The White Dragon King

A few minutes later, the old man died laughing happily.

Amid his laughter, his castle scattered away like dust.

The dark clouds dispersed from the sky, and sunlight poured down from above.

Bathed in sunlight, King Arthur walked toward her army amid the cheers of the crowd. Arthur followed not far at her side, watching this perfect sovereign who seemed like a god from up close. On the other side stood his cousin Gawain, too excited to contain himself, trembling all over.

At that moment, everyone believed Britannia had a bright future. Everyone believed that following King Arthur would lead them to the summit.

Though in reality, Britannia was about to perish.

That night, inside King Arthur's tent.

"Artorius."

King Arthur looked at her eldest son with complicated eyes. She could not help but feel regret toward Britannia's heaven-sent child.

"If I had shown Arthur more affection..."

"If I had paid Arthur more attention..."

"Would things not have turned out this way?"

"So, Mother."

Unlike King Arthur, Arthur looked relaxed, as though nothing had happened.

But that was not the case.

If one looked closely, one could see how Arthur had changed.

His skin had become fairer, and his hair color had lightened somewhat. Any paler, and it would have nearly reached the point of being snow-white.

At the same time, anyone who sensed him carefully could feel that the Dragon Child's draconic power had been fully awakened. It was no longer immature or still adapting as before.

As long as Arthur wished it, he could now wield the power of a supreme Phantasmal Beast at any time.

A power close to that of a god.

This was the White Dragon King's deathbed gift.

Because of their blood relation, their close kinship, and the similarity of their powers, Arthur had absorbed more than ninety percent of Vortigern Pendragon's power without difficulty.

"I can explain all this."

Arthur's opening was not something like, "Why did you call me here?" or "What did you need me for?" He went straight to the point.

"Britannia is about to be destroyed, right? I already know the reasons completely."

"..."

Hearing Arthur say that, Artoria could not bring herself to utter even a single reprimand such as, "Why did you do this?"

Because she had neither the standing nor the reason.

Would it have meant anything to tell Arthur, "You're still too young. You don't know what you're doing"? She had only been fifteen when she drew the Sword of Selection.

In a sense, she felt her son was far smarter than she was. Compared with a king like her, who had taken things one step at a time and been driven forward by the wheels of history, Arthur had more plans and foresight for the future.

"Then what do you mean?"

Suppressing her negative emotions, the king questioned Arthur.

"The island of Britannia is no longer suitable for habitation," Arthur answered calmly. "Father King, what do you intend to do?"

"Actually, I have thought of a solution—"

What King Arthur said next surprised Arthur somewhat, yet also left him helpless. "Britannia lacks Ether. To reverse the gradual dissipation of Ether, we need a miracle.

"Then we should seek out a miracle—a miracle capable of raising Britannia's Ether concentration again."

"..."

"The Holy Grail?"

After thinking for a moment, Arthur gave that answer.

Not the so-called Holy Grail created by The Three Founding Families for the Third Magic, but the genuine Holy Grail—a universal wish-granting device capable of creating miracles. It was also the object the Knights of the Round Table had searched for like madmen in the latter half of King Arthur's legend.

—As long as they found that thing, they could save Britannia.

So they had to fight desperately. They had to give everything they had.

Thus, countless Knights of the Round Table set out in search of the Holy Grail. Countless Knights of the Round Table also died on that road, carrying out a hopeless search.

Yet the final result was unbelievably absurd.

After countless sacrifices, the Holy Grail was truly found.

But Galahad, who found it, was a saint without wants or desires. Thus, the instant he raised the Holy Grail, it returned to the heavens, along with Galahad's soul.

So, Junior, did you really betray us?

However, there were two things about that legend that did not add up.

First, only a saint without wants or desires could hold the Holy Grail. Just look at Gudako. Everyone knew what kind of person that biang was, yet she had collected so many Holy Grails on her journey to save humanity.

Second, given Britannia's current situation, Galahad could not possibly have been without wants or desires.

Unless he was an utterly cold-blooded bastard, he could not have remained indifferent to Britannia's imminent destruction and the Knights of the Round Table, his comrades, fighting desperately for their lives.

Yet by Arthur's judgment, that was clearly not the case.

Galahad was not emotionally detached.

Like the other Knights of the Round Table, he was full of compassion, kind to his comrades, respectful and reverent toward King Arthur, sincere with his friends, and eager to stab his father in the back.

How could such a perfect knight possibly be emotionally detached?

So there was only one truth.

Galahad had not returned to the heavens. He had been killed.

The one who killed Galahad was something like "the one true god," "Gaia," "the Counter Force," or the Will of the Planet.

A little more reasoning led to the conclusion that everything had been Gaia's conspiracy.

Fate demanded that mystery fade away. Gaia, who obeyed Fate, would never allow Britannia to remain a land of the Age of Gods and Ether. Nor would she ever allow Britannia to obtain the Holy Grail.

So Galahad had to die. The Holy Grail had to return to the heavens. Or rather, it had to be taken back to the Inner Sea of Stars.

From that perspective, the search for the Holy Grail was absolutely futile.

"..."

"Arthur?"

Watching Arthur's expression constantly change, Artoria became slightly worried.

She then comforted him. "Don't worry, Arthur. We will succeed."

"Mm, mm, I believe in you, Father King." Like the finest bishonen, Arthur gave his Father King the most perfect smile. "But, Father King, how long will it take to find the Holy Grail? During that time, what are Britannia's people supposed to live on?"

"..."

When the king, who seemed like Arthur's reflection after he had grown up, revealed a troubled expression, Arthur reached out and took her hands. "How about leaving this difficult matter to me?"

Author's note:

A new author with a new book, please give me recommendation votes!

The White Dragon King

The day after the battle to subjugate the Vile King.

In the north of the British Isles, atop a snow-covered plateau that resembled eternal permafrost.

This land, which would later be called Scotland, welcomed young visitors.

The young knight Artorius Pendragon and his three attendants—Gareth, Galahad, and Mordred—four riders in total, headed toward a Saxon settlement.

"We are King Arthur's envoys!"

The brave Wolf Girl shouted fearlessly, "We wish to meet the Saxon leaders!"

Her shout drew a large group of ragged Saxons. Most were men, though there were women and elderly people as well.

Most of them bore frostbite on various parts of their bodies. These German immigrants, with disheveled hair and gloomy eyes, stared darkly at Arthur's group.

There was hatred in their eyes, but even more fear.

Over the previous eleven consecutive battles, King Arthur and her knights had repeatedly defeated larger forces with smaller ones. In the Saxons' eyes, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were symbols of invincibility.

"Hmm, how should I put this..."

However, in the next moment, Artorius Pendragon, the young Prince of Camelot, raised a hand and stopped Gareth.

"What is it, Your Highness?"

The girl asked in confusion.

"Use another approach." He told Gareth, "Tell them that I am Vortigern Pendragon's heir."

"??"

"Your Highness?!"

Arthur had inherited Vortigern's lands and authority. All the territory in Britannia's north had become Arthur's fief, a fact King Arthur had publicly announced without drawing much opposition.

No matter what, Vortigern's surname was still Pendragon. After his death, it was only natural for his lands and authority to return to the Pendragon family.

But now, to declare himself Vortigern Pendragon's heir on Saxon land?

Gareth found this shocking, even somewhat infuriating. In a sense, it was practically a betrayal of King Arthur!

"This is what I deserve." Arthur looked seriously at Gareth, gripping the girl's wrist. "My authority, my people, my army. Sir Gareth, do you disagree?"

"Your Highness, you—"

"—This benefits all of us."

Arthur moved closer to Gareth, and his presence and pressure intensified.

"The unending war harms not only the barbarians, but Britannia as well. Especially with crop yields continually declining—if we continue solving the Saxon problem through war, we will have to squeeze the people dry.

"We will have to take away the people's food and use it as military rations. Sir Gareth, do you think that would be acceptable?"

Of course it would not.

In the shortest possible time, the girl was persuaded by Arthur.

Prince Arthur was still the same gentle and kind youth. The only difference was that he had become more responsible than before.

"For Britannia, for the people, what does a little damage to my personal reputation matter, Gareth?"

Arthur's sincere tone greatly increased Gareth's guilt and her fondness for him.

"I-I understand."

Gareth nodded somewhat flusteredly. She instinctively wanted to pull her hand from Arthur's grasp, yet she was a little reluctant to do so.

Then:

"The heir of Vortigern Pendragon, Prince Artorius, has arrived!!"

On the other side, Mordred had already raised her head and shouted. Her voice shook the snow from the surrounding trees.

Gareth: "..."

The Wolf Girl frowned, feeling as though something that belonged to her had been taken away.

Ah, of course, when Arthur took Gareth's hand just now, Mordred had felt offended too.

The knights continued onward. This time, however, the Saxons' gazes at them changed slightly. Beyond fear, there was now curiosity and anticipation.

Thus, two days later, Arthur got his wish.

At the Saxon settlement, on a cold patch of open ground trampled hard by Saxon feet, he met forty-three Saxon tribal chiefs, each harboring their own schemes.

"Let's skip the pleasantries."