It was a contradictory feeling.
The dazzling golden sword was clearly responding to her.
Artoria was sure of it. She could definitely pull the sword free—it felt like it was placed there just for her.
But at the same time, there was a cold, direct contempt paired with that response.
"Fraud."
"You alone will never be able to pull this sword free."
"It doesn't belong to a liar like you."
"Give up."
"Leave Camelot with your falsehoods."
Artoria didn't know whose voice this was—just that the hatred it carried was intense.
To say the voice wanted her dead wouldn't be exaggerating.
This was trouble.
At that same moment in the plaza, hidden in the crowd, Morgan smirked.
"You can't do it, Artoria."
"You don't have the strength worthy of a king. You and Merlin might fool others, but not me."
Yes.
In the original plan, this was the moment Artoria should have pulled the sword.
But...
That rain changed everything.
Morgan didn't know where that pure magical essence came from, but since it could stop this from happening, there was no need to question it.
The sword destined to be pulled by Artoria—the ceremonial sword known as Caliburn—
Had now been cursed.
A powerful, dark curse reinforced the black crystal affixed to it:
"No matter what, Artoria will never be able to pull this sword."
All it took was simple, venomous words.
The only one destined to draw the sword... was also the one now cursed never to.
Morgan chuckled.
She was ready to watch Artoria humiliate herself in front of everyone.
Think you can claim Britain's throne with lies?
Dream on.
Falling from grace in front of everyone—that's the ending you deserve.
But then...
Morgan shifted her gaze elsewhere.
Unlike the other knights trying to pull Caliburn alone, Artoria had someone beside her.
Another boy.
But strangely...
He showed no interest in the sword at all.
In fact, he didn't even glance at it.
His entire focus was on Artoria.
More specifically...
On her chest.
But it wasn't a lustful look. Just a pure, unreadable gaze.
Still, the more Morgan looked at him, the more familiar he seemed.
Feeling increasingly uneasy, Morgan pulled her hood lower and moved closer.
---
Back with Ian and Artoria—
Beads of sweat formed on Artoria's forehead.
The poisonous curse, audible only to her, continued to echo like a demonic chant.
"Give up."
"You can't do it."
"You're just a country girl. Failure is only natural."
"It's not too late to walk away. People will just laugh a little."
"But if you stubbornly go on, the humiliation will only grow."
Artoria's hand began to tremble.
Even she started to doubt whether she could do it.
Maybe leaving like the others wasn't such a bad idea.
"What's wrong?" Ian's voice brought her back to reality.
His gaze, as always, was direct.
"You're acting weird."
"I..."
Artoria wanted to say she couldn't do it.
But the moment their eyes met, she couldn't bring herself to.
He followed her to this city—despite its "bad smell"—just for her.
Giving up now would make all of that meaningless.
"I'm fine. I can do this."
It sounded like she was telling Ian, but also herself.
Artoria took a deep breath and focused everything on drawing the sword.
Pure resolve clashed against the vile curse.
It was a fierce inner storm—one only she could hear.
To onlookers, though, it looked like a girl pointlessly struggling to pull a sword she wasn't worthy of.
And since Ian had forcibly made a path for her, the surrounding knights began complaining.
"Hey!"
"If you can't pull it, get off! Stop wasting everyone's time!"
"He's right!"
"If you can't be king, don't stop others from becoming king!"
Complaints followed one after another, like waves stirred by the wind.
No one knew that Artoria was facing a far more troublesome obstacle than any ordinary knight.
"Hmph, just as expected."
Morgan watched coldly.
She wasn't surprised. She had already anticipated this outcome for Artoria.
A liar deserves to be rejected by all.
But—
For some reason, a faint sense of unease began to stir in Morgan's heart.
No—
It wasn't faint anymore.
As she watched the boy blowing warm air toward the knights complaining that Artoria couldn't draw the sword but refused to step down, Morgan, who had orchestrated everything from the shadows, couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
But...
There shouldn't be any reason for such unease.
It was a flawless plan.
No one would ever know why Artoria couldn't pull the sword, or why no one else could either.
The Sword in the Stone, Caliburn, would remain embedded in stone forever.
All she had to do was wait a month, and the throne of Britain would be hers for the taking.
And yet, the unease lingered.
Morgan placed a hand over her chest.
Unlike her adorably petite little sister, she had an impressively full bust — unmatched across all of Britain.
Why did it feel like this...
Everything had been arranged perfectly.
That feeling of unease reached a boiling point when the boy began walking toward Artoria.
No—
It had turned into an absurd reality.
Because the boy did something Morgan never expected.
In front of the crowd of knights, he stood behind Artoria.
And then—
He took her hand.
That's right.
It was the moment of a dual sword draw.