King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

The land of the British Isles was rotting, and all the kings knew it.

But Camelot—Camelot could not have fallen to the same degree in just a few short years.

Now that Arthur had spoken, his message was clear: there would be no more aid. He intended to let the rest of Britain starve.

"King Arthur! Are you not afraid we might unite and march on Camelot?!" roared King Leodegrance, the usual follower now trembling with fury. "Even if your realm has prospered, do you truly believe Camelot alone can stand against all the kings of the British Isles?"

His defiance roused the others.

"That's right! I may not command the strength of the northern kings, but if we join forces, Camelot cannot withstand our wrath!"

"King Arthur, you're provoking all of Britain!"

"You will face the fury of every crown on this island!"

Their voices rose in anger—not because they desired war, but because they wanted food. Survival.

If they truly went to war and somehow toppled Camelot, how would the spoils be divided? The weak tribes could be crushed or forgotten. And once a king seized Camelot's resources, would he not become the next Arthur?

The temptation was immense.

Arthur snorted. "What is this? A congress of equals? You gather here, kings of Britain, each waving your banner and casting your votes, pretending that democracy means anything at all. Don't make me laugh. Your expressions now are utterly pathetic."

Despite the venom in his voice, Arthur felt pleased.

Democracy—what a farce. A tool for the weak to bind the strong.

But Camelot stood alone. Camelot was strength incarnate. And the others? Mere carrion circling the banquet.

"Well then," Arthur said with a smile, "if you doubt me—if all your anger falls upon me—then come. Attack. Breach my walls if you can. Find out whether Camelot has the food you crave."

He knew how this would unfold.

The one who shines brightest always becomes the target—of worship, or of destruction. For six years now, Arthur had been both beacon and bulwark. His success drew envy. His leadership inspired resentment.

Like a driver at the wheel of a crowded carriage—vital, but first to be blamed in a crash.

"King Arthur! Do you really feel no fear?!"

"You insult us at your peril!"

Though Arthur feared for the lives of his people should war erupt, could these fractious, desperate kings truly defeat him?

Suddenly—

"Your Majesty, urgent news! A cavalry force of unknown origin just attacked one of our villages! We repelled them, but—"

"Your Majesty! Another unidentified assault—!"

From across the crystal spheres, panicked reports echoed from multiple courts.

"What? An attack? King Arthur—!"

Suspicion flared immediately.

Arthur shrugged. "Oh, come now. Don't get excited. Do you truly think I would ignore my neighbors and launch a flanking assault that deep into your lands? Think. How far is Camelot from your borders?"

His chuckle stoked the flames.

If not Arthur, then who?

Which king, in this moment of crisis, would dare launch such a raid?

The kings, united just moments ago, fell silent. Faces they could not see were now twisted with doubt and fear.

The anger aimed at Arthur now bent inward.

Just a little more—just a spark, and the seeds of suspicion would bloom into chaos.

Arthur obliged.

"Let's think," he said lightly. "Which direction was the attack from? East? South? North? Who among you has the largest army, the greatest hunger, the most to gain from weakening a rival?"

Then he closed the crystal ball with a smirk.

The trap had been laid.

The kings could not communicate. Arthur had seen to that long ago. The crystals they'd received could only contact Camelot—one-way lines, eliminating any chance of a united front.

Messengers? Laughable. Texts were too slow. Warhorses too limited. Trust too rare.

Visit another king in person? What if the host was the attacker? What if, while negotiating peace, your own kingdom fell behind you?

No. They were trapped.

"This," Arthur whispered, "is what a dead end looks like."

He turned and clapped Agravain on the shoulder. "Let's leave them to their ruin. We have bolder men to meet. It's time to bury these brave kings beneath Camelot's walls."

"All shall be done according to your will."

At Camelot's northern gate, three kingdoms' worth of armies had gathered.

Their numbers alone dwarfed the Saxon force from six years ago. Their banners filled the valley like stormclouds. Their cries echoed off the walls.

Arthur, mounting the battlements, found Lancelot already waiting.

"My king," said the knight, bowing stiffly. His jaw was tight. The fingers on his gauntlet flexed, metal creaking from restraint.

"Let me guess. They've been screaming their lungs out all morning?"

Lancelot didn't respond.

Arthur laughed. "Sir Lancelot, would you go out to meet them in battle? You'd stain your blade over a few insults?"

"My king... the things they said... about you..." Lancelot's voice trembled with rage.

"Let them yell. They'll tire soon enough. If we respond, we only encourage them."

Lancelot bit his tongue.

"Besides," Arthur said, patting him, "Agravain brought hotpot and barbecue. Lots of chili. Your favorite."

"My king, please..."

Arthur sighed.

Camelot was encircled. Armies barked at all four gates. The four foremost knights manned the walls—Lancelot here, Gawain, Kay, and Skadi elsewhere.

And Arthur knew their patience was wearing thin.

"Lancelot, do you remember my orders?"

"Yes. We defend. We do not attack unless attacked. No casualties, no bloodshed."

"Then hold to them."

"My king...!"

"You know they can't breach our walls. Let them bark. We'll defeat them with time, not swords."

Camelot had grown vast. The city's original bounds were swallowed long ago, its villages moved inside towering white walls. The people were safe. Resources? Camelot imported minerals. The enemy could only burn rocks.

Their siege equipment? Antiquated relics Camelot had sold years ago. Camelot had never exported its true siege weapons.

When the enemy first saw Camelot's gleaming ramparts, Arthur imagined they swore with awe: "Bloody Merlin!"

"Here," Arthur said, pulling a blue potion from his cloak. "You need this."

Lancelot flinched. The last time he saw that potion... Merlin. That damned wizard. PTSD surged.

Still, he took it—and drank.

His expression softened.

Arthur grinned. "Feeling better? Still want to charge out there?"

"Of course," Lancelot replied calmly. "We should ride out and kill them all."

"...Meow?"

Same answer, just quieter. Was the potion expired?

Arthur sighed. So stubborn.

Time to indulge, just a little.

He raised his crystal ball. "Round Table Knights—Gawain, Kay, Lancelot, Skadi—hear your king!"

"Yes, sire?"

"I know your patience has worn thin. You've endured slander for too long. But now... teach them. Prove that the Knights of the Round Table are the strongest in the world."

"Jump the walls. Show these madmen what it means to challenge Camelot!"

"Yes!"

"At last!"

"I shall obey!"

"Wait, wait!" Arthur cut in hastily. "Skadi—you can't go. You'll annihilate them. We're giving a lesson, not a massacre. These men will serve us later."

Skadi pouted, but accepted.

Arthur smiled grimly.

"First, second, and fourth seats of the Round Table—show the kings the power of Camelot!"

-End Chapter-

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