The next morning, terrible news arrived from Camelot's Royal Court.
The Knight King who had ruled Britain for thirty years—Uther Pendragon—had passed away.
Before his death, King Uther had driven his sword into the Knights' Cemetery and declared that whoever drew it would become Britain's new king.
After King Uther was buried, the court mage announced that he was leaving Camelot's Royal Court to search for Britain's new king. The Earl of Anno, lord of the Britain Chalk Knights, disappeared with him.
Before leaving Camelot, he disbanded the Chalk Knights, the order that had won countless victories for Britain.
Together, these developments set all of Camelot ablaze.
Anno, Lancelot, and Merlin were on their way to Sir Ector's home.
They knew who Britain's next king would be; claiming to search for him was simply a pretext to make their escape.
After King Uther's death, Camelot was left without a leader. If the two of them tried to take control in their current positions, they would only become targets for everyone.
Anno was powerful and wielded real authority, but he truly didn't want to get involved in the murky waters of politics. Wasn't it much better to spend every day at home raising the children? For Anno, the best choice was to remain a loyal military man, far from the center of power.
Artoria was still somewhat inexperienced, so he wanted to take the three children on a spontaneous trip with Merlin and help them develop their abilities.
Kay was the oldest of the three and the most outgoing.
Lancelot was a shy boy. He was strong, but often a little too impulsive.
Artoria still had many lessons to complete, and Merlin would need another year to teach her.
"Are you really not going to try drawing that sword? As the king said, you have what it takes to become the king of Britain." Merlin's lips were always curved in a smile.
"That's right, Father," Lancelot chimed in.
"Be quiet, Lancelot." Anno gave him a stern look, then turned back to Merlin with a helpless expression. "Becoming the king of Britain isn't my destiny, Merlin. Please stop saying things like that."
Lancelot scratched the back of his head and gave an awkward cough.
"All right." Merlin didn't seem to mind at all. He simply smiled.
Camelot.
Morgan le Fay, once a princess, arrived at the Knights' Cemetery.
She gazed at the Golden Sword of Victory embedded in the meteorite iron, her face as dark and lifeless as a stagnant pool.
Still, she walked forward and wrapped her slender, black-gloved fingers around the hilt.
She applied a little force, but the sword didn't budge.
She put all her strength into it, but the sword still didn't move.
Morgan le Fay gritted her teeth in frustration, snorted, and left the Knights' Cemetery.
It seemed her dear father had never intended to pass the throne on to her.
The people secretly watching nearby saw Morgan le Fay fail to draw the sword and spread the news.
They had been too afraid of Princess Morgan le Fay to try drawing it themselves.
But now that she had failed, they could invoke King Uther's words: if they drew the sword, they would become the king of Britain.
Their already greedy hearts grew even bolder.
Before long, the Knights' Cemetery was packed with people.
The tombs of their ancestors were trampled and flattened.
Knights came forward one after another to try drawing the Sword of Royal Selection, but not one of them succeeded.
"Only the most perfect knight can draw this sword," one knight who had failed said dejectedly. Then he slunk away.
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