King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

"Yes, the British people are happy."

Arthur confirmed it aloud. But as he spoke, his eyes grew colder.

"Are they happy? Of course they are. Then let us destroy their happiness."

Those frigid words echoed across the chamber.

Everyone froze and turned toward their king.

They didn't understand. The wise and noble Arthur—the king known for his measured decisions and calm demeanor—was gone. In his place stood someone colder, crueler. Ruthless.

Did that truly come from my king's mouth?

"My king, why—" Gawain began, pained.

The rest of the court mirrored his disbelief.

Even Lancelot and Kay, who had been briefed in advance, looked uneasy.

"Why?" Arthur repeated. "There is no reason. It is simply what must be done. If happiness continues unchecked, people begin to take it for granted. Security, food, trade—they forget who gave them these things. They think this is a fair exchange, when in truth, it's my charity."

Charity? The word felt out of place.

But when one thought about it… wasn't it?

Camelot had the power to do anything it wanted—conquer, dominate, annihilate. The only reason it hadn't was because of a meaningless covenant. That covenant allowed the kings of Britain to bask in Camelot's favor. Even tyrants were now praised as wise rulers simply because they were propped up by Camelot's support.

If that's not charity, what is?

"Arthur," Artoria spoke carefully, "if you're doing this for recognition, it may spark war. You've already earned all the fame a king could desire."

If it's not for fame, then why?

But Artoria knew the truth. Arthur didn't need more fame. That's what made it so difficult to persuade him.

"My king… is this truly necessary?" Kay asked quietly.

From a knight's perspective, people should earn what they want through honest labor. That seemed more just.

"Yes. It must be done," Arthur replied. "When people grow comfortable, they demand more and more. Only suffering—appropriate suffering—can remind them that their current lives were earned through hardship. That is how they'll learn to cherish what they have."

It was a simple logic.

A warm house shields you from the winter cold.

See? Light a fire, and you're safe. Even blizzards are bearable with friends, barbecue, and drink. How delightful.

And so, the only way to teach them the value of warmth... is to burn the house down. Let them beg for warmth a thousand times in vain. Then they'll understand its worth.

The trade treaty was their shelter.

The decline of the Age of Gods and the rise of Saxons were the oncoming winter storm.

So, the solution was obvious.

When the blizzard arrives, the people must choose:

The king who holds military power and drains them dry?

Or Camelot—the one who once brought them peace?

"Feel the pain. Experience the pain. Accept the pain. Understand the pain. Those who do not know pain cannot know peace," Arthur intoned, arms raised. His voice was eerily seductive. "Let us bring pain to Britain!"

For some reason, Artoria found herself thinking Arthur's eyes should be stinging with onion tears.

Why did that image even come to mind?

Around them, every knight, official, and mage fell silent.

Many wanted to object. The knights, especially. They stood for justice and couldn't bear to see their king act this way.

But the words caught in their throats like bones.

Because Arthur's words, however cold and heartless—even evil—made a twisted sort of sense.

Never trust the illusion of prosperity, their king had once said. If you believe something is right, do not waver. There are things that cannot be judged until the very end.

Now, that end was approaching.

If we've chosen to follow him, then what shame is there in walking with him into purgatory?

Right or wrong—only time would tell. But as long as they trusted him, even if the path led into hell, he would lead them back to the light.

King Arthur is always right.

King Arthur is truth.

"Yes! We obey the king's command! We will seize all the glory in the world!"

Together, they gave Arthur their highest salute.

Camelot, which once brought peace and prosperity, would now bring pain and despair.

It was time to silence every other voice on the British Isles.

"All glory to our King Arthur!"

Meanwhile…

"Bastard! That brat dared say such things! Has he forgotten how he groveled when we forged the covenant?!"

In a stone hall deep within a border kingdom, a furious king overturned a table in rage.

Though his country wasn't as pressured as the northern kingdoms, Arthur's betrayal still struck hard.

He had turned 90% of his farmland into pastures—trusting Arthur's promise. Grain from Camelot was cheaper, more abundant, and magically enhanced. His own crops had become worthless.

Now, with no more Camelot grain coming, even the army wouldn't eat by next month.

And without soldiers, there was no defense.

"Send troops! I'll march on Camelot and force that brat to kneel like he did six years ago!"

His advisors exchanged glances.

It was a foolish, emotional outburst. But if they tried to advise him now, he wouldn't listen.

"Your Majesty, we do have options. Why not strike smaller kingdoms instead of Camelot?" one noble offered.

The king glared, but said nothing.

He was furious, yes—but not stupid.

He knew the nobles held much of the power. He needed their support.

"I know! But how can I swallow this insult?! That brat acts like we can't crush him at any moment!"

"Perhaps King Arthur knows exactly that," the noble said coldly.

It was contempt—not just for Arthur, but for his own king.

Arthur would have executed such a traitor on the spot. But this king, either out of pride or blindness, said nothing.

He was born into the throne. Raised to rule. Why bother learning to read expressions?

So betrayal crept closer.

"Let's be rational," the noble continued. "Recall the armor Camelot sold us in recent years. Those elite weapons, once fit only for nobles, now arm every foot soldier. And Camelot? Their troops haven't upgraded in years."

The king's rage cooled.

"You're right. We'll target weaker neighbors first, consolidate, then defend."

"I'm glad you understand. Let's plan our first move."

The meeting stretched into the night.

When it ended, the noble returned home.

Without a word to family, he entered a hidden chamber.

A hooded figure stood waiting—a Camelot spy.

"The mission is complete. That king is a fool. Honestly, he disgusts me."

"Don't get cocky. This is just the beginning. All for our king."

"Yes. All for King Arthur."

"My king is supreme."

Seven Days Later...

Envoys flooded Camelot. At last, the British Kings' Conference reopened.

"I don't know why they still try to negotiate. Have I been too soft? Or are they just too naive?" Arthur muttered.

Only Aguguiwen stood nearby.

"You are as deep as the ocean, my king," the Black Knight said, bowing.

The meeting began.

Far fewer kings attended than before.

Food shortages were pressing. Most kings had no time for diplomacy.

"King Arthur, what do you want?"

"Name your price. If it's reasonable, we'll accept it."

Arthur smiled. So eager. Seven days was enough.

"Please, remain calm. You are all kings of Britain. You must uphold your dignity."

Six years ago, Arthur had used this same humble tone when forming the alliance.

Now, the same words felt like sharp blades—mocking and cold.

"King Arthur, enough games!" one king shouted. "I'll give up territory, supplies—even soldiers. Just resume trade! This quarter, even this month!"

Others followed, desperate.

Arthur only smiled.

"You jest. Halting trade also hurts Camelot. But recall—one hundred years ago, we lived off wild fruits. Today, only Camelot can still manage that."

"What's your point?!"

"I'm saying: Britain's land is dying. Once it was all fertile. Then only Camelot. Now, even Camelot's fields are empty. I have no more grain to trade."

That was a lie.

A calculated, cold-blooded lie.

Arthur had no intention of resuming trade. He knew: if the kings suffered enough, they'd never abandon farming again.

Now was the time to strike and devour Britain whole.

"Go buy food from Rome, if you want," Arthur added.

Another lie.

He knew every quarter's supply. No kingdom had more than two weeks of food left. A caravan to Rome would return far too late.

And even if Rome could supply them, why would it? Why not let Britain starve and invade after?

In truth, the kings had only two options:

Turn to Arthur — but he would not help.

Or…

That second option?

-End Chapter-

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