For Morgan, becoming king or rather, queen was a matter of utmost solemnity.
One needed the right to rule.
By bloodline, she was the most qualified.
By ability, Lot was the most suitable.
Yet now, someone was telling her that none of that mattered that all it took to become Camelot's ruler was pulling some sword out of a stone.
This, Morgan simply could not accept.
Her face twisted in anger, but Lot quickly held her back.
"Let's just go see what's happening for ourselves, alright?"
As he spoke, his thoughts continued:
[The Sword in the Stone Merlin went through with it after all.]
Morgan's ears perked up.
Lot knows about this?
And Merlin is behind it?
What is that old fraud planning now?
Though she had always doubted his motives, Morgan knew Merlin wouldn't act against Camelot's interests at least, not openly.
So… who did he intend to make king?
Morgan refused to believe this sword was meant for her.
"Lot, that sword in the stone… is it really the legendary holy sword?"
[Of course it's a holy sword. Just not the holy sword of legend more like a generic one. That old swindler can churn these out easily.]
Ah, just an ordinary holy sword.
Morgan relaxed slightly.
As long as it wasn't some city-leveling divine weapon, things were manageable.
Meanwhile, Lot's thoughts continued:
[He's pulling out all the stops to put King Arthur on the throne.]
Morgan's attention sharpened.
Lot had mentioned this name before.
She knew exactly who it referred to—
The one who shared the Red Dragon's bloodline.
The one their father had placed all his hopes in.
The one Merlin deemed a better successor than her.
"Lot, who do you think will pull that sword out?"
Morgan kept her tone casual.
"We'll know when we get there."
[Obviously Saber. That old fraud set up a spell only someone with King Uther's Red Dragon bloodline can wield it.]
Morgan had to hand it to Merlin—
What a sneaky bastard.
Right under everyone's noses, he'd rigged the game.
Only a descendant of the Red Dragon could claim the sword.
Brilliantly underhanded.
If this "Arthur" could pull the sword, then wouldn't she who shared the same blood also qualify?
Morgan's fingers twitched with anticipation.
But first, she needed to confirm the identity of this "Saber Arthur."
For a while now, she'd been scouring knightly orders, searching for clues about King Arthur.
Yet she'd found nothing.
Most order leaders were as old as her father hardly candidates for Arthur.
The few younger ones were unmistakably male rough, bearded men who couldn't pass as women even if dressed as peasant grandmothers.
So how to get answers?
Directly asking Lot was risky what if he had reasons to keep silent?
Better to probe subtly.
After a moment's thought, Morgan continued:
"Let's go early. What if someone pulls the sword before we arrive? If all of Camelot accepts the wielder as their 'chosen king,' wouldn't we be at a disadvantage?"
[I had her on night watch duty she probably hasn't even woken up yet.]
There was only one person Lot had assigned extra duties to recently
Sir Ector's foster child.
The leader of her Round Table Knights.
Everything clicked into place.
That's why Lot had muttered about 'getting back at Father's daughter' he wasn't targeting her at all!
He'd been scheming against her sister, Artoria!
And I punished him for nothing!
If he'd just said Artoria's name outright, I wouldn't have locked him outside for an hour.
I'll make it up to him with an extra kiss later.
This also explained why Artoria had felt so familiar when they first met why Morgan had wondered if her magic studies were causing hallucinations.
It was their shared blood.
She'd unknowingly recruited her own sister as her right-hand knight.
...Was this Merlin's plot all along?
Using Artoria to drain our resources, winning without a fight?
This slight won't go unanswered.
Her father had given Merlin two black eyes perhaps she should bloody his mouth to match?
No, as a mage, brawling wasn't her forte.
This called for a specialist.
Horndog, it's your time to shine.
Merlin can't predict you, and you've got the skills just sucker-punch him in the teeth.
As Morgan plotted, Lot's thoughts revisited Artoria's origins:
[King Uther, knowing he couldn't defeat Vortigern, conceived Artoria with the Duchess of Cornwall. To protect reputations, he had Sir Ector raise her while Merlin trained her in secret. Now, after some 'coincidental' setup, she'll pull the sword and become Camelot's king. Any doubters will learn she's Uther's 'son.']
[What a classic 'rich heir pretends to be a nobody before revealing their true power' story!]
The first part was insightful, but that last line…
Never change, Horndog.
Now that she knew Artoria's identity, Morgan could act.
As a Round Table Knight, she's under my command controlling her (or rather, her) will be simple.
Artoria's face grew clearer in Morgan's mind no longer just vaguely familiar.
The resemblance was uncanny.
Merlin's magic must have obscured it before.
Without his interference, I'd have recognized her instantly.
But I've caught you this time.
Smug satisfaction filled Morgan as she turned to Lot.
"Lot, shouldn't we have our own people try pulling the sword? If one succeeds and then declines, wouldn't that ruin Merlin's plans?"
"Heh. The look on Merlin's face when his scheme fails… I'd savor it over three extra bowls of stew."
Lot was momentarily stunned and tempted.
Artoria could easily be recalled.
[But no. We should focus on building strength quietly. Having a decoy king isn't bad.]
Ugh, Lot, must you be so cautious?
Morgan resisted the urge to facepalm.
A king no, a queen must seize power decisively!
Hesitation breeds doubt among followers!
Horndog, you're brilliant, but sometimes you lack backbone!
I'll handle this myself.
I will be Camelot's queen.
And I'll prove to the world that a woman can rule just as well as any man.
No disguises, no pretenses they'll swear fealty to me in courtly gowns!
The thought made her giggle.
Lot eyed her warily. "What's with that look? Fine, let's go recruit someone."
Morgan waved him off. "You go ahead what if someone pulls the sword before we intervene?"
"Good point. I'll scout ahead."
The moment Lot left, Morgan's smile turned devious.
Time to out-scheme the schemer.
Sorry, little sister, but you're collateral damage.
No meals for you today.
Had Lot seen her expression now, he'd have been shocked.
Is this really my sweet, doting wife?
Since when was she so…
A simple stone, once impaled by a holy sword, could draw crowds like moths to flame.
Men of Herculean strength, knights of peerless skill all came, believing the legend.
"Whoever draws the sword shall be Camelot's rightful king."
They strained, they heaved, they poured their souls into the effort.
"Admirable effort, but futile," Merlin mused, munching an apple.
His spell ensured only one could succeed.
"Fate isn't random. Some are born to bear great burdens. Britain's destiny belongs to Artoria."
"Ah, the crowd's large enough now time for the true Knight King to make her debut."
With that, he vanished toward Artoria's location.
Artoria barely registered the commotion.
Her stomach dominated her thoughts.
Ever since Lot assigned her night watch after the banquet, she'd been stuck with meager rations
"A soldier's portion."
For her, that was an appetizer.
But today, her ordeal ended.
No more shifts. The dining hall awaits.
A knight's combat effectiveness hinges on proper nutrition.
No food, no strength.
No strength, no… anything.
Thus, she marched toward salvation oblivious to the grand design unfolding around her.