"Yes, the King truly needs her knights."
"And I absolutely support that."
"A knight must be strong enough to protect the King."
Merlin spoke within the halls of Camelot, where just days ago he had assisted Artoria in King Uther's funeral rites.
"But why does it have to be that man as the first knight?"
He hadn't forgotten how he'd been punched by Ian the very first time they met.
It wasn't something that could be explained away easily.
In fact, Ian seemed to instinctively dislike him from the moment they crossed paths—even in dreams.
"Some things aren't for you to ask," Artoria replied, cheeks slightly flushed.
But she gave Merlin no further explanation.
"Anyway—how do I make him a Knight of the Round Table without it seeming forced?"
"Well…"
"That might be… difficult."
"What do you mean?" Artoria turned to him.
"You don't support it?"
"My support doesn't matter," Merlin replied.
"But you should know—
Ian's reputation in Camelot isn't exactly glowing."
"Making him the lead knight might not go over well with the public."
Artoria recalled what had happened in the throne room…
It had taken quite a bit of effort to get him to agree at all.
How could she possibly give up now?
"What if I insist on making him my First Knight?"
"No one will dare oppose you, my King," Merlin shrugged.
"But whether it's truly a good thing for him… that's another question entirely."
"…Fair point."
Artoria gripped her golden sword—Caliburn.
"Then—"
Her eyes sharpened with resolve.
"Let's announce the formation of the Round Table to all of Camelot."
"Let it be a symbol of hope, a way for the people to move on from the late King's shadow."
"Understood."
Merlin nodded, though inwardly he felt uneasy.
The Artoria he first met—within her dreams—was innocent and easy to manipulate.
But the one standing before him now?
Strong-willed. Visionary. Unpredictable.
Perhaps… a far more formidable ruler than he ever imagined.
---
Across Camelot
Artoria's proclamation spread like wildfire through Camelot over the next few days.
To the knights, it was electrifying news.
Being chosen as one of the Round Table knights meant personal recognition by the King—proof of being among the best.
It was an honor that stirred both pride and ambition.
"I want to be a Knight of the Round Table!"
Even children in the streets began mimicking warriors with wooden swords, shouting those same words.
Camelot buzzed with excitement—just like when the prophecy of the Sword in the Stone had first appeared.
---
In one chamber of the castle…
After personally overhearing the intimate moment between Artoria and Ian on the throne, Morgan decided she wasn't going to sit back.
First, she moved out of her previous quarters.
Her new room?
Right next to Ian's.
And conveniently—directly across from Artoria's.
Yes, she fully admitted she did it on purpose.
But who could question her?
True, she had been cast aside by Uther and left in the shadows.
But she still held a status far above most.
In the past, she hadn't dared act this boldly—because she had no leverage.
She knew if a conflict arose, she wouldn't be protected.
But now?
Things were different.
Now, she had something worth fighting for.
That was her source of courage.
And once she realized this, Morgan found that no one in Camelot—aside from Artoria—had the nerve to stop her anymore.
Heh.
She had to thank that guy for all this.
Otherwise, she'd still be living a bitter life.
Feeling more lighthearted than usual, Morgan learned where Ian was training and made her way there without hesitation.
She was going to bring him a gift.
Or more accurately…
Deliver something special to him.
---
At the Camelot training yard—
The soldiers looked on in horror.
"H-How many swords has he broken now?" one asked nervously.
"Probably the hundred and fourteenth?!"
Ian, already infamous in the city as a violent troublemaker, had gone through a shocking number of weapons.
Light swords shattered with a single swing.
Even heavy ones barely lasted a few moments.
At this rate, the armory—meant to last for months—might be depleted in mere days at his hands.
After snapping yet another blade, Ian casually tossed the remnants aside.
He stood, meeting the fearful eyes of the other trainees (or victims?).
"Can I just not use weapons?"
"You guys use them—I'll be fine without it."
To others, that might've sounded like arrogance.
But Ian was simply stating the truth.
Still—
No one dared to respond.
Using weapons—or not—wasn't up to the knights to decide.
And besides…
According to popular rumors, this strange guy named Ian was someone the king valued deeply.
Some even said the so-called knight selection was held solely for him.
So who would dare stop him from fighting unarmed?
What if King Arthur got angry?
The training ground fell silent.
Knights exchanged uneasy glances—none dared answer Ian.
But just then—
"These weapons really aren't good enough," said Morgan, stepping forward.
Her gaze swept across the gathered knights. With a faint smile, she added:
"Those are just standard weapons meant for ordinary knights.
How could they ever suit you?"
That line stepped on quite a few toes—but nobody dared refute it.
Because it was true: Ian wasn't like the rest of them.
But the princess clearly didn't care about their reactions.
Or rather, to her, those reactions were meaningless.
"Let me give you a weapon that actually suits you."
Without hesitation, Morgan took Ian's hand. She said softly:
"All you need to do... is come with me to the lake."