It was a rather contradictory feeling.
That brilliant golden sword was indeed responding to her.
Artoria was certain that it was a sword she could absolutely pull out, as if it had been placed there specifically for her.
But—
Accompanying this response of utmost purity was a scorn that was just as direct.
"Fraud."
"By yourself, you can never pull out this blade."
"It does not belong to a hypocrite like you."
"Give up—"
"Take your hypocrisy and leave Camelot!"
Artoria didn't know whose obsession this was.
But she could feel that the other party held an extreme hostility towards her.
It probably wouldn't be an exaggeration to say they wanted to kill her.
It seemed—
Things were getting a little tricky.
At the same time, in the square where the Sword of Selection was located.
Hidden in the crowd, Morgan revealed an imperceptible smile.
You can't do it, can you, Artoria.
You...
You don't have the strength to match a king, so how could you possibly pull out that sword.
You and Merlin can fool others, but you absolutely cannot fool me!
That's right.
If things had developed as they were supposed to, now would indeed be the moment Artoria pulled out the blade.
But—
That rain had changed everything.
Although she didn't know where such pure magical crystals came from, since they could help her stop all of this, there was no need to dwell on cause and effect.
The sword destined to be pulled out by Artoria;
A ceremonial sword named Caliburn.
Now, because of those black crystals, an even stronger curse had been placed upon it—
"No matter what."
"Artoria will absolutely not be able to pull out this sword."
The most malicious curses require only the simplest of words.
The only one who could pull out the sword, was also the only one who could not possibly pull it out.
Hehehe...
Morgan sneered.
She was already prepared to watch Artoria make a fool of herself in front of everyone.
Thinking you can get the throne of Britain with lies?
Dream on!
Coming down from there in disgrace is the result you deserve!
However—
Morgan's gaze shifted to another spot.
Unlike the knights who wanted to pull out Caliburn by themselves.
Beside Artoria, there stood another boy.
But strangely enough—
He looked as if he had no intention of pulling out the sword at all.
Even...
He didn't seem to have any thought of giving the sword a second glance.
On the contrary, his attention was entirely on Artoria.
Especially...
The area of her chest.
Yet it wasn't a look of lust, just a very pure gaze, making it impossible to figure out what he was doing.
And speaking of which...
He seemed a little familiar.
The more she thought about it, the more Morgan felt something was wrong. Dressed in black, she pulled down the hood of her cloak and moved further to the front.
Back to Ian and Artoria's side.
The young woman's forehead was already covered in cold sweat.
The malicious curse, which only she could hear, still lingered around Artoria like a demonic chant.
"Give up—"
"You can't do it."
"You're just a country girl, it's only natural that you'd fail."
"There's still time to walk away now, at worst you'll just be laughed at."
"But if you stubbornly refuse, you'll only invite more ridicule."
Artoria's hand began to tremble.
She also began to doubt whether she could do such a thing.
Perhaps leaving just like everyone else wasn't such a bad choice.
"What's wrong?"
"Eh?"
Ian's voice pulled Artoria back to reality.
The boy's gaze was as direct as ever.
"You look very strange right now."
"I..."
Artoria wanted to say she couldn't pull the sword out.
But the moment her eyes met his, she felt she couldn't do that.
He had followed her to this city that "smelled bad" for her sake.
To give up halfway now, wouldn't that be telling him that everything he had done before was meaningless?
"I'm fine."
"I can definitely do it!"
As if saying it to Ian, and also to herself.
Artoria panted slightly, concentrating all her attention on pulling out the sword.
A sincere heart and a malicious curse collided fiercely at this moment.
But it was a storm only Artoria herself could hear—
In the eyes of others, she was merely struggling in vain, unwilling to accept the reality that she couldn't pull out the sword.
Having been pushed aside by Ian when he brought her through, those knights soon began to complain.
"Hey!"
"If you can't pull out the sword, then get down! What's the point of wasting everyone's time!"
"Yeah!"
"You can't be king, don't stop others from becoming king!"
The complaints came one after another, like waves stirred by the wind.
No one knew that Artoria was facing an obstacle far more troublesome than the average knight.
"Hah, as it should be."
Morgan watched all of this coldly.
She was not surprised.
Rather, she had long anticipated this outcome for Artoria.
Liars should be spat upon by all!
But—
For some reason, there was always a faint unease in Morgan's heart.
No.
It could no longer be called a faint unease.
Watching the boy hiss at the knights who were complaining that Artoria couldn't pull out the sword and wouldn't come down, she, who had orchestrated everything from the shadows, still felt that something was wrong.
But...
She shouldn't be feeling this way.
This was a watertight operation.
No one would know why Artoria couldn't pull out the sword, and she herself wouldn't know why she couldn't pull it out.
Caliburn would remain in the stone forever.
She just had to wait a month, and the throne of Britain would be within her grasp.
But, she was still so uneasy.
Morgan clutched her chest.
Unlike her sister, whose chest could only be described as 'cute,' she possessed an absolutely stunning bust.
One that would be hard to find a match for in the whole of Britain.
Why is this happening...
Clearly, everything has already been arranged.
This unease was further fermented when the boy walked towards Artoria.
No.
It should be said that it completely evolved into an absurdity that existed in reality.
Because that boy did something Morgan had never expected.
In front of numerous knights, he stood behind Artoria.
The next moment, he took her hand.
That's right.
This was a two-in-one moment of pulling the sword