Chapter 596: The Continuation of a Dream (Patreon)

Mordred had returned to this place, this place of endings.

The setting sun was blood-red, corpses littered the ground, and nearly the entire military force of Britain was obliterated.

It wasn't due to battles with enemies but destroyed by internal strife.

She squatted there, a lance piercing through her chest, leaving a gaping hole.

In this rebellion that split the nation in two, in the battle with the king, she was defeated and lost her life.

Her eyes gradually lost their luster, and her consciousness was slipping away. At the moment her soul left the mortal realm, some miracle allowed her to see the king, her father, once more.

The wound she inflicted on the king was fatal. She assumed the king must be holding onto regret and curses, hating the enemy, and lamenting his fate—this is what she had thought.

But in reality, the king displayed no emotion, instead giving off an impression of calmness.

Even though she had driven him to this point, cursed him, schemed against him, and hated him, the king seemed completely unfazed.

It was truly pathetic—"she" thought.

Because not holding hatred towards those who hate you is far more painful than simply hating them back.

The king, supported by a knight, left the battlefield.

"Her" gaze followed closely, like a bird spreading its wings across the battlefield, always chasing after her father's figure.

"Hah, hah, hah, hah—!"

The knight was running.

The war was over, and the blood-red sunset had sunk, now the darkness of night ruled the battlefield.

Curses filled the hills buried with corpses, lamenting to take the living away.

The knight's hand gripped the reins, desperately clinging to the wounded white horse.

"King! King Arthur, over here—!"

Though wounded himself, the knight still ran across the battlefield.

The king whom the knight served had been seized by death.

Though he had single-handedly defeated the rebels, the king himself had also suffered a mortal wound.

"Please hold on! Once we reach that forest, surely—!"

Breathing heavily, and leaping over mountains of bodies, the knight's goal was the forest untouched by blood.

"King, please wait here now, I will immediately call for the soldiers."

The knight leaned the king's body against a large tree.

Not a second could be wasted.

"Please hold on until then. I will bring the soldiers over."

Bowing to the unconscious king, the knight ran to the white horse.

"—Bedivere."

Before he could mount.

The king, who should have been unconscious, called out the knight's name.

"King!? Are you awake!?"

"Yes. I had a dream."

A hazy voice.

But that voice felt extremely—warm to "her" ears.

"A dream?"

A questioning tone.

The king's consciousness was still unclear. Without asking back, he might fall into darkness again.

"Yes. A rare experience I had never seen before."

"Is that so? Please rest carefully. During this time, I will bring the soldiers."

"—"

A deep breath.

The knight's words seemed strange for some reason.

"King? Did I say something inappropriate?"

"—No. I was just surprised by what you said. Can dreams be seen even after waking up? Isn't it true that as long as you close your eyes, you will see the same thing?"

This time it was the knight's turn to be surprised.

After organizing his thoughts, he responded.

"—Yes. If the feelings are strong enough, you'll see the same dream. I've had a similar experience."

There was no such thing.

Dreams are originally meant to be unique.

Both the knight and "she" knew this well, yet the knight lied.

This was likely the first and last time the knight would be dishonest and apologize to the king.

"Is that so? You are quite knowledgeable, Bedivere."

The king spoke with emotion.

Lowering his head, not looking at the knight.

The king was already uncertain of his actions, breathing quietly.

"Bedivere. Take my sword."

With a voice that seemed to be slipping away, he issued his final command.

"Listen carefully. Pass through this forest, cross the blood-soaked hill. Beyond it, there's a deep lake. Throw my sword into it."

"—! My king, that—!"

The knight knew what this meant.

The sword in the lake.

To abandon the sword that had protected the king until now, the symbol of the king he served, signified the end of the king he served.

"—Go. After you complete this, return to me. I want to hear what you see."

The king's words did not change.

The knight took up the holy sword, hesitated, and crossed the hill—

Then.

The knight hesitated three times to return the sword.

There was indeed a lake.

But he couldn't bring himself to throw the sword into it.

The king was eternal.

As long as the holy sword guided him, the king would not perish.

But throwing the sword into the lake meant the king would no longer be the king.

The knight couldn't throw the sword because of the king, so he returned to the king's side.

The king repeatedly commanded the knight.

The knight, who falsely claimed to have discarded the sword, answered that he would follow the command.

Disobeying the king's command was a grave sin for the knight.

But he risked his life twice more.

Each time he stood before the lake, he remembered the king's life—

But this would eventually end.

The knight, realizing the king's will would not change, threw the sword into the lake on the third attempt.

The holy sword returned to the lake.

A pale white arm appeared on the water's surface, caught the sword, spun it three times in midair, and then the holy sword vanished from the world.

"—"

And then, the knight accepted it.

The end of the king.

That long-held responsibility has come to an end.

On the third crossing of the hill, the forest was bathed in the morning light.

The battlefield bore no traces.

There was no sign of the bloodthirsty war, just clear, thin mist.

"—The sword has been thrown into the lake. The hand of the lake's spirit indeed received the sword."

The king opened his eyes at the knight's words.

"Then, lift your head. You have obeyed your king's command."

With a voice welcoming death, the knight quietly nodded—

It was all over.

Afterwards, their country would continue in turmoil.

The war would not end, and the day of destruction would come soon.

But, the king's war ended here.

He—no, she, in the end, completed that task.

The light gradually faded.

Because the task was completed, the last strength protecting her disappeared.

"—I apologize, Bedivere.

This time, my sleep will be longer—"

As if quietly falling asleep.

The king closed her eyes.

Only the morning sunlight fell.

Silence stood in the forest, accompanying the king's eternal sleep.

Seeing that face without a trace of regret, tears involuntarily fell.

At this moment, "she" could no longer distinguish between dream and illusion.

"She" only knew that the side profile was exactly what "she" had hoped for.

A peaceful sleep.

Father, at last, could find rest.

The sky was vast, the clear blue sky.

The war had truly ended here.

"—Are you watching, King Arthur."

The whispered voice carried on the wind.

The king, fallen into sleep, seemed to sink into the endless blue.

"The continuation of a dream—"

Looking at a distant, distant dream.

...

...

...

A bird spread its wings and flew in the air, taking "her" to another place.

A scene she had dreamed of countless times.

"She" stood before a solid rock, next to her stood a magician, whose age was indeterminate.

A sword was embedded in the rock, and the magician loudly declared to the knights of the country:

"Whoever pulls out this sword will become the king."

Brave men, those who had absolute confidence in their strength, and famous knights all came to challenge pulling the sword, but all gave up after failing to move it at all.

"These foolish people."—she said silently.

This sword is a weapon to select the king. Only the chosen one who can save this country can pull it out. Do you think you can just use brute force to pull it out? Even naivety should have its limits.

So, when no one else cared about the sword anymore, she stood before it.

The magician spoke in a calm tone:

"Before you grasp the sword, you'd better think it through carefully."

She began to think. She was always thinking.

The significance of pulling out this sword.

It meant becoming an independent king.

So she reached out her hand—as if she thought there was no need to respond.

Then, the magician sighed and waved his hand—the dream always ended there.

Even if she reached out to the sword, she couldn't touch it. Despite swearing to become an independent king, the dream always declared to her, "You don't have that right."

She felt impatient and indignant, and in the end, she even pleaded.

"Let me pull out the sword, let me become the king, I surely can pull it out."

"Then, what vow would you make to this sword, what would you entrust to it?"

She correctly answered the magician's question.

"I will become a good king."

"With correct governance, correct strategy, and correct power to support this country. Absolute justice, absolute power, what's wrong with that?"

She reached out her hand, but couldn't even touch the hilt of the sword.

It was just a little bit further. If she could just grasp the hilt, she could pull out the sword.

Because I am Mordred, the legitimate heir of King Arthur.

I will not lose to anyone, and I will become a king surpassing my father—

However, no matter how many times she repeated it, she couldn't touch the golden sword embedded in the stone.

Until this time, she stood before the rock but did not reach out her hand.

"Do you understand?" the magician asked.

"I understand." She nodded.

He was lonely, he was exalted, like a new moon quietly shining in a cloudy sky.

He was always alone, desolate and clear.

Because everyone was looking up at him, he couldn't even cry or scream—

If someone else became the king, you wouldn't need to do this.

You could relax and show a peaceful smile—I wanted to tell him this.

Of course, the king would never allow such extraneous elements to exist. But, even if he didn't allow it, it didn't matter. Just thinking this way and then acting to become the king was enough.

Throwing away all feelings of regret, I discarded this dream. It wasn't needed from the start.

But I won't regret it. Even though I made mistake after mistake, I now realize that in my mistake-filled life, there was still this noble and humane wish.

"What will you do?"

"It's simple."

She grinned and extended both hands.

Instead of trying to pull the sword as before, she directly embraced the rock below the sword and lifted the rock and the sword together, throwing them far away.

"Screw that, I don't need such a thing."

"Yes, that's right, that's like you. Stupid, but adorably stupid."

The magician laughed heartily, throwing back his hood to reveal a frivolous yet handsome face.

Seeing this face, "she" instantly understood everything.

"It was you all along, Merlin."

"Don't say it like that, I just wanted you to understand your own heart."

"I've understood long ago, I don't need your unnecessary intervention."

"Is that so? Then go, pull out the sword that truly belongs to you."

The magician pointed, and another rock appeared before them, with a sword more beautiful than any silver embedded in it.

"I told you, I don't need it."

"She didn't even look and turned to leave. She always hated this trickster.

The moment she turned, the silver sword emitted a dazzling light, directly leaving its base and falling into Mordred's hand.

"You—"

Turning to look, the magician's figure had vanished, and the surroundings were becoming increasingly blurry.

Only the sword in her hand still shone.