Ninety-Nine Oaths

Gawain stood there awkwardly, asking the Knights of the Round Table present for help, hoping one of them would lend him a sword.

An axe could not kill the Green Knight.

In the original story, Gawain played a game with the Green Knight, confidently swinging his axe at the Green Knight's head.

Yet although Gawain severed the Green Knight's head, the Green Knight merely picked it up from the ground, placed it back on his neck, and demanded the right to strike Gawain once a year later.

This was magic.

An opponent who could not be defeated through common sense.

Only magic could deal with magic, and Gawain possessed no magic.

"I need a sword!"

Gawain swallowed. Under everyone's gaze, his mouth felt dry. Even after his impassioned speech, he was still left in the predicament of having no sword to use.

Gawain had not been knighted. He could neither call himself a knight nor enter the court in armor with his own sword like the other knights. At this moment, he was completely unarmed.

The Knights of the Round Table watched it all coldly. The hall was silent and oppressive, and their gazes toward Gawain held unfamiliarity, surprise, suspicion, and scrutiny.

A weapon capable of truly killing the Green Knight had to be enchanted. The highest-ranked Twelve Round Table Knights all possessed renowned holy swords.

For instance, Arthur had Excalibur.

"Young boy, are you ready?"

The Green Knight watched the unarmed youth looking around for help with an amused gaze. In a mocking tone, he said, "It seems you are not very well liked. Just as you said, other than sharing blood with the King, you have no value at all. None of the knights seem willing to lend you their swords. They are afraid you will stain them.

Go on, pick up my axe and strike me with it. Believe me, as long as you can prove your courage, my axe will be yours. It is no worse than the swords of the Round Table knights here."

Gawain fell silent. Though the Green Knight's words were intended to sow discord, they also stated a fact: Gawain had a poor reputation among the Knights of the Round Table.

Camelot was a city with a permanent population of just over twenty thousand, compared with Constantinople, the world's greatest metropolis, which had four hundred thousand residents before it suffered the ravages of war.

Here, even the slightest disturbance could easily reach the ears of the King and the Knights of the Round Table.

With Arthur's castle at its center, Camelot was a newly built city that had spread outward. From its founding, it had been intended for a lush and fertile region that was easy to defend, hard to attack, far enough from London, and isolated from outside influence.

There were no native Camelot residents here. Nearly all those with first-generation citizen status were nobles and Knights of the Round Table who had followed Arthur, along with their families and various craftsmen.

It was a city developed for political reasons, so after Gawain came to Camelot, every move he made was under the watchful eyes of the Knights of the Round Table.

Gawain was respected among the lower classes, but that was entirely because he was Arthur's nephew. In the eyes of the Knights of the Round Table, such prestige bestowed by others was worthless.

If you wanted prestige, how many wars had you won? How many dragons had you slain?

Gawain received respect solely because of Arthur. If he wanted recognition, he had to rely on his own abilities.

Lancelot, the foremost of the Knights of the Round Table, was still respected for his strength despite being a foreigner—a Frenchman, no less.

At banquets, every knight sat in the place corresponding to his honor, achievements, and contributions. Yet while Lancelot was in France, Gawain had taken a seat so close to the King—the seat that had originally belonged to Lancelot. Naturally, this displeased the Knights of the Round Table.

It was not that they wished to stand up for Sir Lancelot. They simply felt that honor had been defiled.

For example, when scientists researching Moutai and tobacco were nominated as academicians, those who objected most fiercely were not ordinary people, but the academicians who had originally been elected on genuine merit.

Being knighted for literary achievements sounded fine.

But in the eyes of knights, could someone who wielded a pen be called a knight?

A good doctor or a bad doctor, a good knight or a bad knight—the standard for judging their goodness lay in their morals and conduct. But for the titles of doctor or knight to apply in the first place, they needed competent, reliable technical skill.

If you were incapable of saving people or killing enemies, if you lacked the ability to be a doctor or knight, then what kind of doctor or knight were you?

If the Green Knight's arrival had not interrupted Arthur's speech, Gawain would probably already have been knighted. That was the true disgrace to the Knights of the Round Table.

Honestly, every stray cat and dog was trying to worm its way into our circle.

The knights were full of resentment, yet they did not dare vent their anger at Arthur.

Arthur could knight anyone. Even if the person being knighted was unworthy of the title, it could not be denied that this was the King's authority and a knight's right.

A tobacco academician sounded like a joke, but once elected, if he refused to resign, the other academicians could do nothing about it. A literary knight was no different.

"Gawain, use my sword!"

Arthur looked at Gawain, trapped in an embarrassing situation, and spoke. With those words, a collective heavy breath rose from the already oppressive and silent banquet hall.

Arthur's sword was formally named Excalibur.

According to legend, it was a divine sword Merlin had found fairies to forge. Originally embedded in a stone, it had been used to choose a king.

It was a magic sword. Its edge could cut through anything, easily cleaving steel, and it could even be driven into stone. It was also known as the Broken Steel Sword.

Born from a stone, it was called the Sword in the Stone. After it had once broken, Arthur sought the aid of the Lady of the Lake, and when it was retrieved from the lake, it was also called the Sword in the Lake.

This sword was the symbol of Arthur's royal authority. It had once been the sword that chose a king, and now it was the Excalibur.

With some difficulty, Arthur drew his sword from its scabbard, held it in both hands, and walked over to Gawain.

The Knights of the Round Table watched in shock. This was too astonishing. Arthur's holy sword had been bound to royal authority almost from the very beginning.

If Arthur were to thrust the holy sword back into a stone and Gawain then drew it out, it would amount to declaring, in public opinion and faith alike, that Gawain was the next king.

Gawain looked at the Excalibur before him and wanted to say something, but Arthur shook his head, cutting him off.

Its flawless blade was like a mirror. Though it had followed Arthur through campaigns since his youth, the blade seemed, just like its name, still capable of cutting through anything. It bore neither scars nor dullness.

Gawain had received knightly training and knew that a sword would inevitably grow dull after cutting down enough people on the battlefield. If it struck something hard, it would chip. Thus, knights carried not only two swords into battle, but a variety of weapons as well.

There was magic upon this sword. What a beautiful blade—like moonlight, like the surface of a lake beneath moonlight on a silent night.

Gawain took Excalibur, and its sudden, crushing weight nearly broke him. This sword was far too heavy.

He struggled to grip the sword. If he could not even hold it because it was too heavy, everyone would surely laugh at him.

"This sword bears the weight of the entire nation. It is bound tightly to the earth. To draw it, you must either have the strength of Hercules, who held up the sky, and force it free, or possess the noble wish to protect the land. Then you will surely be able to draw it."

"But merely lifting it is already this difficult for me, much less drawing it."

Holding the sword in both hands, Gawain felt as though his body were about to be crushed beneath it. It was as if even the earth could no longer bear its weight, and the castle's stone floor was crushed apart beneath him.

That seemed even more humiliating.

"Listen, Gawain. Even Arthur cannot protect the peace and tranquility of this land through his strength alone. It was Arthur and his companions who created so many great deeds. The ones protecting this country are not Arthur alone, but Arthur and his knights. Without his loyal and brave Knights of the Round Table, Arthur can accomplish nothing. And even if you lack the strength to wield this sword, it does not matter, so long as you rely on them."

Arthur looked at his nephew, crouched down and crushed beneath the Excalibur, then slowly spoke. He swept his gaze around at his knights. "Gawain is now fighting for the honor of me, your King, and every knight present, for the prestige of the Kingdom of Camelot. He cannot yet wield my sword, so I hope all of you will lend him your strength and allow him to wield Excalibur."

The Knights of the Round Table did not belong to the King; rather, the King belonged to the Knights of the Round Table. These words revealed the political essence of the Kingdom of Camelot.

Just as before the Glorious Revolution, Parliament belonged to the King, whereas after the Glorious Revolution, the King belonged to Parliament.

Parliament was no longer an accessory of the King; the King became a constituent part of Parliament, with royal authority and Parliament sharing power.

In later England, there had never been any notion of a separation of powers. All power belonged to Parliament, and the members of the government and courts had, from the beginning, been appointed from Parliament's members.

Gawain was not Arthur. He did not possess the achievements, authority, honor, or strength of his uncle. Not only could he not draw Excalibur, he could not even lift it.

Power operated from the top down, but its essence was from the bottom up. A king without the support of the Knights of the Round Table could accomplish nothing. Without the support of the nobility, his orders would not even leave Camelot.

Using this principle, and the ritual magic cast by Merlin, if he could receive the help of the Knights of the Round Table, even a successor inferior to Arthur could become king and naturally wield Excalibur.

Arthur looked around and saw that the Knights of the Round Table had all fallen silent. Anger rose within him, and he turned to one of them by name. "Tristan, what do you say?"

Tristan of the Round Table rose to his feet. His gaze met his King's before shifting to the youth crushed beneath the holy sword. Forced to take a position, he said stiffly, "If Gawain's motive for drawing this sword is nobler than personal glory, grudges, and self-interest—if he wields it for justice—then I am willing to lend him my strength."

"Sir Kay, what about you?" Arthur turned his gaze to his foster brother, Kay, the seneschal.

"I do not wish for your sword to be abused or used for display. Therefore, I am only willing to lend my strength for a battle such as this, fought for one's own life and survival."

Sir Kay stared at the King who had made his decision and sighed inwardly.

Since Excalibur, the King's sword, could be lent out once, it could naturally be lent a second or third time. He did not want to agree, but he had no choice. Thus, like Sir Tristan, he could only set his own condition.

"It must be used to fight an opponent stronger than oneself!" Bedivere stated his condition, then yielded his place.

"It must be used to fight for truth!"

"It must be used to protect oneself or others!"

"On the battlefield, it must not be raised against the unarmed!"

"It must be used for honor!"

"It must not be raised against saints!"

"This sword must not be raised against blood relatives!"

One after another, the Knights of the Round Table stated their conditions. Since none wished to repeat a condition already named by another knight, they could only rack their brains to come up with their own demands.

There were one hundred and twenty Knights of the Round Table present. After excluding repeated conditions, they had spoken a total of ninety-nine oaths.

Good lord, even if he became king, he would probably only be a puppet king.