyes, at the slight tremble in her fingers against his sleeve.
Arthur nodded without hesitation, his expression warm. "Of course, Morgan. I have every little time in the world to spend with you, my sister."
Her expression softened.
The tension drained from her shoulders.
A genuine smile—small, fragile, utterly unlike the wicked grins she'd worn as the Witch of Britannia—curved her lips.
"Good."
She stepped back, her composure returning, but the warmth in her eyes remained.
Arthur didn't notice that Morgan stood just a little closer to him after that.
That her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary.
That her smile, when she thought he wasn't looking, was softer than any expression she'd ever worn in all her centuries of existence.
His mind was focused, as always, on the bigger picture.
To make Camelot Great Again.
That was his mission.
His purpose.
His destiny.
Everything else, including his sister's sudden need for closeness, would have to wait.
Note: Yeah, don't forget to rate this story 5 stars or leave a review. It has already reached 16 chapters, but so far it only has 5 reviews.
You don't need to write a long review either — even an emoji or a short review is enough.
I know long reviews are barely possible on this site anymore. The AI censorship here is beyond toxic. Even if you don't write anything about sex or use rude words, your review can still get deleted.
Well, long reviews might still be possible somehow, but I'm not really sure. I once wrote a long 5-star review for someone, but the site shadowbanned it. Only I could see it on my profile while everyone else couldn't.
Even after revising it again and again, the result stayed the same. Because of that, I stopped bothering with serious reviews on this site and just use emoticons instead.
Anyway, don't forget to review this story. Ideally, it needs 5 more reviews so the rating can finally show up.