It was a profoundly contradictory feeling. The resplendent golden sword was indeed responding to her. Artoria was certain that it was a sword she could absolutely draw, as if it had been placed there specifically for her.
But accompanying this pure, resonant response was an equally direct and powerful scorn.
"Fraud.""Alone, you will never be able to draw this blade.""It does not belong to someone as deceitful as you.""Give up—""Take your hypocrisy and leave Camelot!"
Artoria didn't know whose obsession this was, but she could feel the extreme hostility directed at her. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it wanted to kill her. It seemed things had become rather tricky.
At the same moment, in the square of the Sword of Selection, a barely perceptible smile touched the lips of Morgan, hidden within the crowd.
You can't do it, can you, Artoria? You don't possess the strength that befits a king, so how could you possibly draw that sword? You and Merlin might be able to fool everyone else, but you can't fool me!
That's right. If things had proceeded as they were meant to, this would have been the moment Artoria drew the blade. But that rain had changed everything. Although she didn't know where such pure magical crystals had come from, since they could help her stop all this, there was no need to question their origin.
The sword destined to be drawn by Artoria, the ceremonial sword named Caliburn, was now bound by a far more powerful curse laid by those black crystals.
"No matter what, Artoria will never be able to draw this sword."
The most malevolent curses required only the simplest of words. The one person who could draw the sword was now the one person who could not.
Heheheh...
Morgan sneered. She was already prepared to watch Artoria be disgraced in front of everyone. Trying to claim the throne of Britain with lies? Dream on! A humiliating retreat is the only result you deserve!
However, Morgan's gaze shifted to another spot. Unlike the other knights who were trying to draw Caliburn alone, there was another boy standing beside Artoria. But strangely, he seemed to have no intention of drawing the sword himself. He didn't even seem to have any interest in looking at the sword more than once. Instead, his attention was entirely on Artoria. Specifically... on her chest.
Yet, it wasn't a look of lust. It was just a pure gaze, impossible to decipher. And speaking of which... he looked somewhat familiar.
The more she thought about it, the more she felt something was wrong. Morgan, clad in black, pulled down the hood of her cloak and moved further to the front.
Back with Ian and Artoria. The girl's forehead was beaded with cold sweat. That vicious curse, which only she could hear, still coiled around her like a demonic incantation.
"Give up. You can't do it. You're just a country girl; failure is only natural. It's not too late to walk away now. At most, you'll just be laughed at. But if you persist, you'll only become a bigger joke."
Artoria's hand began to tremble. She too was beginning to doubt if she could do it. To just leave like everyone else... perhaps that wasn't such a bad choice.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Eh?"
Ian's voice pulled Artoria back to reality. The boy's gaze was as direct as ever. "You don't seem right."
"I..." Artoria wanted to say she couldn't pull out the sword. But meeting his gaze, she felt she couldn't. He had followed her to this "bad-smelling" city for her sake. To give up halfway now, wouldn't that be telling him that everything he had done was meaningless?
"I'm fine," she insisted. "I can definitely do it!"
As if saying it to Ian, and also to herself, Artoria panted slightly, focusing all her attention on the task of drawing the sword. A sincere heart clashed fiercely with a malevolent curse. But it was a storm only Artoria herself could hear. To everyone else, she was merely struggling in vain, unwilling to accept the reality that she couldn't draw the sword.
The knights, who had been pushed aside by Ian, quickly began to complain.
"Hey! If you can't pull it out, then get down! What's the point of wasting everyone's time?!" "Exactly! If you can't be king, don't stop others from becoming king!"
The complaints came one after another, like waves stirred by the wind. No one knew that Artoria was facing an obstacle far more troublesome than any ordinary knight.
"Hmph, as it should be," Morgan watched coldly. She wasn't surprised. She had already anticipated this outcome for Artoria. A liar deserves to be spat on by the masses!
But for some reason, a faint sense of unease lingered in Morgan's heart. No, it was more than faint. Watching the boy huff at the knights who were complaining about Artoria, she, the one who had arranged everything, felt that something was still not right.
But... I shouldn't be feeling this way. This was a flawless operation. No one will know why Artoria can't draw the sword, and she herself won't know why. Caliburn will remain in the stone forever. I just need to wait a month, and the throne of Britain will be within my grasp.
But the unease persisted. Morgan clutched her chest. Unlike her sister, who could only be called "cute," she possessed an absolutely stunning bust, one that had no rival in all of Britain. Why is this happening... Everything should have been arranged perfectly.
This unease fermented further when the boy walked towards Artoria. No, it completely transformed into an absurd reality. Because the boy did something Morgan had never anticipated.
Before the eyes of numerous knights, he stood behind Artoria. The next moment, he took her hand.
That's right. This was a sword-drawing for two!
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