It felt like the ground dipped under him.
The king's expression cooled further. The queen's lips pressed together.
Priest Garron spoke first. "A waste of life and offering. The circle should have devoured him rather than eject him into our domain."
Rodrick shook his head. "Killing him here serves no practical purpose. At most, he could be labor."
Eldran turned to the throne. "With Your Majesties' judgment, we can strip him of any claim as summoned and remove him from the palace grounds."
The king gave his verdict without ceremony. "Do so. He carries no value. Let him be exiled from the inner walls and marked as vagrant. He has no right to remain among those with purpose."
Arthur's pulse thudded in his ears.
'Exiled? Already? No mana and I'm trash tier? Fuck—no, calm down. Don't snap. Think. Adapt.'
Queen Seraphina spoke then—not to object, but to temper. "Ensure he is not executed on sight should he wander near the lower quarter. A mistake of summoning does not excuse barbarity."
The king inclined his head faintly. "Fair."
Priest Garron didn't look pleased but refrained from further protest.
Captain Rodrick signaled two knights. They stepped forward, faces blank—here to remove, not kill.
As one of them reached to seize Arthur's arm, he glanced up at the queen just once.
She met his gaze with unreadable poise—neither pity nor scorn, but acknowledgment before dismissal.
Okay, Arthur thought bitterly as the knights prepared to drag him out, 'first Isekai day, and I'm already classified as defective recycling material. Fucking fantastic.'
Arthur didn't resist when the knights took him by the arms—he knew better than to act out in a room full of swords, spells, and divine egos. But every step away from the circle scraped at his nerves.
His head stayed down, but his thoughts hissed.
'No mana. No core. No archetype. Not even a stat screen? What kind of bootleg isekai is this? I didn't get dragged through a cosmic asshole just to get demoted to an existence worse than weakest peasent.'
They led him across the marble, past nobles who had already lost interest. Conversations resumed, fans fluttered, jewels glittered. He was already forgotten.
Only a few people still watched.
Archmage Eldran spoke quietly to his assistants as they erased the summoning lines. His eyes never drifted to Arthur again.
High Priest Garron muttered prayers that sounded like curses disguised as hymns.
Captain Rodrick simply turned his back, already discussing reallocation of resources with another officer.
But the queen… she watched a moment longer. Not fondly. Not with hope. But with the quiet scrutiny of someone who thought it was foolish to waste a life without reason—even a useless one.
The king didn't spare a final look. His decree had been spoken, and that was the end of Arthur's worth.
The knights moved him toward the wide double doors at the rear of the chamber. Their grips were firm but not brutal—just the strength of men who did this often.
Arthur kept his expression neutral, eyes flicking over the hall one last time.
'So this is how it starts. Not as the chosen hero, but as the bug in the code. Fine. I'll play along. For now.'
The massive doors opened with a heavy groan of iron-reinforced wood. Cold corridor air rushed in. The summons hall vanished behind him as the doors shut again.
They marched him through a torchlit hallway of stone walls and crimson banners, passing servants who gave cautious glances before pretending not to see him.
Arthur broke the silence with a low, controlled question.
"…What happens to summoned people who fail your expectations?"
Neither knight looked at him. The one on his right finally answered.
"They don't usually leave the hall alive."
Arthur kept his face blank, even as his thoughts swore hard enough to scorch steel. 'Good thing I didn't start popping off with insults. Note to self: survive first, complain later.'
The knight on the left added quietly, "You're fortunate the queen was present. The priest wanted you purged."
'Yeah. Baldy looked two exorcisms away from vaporizing me with holy radiation.'
They reached a smaller exit door guarded by two other sentries. A symbol was etched above the archway—a ring of thorns encircling a sword. It looked less like a seal of passage and more like a warning label.
One of the escorting knights addressed the guards. "By decree of His Majesty, subject is to be expelled beyond inner walls. Marked as vagrant, no aid shall be provided."
The guard nodded calmly. "Understood."
Before they pushed the door open, Arthur turned his head slightly.
"…Is there any place I'm allowed to go? Or am I just expected to walk until I starve?"
The knight didn't soften. But his tone wasn't cruel. "The lower districts won't kill you on sight. But without coin or status, you won't last long."
'Oh, fantastic. Dropped into a medieval economy with no money, no skills, and no GPS. At least I look employable. Maybe I can wash chamber pots for a duchess with back problems.'
The door creaked open.
Cold night air greeted him, sharp and unfamiliar. The stone steps led down into streets dimly lit with lanterns and moonlight. He could see walls further down—massive ironwood gates separating the inner and lower city.
The knight on the right removed a short blue cloak from his belt and tossed it forward.
"For decency. Nothing more."
Arthur caught it and draped it on. It was thinner than it looked, barely reaching his waist. More symbolic than warming.
He stepped past the threshold.
No one said farewell.
No one gave guidance.
The door shut behind him.
'And just like that, I went from summoned hero to magically unemployed.'
He stood at the top of the stairs for a few seconds, letting the new world settle in his lungs.
The palace walls behind him gleamed with gold torchlight and arrogance.
Ahead, the lower city sprawled like a sleeping beast, rooftops layered in uneven rows, smoke drifting from chimneys, voices echoing in distant clusters.
He descended the steps.
As he walked the sloped path toward the outer gates, he finally looked up at the sky. Two moons hung there—one silver, one a dusky blue. Constellations he didn't recognize glinted like strangers watching.
The wind carried faint scents—smoke, bread, manure, spices, sweat.
'Alright. Think. No money. No magic. No connections. No homeland to go back to. But I'm not dead. Which means the game isn't over.'
His heart still throbbed with frustrated adrenaline, but some stubborn spark in him held on.
As he neared the lower gate, laughter echoed from somewhere down-market. A bark. A distant cart wheel. A lute. Life moved on without him.
Arthur glanced once over his shoulder at the towering palace—still visible even through the darkness.
'Laugh now. Go ahead. I'll come back. And when I do, you robe-wearing mana-snobs are gonna choke on disbelief.'
He passed through the ironwood gates.
They shut behind him with a boom that rang like a verdict.
He was alone.
Thrown out.
Dismissed.
Powerless.
And yet… somehow still alive in a world full of magic, monsters, kingdoms—
—and milfs.
A slow, dangerous grin tugged at the edge of his mouth.
"Yeah. I'm not done here. Not by a long shot."
*****
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