Ceremony and Congratulatory Gifts

Camelot was exceptionally bustling today.

The streets were packed with a constant flow of carriages and people, filled with laughter and joy; not a trace of sorrow could be found on anyone's face, only jubilation.

After all, today was the day the Lion King would officially ascend to the throne.

Once today passed, the Lion King would be able to rule with legitimacy and justification, possessing all the lawful and reasonable power of this nation to begin a reign that belonged solely to him.

Inside and outside the palace, from the rooftops to the corridors, the ground was carpeted in pink and red petals, and the air was thick with an intense, sweet fragrance.

Behind the main gate of the palace, a newly constructed grand hall sat behind a spacious plaza, its interior and exterior crowded with people dressed in new clothes.

Envoys from various nations sat on both sides of the hall, witnessing the farce unfolding today: a "forced abdication."

"We, your subjects, risk death to speak: the throne cannot remain vacant for long, and the nation must belong to one of virtue. We humbly acknowledge that our Lord responds to the times with divine martial prowess, carving out a great enterprise. In the past, during the chaos, you drew a single sword to rescue the drowning and save the burning; now, amidst the songs of the people, you lead ten thousand nations to renew the calendar..."

Luther led a group of capable ministers and generals, kneeling on the brand-new marble floor, weeping and pleading with Leon, who stood at the very front.

After reciting a string of high-sounding rhetoric, Luther even concluded: "We, your subjects, risk death to request that you rectify the great succession and usher in a new era. If you still cling to the petty modesty of refusal and forget the grand blueprint of governing the state, we shall strike our heads against these steps and stain the palace floor with blood to apologize to the world! We are trembling with urgency!"

Why resort to threatening death?

Facing the kneeling pleas of his trusted aides, Leon decisively waved his hand in refusal: "No! It cannot be. I cannot sit upon this throne. I am but a mere warrior of humble status; it was only because the state was in dire straits that I had to shoulder this burden. Now that the north is pacified and the barbarians are settled, we should find the bloodline of the former king to inherit the throne. This would preserve both my honor and yours, and allow the nation to be stable. How about that?"

Do you even hear the nonsense coming out of your mouth? The brothers had accompanied him through such a massive spectacle; even if they hadn't achieved great merit, they had certainly put in the labor. How could he just step down? If he stepped down, who would provide for their glory and wealth?

Although they knew this was a script and not Leon's true intent, Luther and the other ministers still felt genuine panic upon hearing him say this.

At this moment, Morgan and Artoria stepped forward, using their actions to indicate that there was no need to search for the former king's bloodline—they had already stepped forward themselves. One was Morgan, and the other was Artoria.

Morgan requested of Leon: "Though we two are of the former king's bloodline, we have no merit to the nation and no righteousness to the people, so how could we be qualified to inherit the throne? Moreover, I shall marry you, and the offspring we bear will also possess the former king's bloodline. In this way, both sides can be satisfied."

Although Morgan truly wanted to open her mouth and claim it, she knew clearly that if she actually admitted it, let alone Leon, even the ministers in the hall would rush forward and hack her to death with their swords.

After Morgan finished speaking, Artoria continued to persuade: "That is correct. Your merits are plain for all to see. How could the light of fireflies like us compete with the brilliance of the moon? Everyone agrees that only you can sit upon this throne. Please withdraw your order, otherwise, we two will have no face to continue living in this world."

As her words fell, everyone nodded in agreement.

Leon spoke again: "Raising an army before was by no means a good deed. Once the blades were drawn, how much slaughter was committed? Thinking of the commoners and soldiers who died because of the war, I only feel that my virtue is thin and my talent is shallow, and I am ashamed before the living beings of Britain. Having committed such unrighteous acts, the matter of claiming the throne must never be mentioned again!"

After Leon's words fell, five or six people dressed in rough hemp clothes stood out from the very back row of ministers, kneeling and weeping.

"We beg our King to withdraw your order! When Scotland invaded, our King raised a righteous army to punish them, which conforms to the law. When Vortigern rebelled, our King practiced the royal way to strike him down, which follows the orthodox path. When the Saxon plundered the land, our King unleashed thunder to conquer them—both are present, so how can this be considered unrighteous? That our King fought and won is precisely because you are favored by the gods. Does our King wish to defy the will of the gods?"

So, after killing so many people, it was actually the gods who made him do it?

After hearing what these commoners had to say, Leon felt that if he didn't claim the throne, he would be failing the living, failing God.

His crimes were heinous, and the only way to eliminate this sin was to claim the throne.

But Leon thought for a moment and still refused: "No! I cannot pass this hurdle in my own heart. My honor, my morality, and my values do not allow me to commit the ugly act of seizing another's country! Let today's matter end here, and do not mention it ever again."

"Ah, this~"

The ministers, nobles, soldiers, and commoners present were all shocked, their faces filled with anxiety and panic.

"Alas! If that is the case, then we must offend you. We beg our King's forgiveness."

In the front row, Joe threw down his sword and stepped forward directly. Seeing Joe's action, the other ministers followed suit, dropping their swords and rushing forward to hoist Leon up.

"We, your subjects, offend you! We beg our King's forgiveness!"

"We beg our King's forgiveness!"

The ministers seemed to have exploded with power, surpassing Leon's mountain-moving and river-parting strength. Ignoring his struggles, they scrambled to carry his massive frame onto the highest throne.

Once Leon was seated firmly, all the ministers knelt on the ground.

"We beg our King to forgive our sins. We only took this desperate measure because we had no other choice. Our King ascending the throne conforms to the will of the gods and the hearts of the people; how could there be any reason to defy it? Does our King truly wish to see the nation in turmoil and the people's hearts unsettled before you will accept the throne? If our King still refuses to accept, we shall strike our heads against this hall and die to apologize to Britain!"

"If our King refuses to accept, we shall strike our heads against the steps and die to apologize to Britain!"

The voices of the ministers were unified, a tidal wave of sound that shook the heavens.

Leon was momentarily furious, pointing at the ministers below, trembling with rage and speaking incoherently.

"You, you... you have brought such misery upon this Lonely One!"

As he spoke, Leon's eyes revealed one part shame, two parts unease, three parts anger, and four parts disbelief, much like a pie chart.

"We beg our King to prioritize the big picture, ascend to the great throne, and protect the nation for the people."

"Sigh~"

Leon let out a heavy sigh. With everyone threatening death, he could only helplessly acknowledge this established fact.

"Since the gods, the commoners, the ministers, and the soldiers all think so, what reason do I have to refuse? How could I jeopardize the nation for the sake of my own vanity?"

Envoys of the nations, commoners of the realm, you have all seen it: it is not that he, Leon, wants to be King, but that the ministers and the people have forced him to do so!

He didn't want to do it either, but he had no choice; he was taking this throne for the sake of everyone.

Seeing that Leon had finally accepted the throne, Merlin, acting as the master of ceremonies, stood to the side and immediately chanted: "We humbly acknowledge our King's majesty and power. Subjects, pay your respects. First bow~"

The ministers and people below knelt in unison, shouting in one voice: "We humbly acknowledge our King's majesty and power."

"Second bow~"

The subjects knelt again: "We humbly acknowledge our King's reign over the world."

"Three bows."

"We humbly acknowledge our King's sovereign judgment."

"The ceremony is concluded."

Thus, Leon was now the legitimate King of Britain.

Once this farce had concluded, the time for the presentation of gifts arrived.

The noble ministers offered various crafts made of gold, gemstones, pearls, and agate, alongside exotic beasts brought from overseas. The commoners presented massive garlands, clothing, hats, and platters of grain, among countless other things.

Among them, the gift from Merlin surprised Leon the most.

"My King, this is the gift I bestow upon you. I pray you accept it with a smile."

Merlin stood in the center of the great hall, a waterfall of flowers cascading from his wooden staff. As the petals dispersed, a brilliant, dazzling royal sword was revealed, suspended in mid-air.

The sword was over two meters long and more than ten centimeters wide. It was crafted entirely from gold and adorned with blue stripes. Its style was similar to the Sword in the Stone, yet the blade and scabbard were significantly broader, and the pommel was capped with a golden sphere.

"Excalibur. That is the name of this sword."

"This..."

Leon's eyes widened, his gaze filled with yearning.

In truth, it was not just Leon; everyone present was captivated by the blade. Anyone could tell at a single glance that this was, without question, a divine weapon. No warrior could maintain a stoic expression when faced with such an armament.

Alas, the sword was too large and too heavy...

It was clearly custom-made for the Lion King.

Merlin was quite satisfied with the astonished gazes of those in the hall, especially Leon's reaction, which thrilled him to no end.

Though he possessed no emotions, that was the closest way to describe it.

"This is not a man-made weapon, but the strongest phantasm forged by the planet itself. A sliver of the planet's light, it stands at the pinnacle of all holy and demonic swords. It is the shining holy sword capable of saving the world, created to strike down that which would destroy the planet, a golden blade that repels all evil."

"Its scabbard is named Avalon. Compared to the holy sword, the value of the scabbard may be even greater."

Leon could no longer restrain himself. He stepped down, grabbed the sword, and swung it a few times. The handling felt perfect; the magnificent two-meter length of the blade, cross-guard, and hilt suited him perfectly.

In all his years of practicing swordsmanship, he had never found a suitable blade. Heaven knew how much he had craved a sword that fit him!

"Merlin, of all these gifts, yours is the one I like and cherish the most. Tell me what wish you desire, and I shall grant it."

A sword forged by the planet—Leon understood exactly what this represented.

And what it meant for it to fall into his hands by Merlin's design, he understood even more clearly.

The Counter Force has acknowledged me!

Since pulling the Sword in the Stone, Leon had slowly come to understand the situation. He had been raised by a lioness from infancy, which meant Gaia had accepted him, an outsider. When he met his foster father, Luther, and was raised by him, it signified that Alaya had accepted him. Now, this holy sword of the planet had been delivered to him, proving that both Counter Forces acknowledged his existence.

He could live freely upon this planet.

He might even be granted the qualifications of a Grand Servant after death because of this holy sword.

When Leon hung the sword at his waist, the two-meter blade complemented his three-meter stature perfectly, without a hint of awkwardness.

"I have no wishes. Your praise is the greatest recognition I could receive," Merlin said with a humble smile.

What Leon could figure out, Merlin could naturally understand as well. When this holy sword, modified by the fae, was placed in Leon's hands, he understood the intent of the Counter Force.

Merlin had once considered giving the holy sword to Artoria, but he abandoned the idea, realizing that even with this blade, Artoria would likely be unable to defeat Leon.

Seeing Leon accept the sword so smoothly, he smiled on the surface, but was truly astonished within.

The Counter Force actually didn't stop it?

What exactly were those two idiots thinking? How could they believe that a beast like Leon, who knew nothing of love, was beneficial to humanity and the planet? Did they truly believe the future he would create was more in line with the future of humanity and the planet?

It was too ridiculous!

Though, those two Counter Forces did not possess anything like consciousness; they were merely cold, automated safety devices.

"Haha, Merlin, regardless of anything else, I owe you a favor."

Leon sat back on his throne, satisfied. The smile on his face would not fade, and the corners of his mouth were even harder to suppress than when he had first taken the throne.

With the subjects' gifts presented, the envoys from various nations followed.

Most of the so-called gifts were gold, silver, jewelry, and exotic beasts. Some even overlapped with what the ministers had already offered, but with no time to find better alternatives, the envoys had to present them anyway, leaving both sides in an awkward position.

The envoy from France presented a mediocre gift, but the attendant behind him was none other than the Knight of the Lake, Lancelot, whom Leon had encountered previously.

Among these gifts, the one that satisfied Leon the most was the offering from the nations of Wales in the west—

They were actually offering their own countries.

"Does your nation truly decide this?"

Under Leon's questioning, the envoys affirmed it repeatedly.

The people of these small nations were not fools. Leon's momentum on the island of Britain was overwhelming; in a short time, he had destroyed Scotland and the Saxon forces, and even the Vile King Vortigern had been defeated by his hand, barely escaping with his life.

Seeing the way the wind was blowing, it was better to simply submit to the Lion King and become lords under his command. That way, they would retain their wealth and status without worrying that the Lion King might one day launch a western campaign, leaving them as ghosts beneath his blade.

"If that is the case, then let your lords retain their fiefs and pay their annual tributes and taxes. However, you must renounce your royal titles and send your heirs to Camelot to learn the ways of governance."

To put it bluntly, it was paying for peace, forfeiting the right to claim kingship, and handing over hostages.

These terms were well within the expectations of the envoys from the various nations, and even exceeded the bottom lines set by their lords, so they replied in unison: "We are moved to tears of gratitude."

Once the grand ceremony concluded, professional staff would be assigned to negotiate the specific prices for their tributes and taxes.

If the gifts from the nations of Wales were merely appetizers, then the next offering was the true main course.

The Saxon city-states located along the northeastern coast had also sent envoys, bearing gifts to present to Leon.

When the envoys unveiled the gift, everyone in the city was struck with astonishment.

It was a severed head.

The ash-silver hair had withered and lost its luster in death, and the once-handsome facial features were now twisted together. The gift had been well-preserved, capturing an expression as vivid as in life, revealing the owner's final moments of fury and disbelief.

Leon had met him before.

"It is actually Vortigern. You killed him?"

Merlin could not believe it; he could not fathom that a man as powerful as Vortigern could be slain by anyone.

"...Yes," the Saxon envoy replied in a muffled voice.

Upon seeing this, Merlin understood immediately: Vortigern had likely died due to the betrayal of his confidants, likely around the same time he had claimed the holy sword.

Hmph, how ridiculous, he thought. Vortigern was a lord of his generation, yet he died in such a dramatic fashion.

Merlin took the head and, with a single glance, saw Vortigern's soul lingering in a daze, imprisoned within the long-dead skull.

"Where is his body?"

The Saxon envoy replied: "It has already been brought over and is currently at the embassy."

Merlin nodded and requested of Leon: "My King, please allow me to destroy Vortigern's corpse and send his soul back to Avalon, so that he may never return to this world."

Leon had not expected to encounter Vortigern again in such a state. After a moment of contemplation, he agreed: "Very well. After the ceremony ends, Morgan and I will observe it together."

"As you command." Leon's response was exactly as Merlin had anticipated.

And so, after passing that final, peculiar interlude, Leon finished viewing the gifts from his subjects, the commoners, and the envoys of the various nations. The subsequent coronation ceremony proceeded as calmly as planned.

There were song and dance performances, banquets, and wine—so much that the ministers would jump down to dance themselves, spar with their colleagues, weep with tears streaming down their faces, or even take their blades to hack at the pillars of the great hall...

During the festivities, Morgan became slightly tipsy. Her skin, white as ointment, was flushed with a rosy glow, and her deep blue eyes sparkled like jewels as she gazed at Leon with tender affection.

"Leon, why did you come up with that script called the Three Refusals and Three Yieldings? Won't you tell me?"

Facing such a beautiful Morgan, Leon could find nothing to compare her to; even fairies, elves, or angels were not one ten-thousandth as beautiful as she was at this moment.

Leon had no defense against her. He immediately pulled her into his arms, bit her earlobe, and whispered:

"It's nothing, really. I just needed to establish a ritual procedure to bolster the legitimacy of my kingship. At the same time, it shows the common folk my attitude: that I didn't seek this throne, but rather accepted it because I could not withstand the entreaties of my ministers and people, and I took it for the sake of everyone's happiness. Look, Morgan, doesn't this make me appear magnanimous and humble? Once the people hear of this, won't they support me even more?"

Morgan nodded thoughtfully, wearing an expression of surprised enlightenment.

"Wow, Leon, you are truly amazing to have thought of that. I never would have guessed. You are worthy of being my husband and my King; you are truly extraordinary."

Morgan's tone, like one coaxing a child, returned, and Leon nodded, feeling very satisfied.

This was a variation of the "coaxing a child" tactic Morgan used to handle Leon.

It is said that the trouble with men is their fondness for playing the teacher. One must find a question that Leon knows but is somewhat profound, and after listening to his explanation, Morgan would offer praise as if to a child. This satisfied his urge to preach and explain, while also indulging his vanity.

Two birds with one stone, handled with ease.

Merlin, standing far off to the side, sipped his wine while struggling to suppress the corners of his mouth, warning himself not to laugh out loud.

That's right, he was an incubus; he had no emotions, and he had been professionally trained—he would never laugh, no matter how funny the situation was...

Pfft, hahahahaha...