"..."
"..."
The shattering of the Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn) brought the match between Artoria and Mélusine to an abrupt halt.
Especially for Mélusine.
She felt as if she had done something terribly wrong.
"This, how could..."
But what Mélusine did not know was—
Looking at the golden sword in her hand, now covered in cracks, Artoria's heart felt not sadness, but rather a sense of release.
She felt that something which had long bound her had been shattered.
"It's alright, Mélusine."
"It was I who was too serious."
"Rest assured, I will not blame you."
"Everything I said just now still stands."
After saying this, holding the broken Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn), Artoria departed.
Leaving Mélusine standing there alone, somewhat at a loss.
But Morgan paid her no mind at all.
The princess of Britain felt that Artoria's reaction was a little off.
"Ian, I'm going to see Artoria."
"Alright."
Quickly catching up, Morgan soon reached Artoria's side.
"My King."
Although their relationship was actually that of sisters, in public, Morgan would still address Artoria this way.
After all, she had promised her to keep the secret of her gender.
"Oh, it's you, Big Sister Morgan."
"What is it?"
"The sword..."
Morgan looked at the Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn) in Artoria's hand, which looked as if it could shatter at any moment, and spoke directly.
"Is it broken?"
"Not at all, it's just—"
"Don't lie to me."
Before Artoria could finish, Morgan spoke first.
"Although my knowledge of weaponry is limited, I am not so blind as to be unable to see."
"Broken is broken. No matter how you try to cover it up, you cannot change that fact."
"Alright."
With things said to this point, Artoria no longer offered any explanations.
"It is indeed so."
"The Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn) does seem to be broken."
"How could such a thing happen?"
Morgan shook her head with a cold smile.
"This was a sword specially prepared for you, was it not? How could it break?"
"..."
Sensing that Morgan's words held a hidden meaning, Artoria's tone also became serious.
"Sister, what do you mean by this?"
"If you have some dissatisfaction with me, you might as well say it directly."
"How could I possibly be dissatisfied with you, my dear sister."
Morgan took the crack-covered sword from Artoria's hand.
"I just want to know, now that the sword that chose the king has become like this, what do you plan to do next?"
"..."
"Nothing will change."
Artoria looked into the distance.
Her eyes reflected the joyful laughter of the people.
"I did not become King because of that sword, nor did I come here because I wanted that sword."
"Without it, I am still Artoria."
"Without it, I am still King Arthur."
"What must be done, and for whom it must be done, I already understand."
"So—"
Artoria looked at Morgan beside her.
"Do not worry about me."
"..."
"I have never worried about you," Morgan returned the broken Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn) to Artoria's hand.
"And I do not care what you think."
"But—"
Morgan turned sideways.
"If you should ever want to rest, it wouldn't be a big problem."
"After all, you are not the only one in Camelot who can get things done."
"And you are not the only one who worries for this land."
"If you fail, someone will immediately replace you."
"Then perhaps no one will ever replace me, sister."
"I will not want to rest."
The unfinished selection trial thus came to an end.
The already complex relationship between the sisters of Britain grew even more delicate.
And on the other side.
Mélusine was going frantic.
"It's all your fault!"
"What am I supposed to do now!"
Mélusine tugged at Ian's clothes.
"If you hadn't insisted on carrying me back, none of this would have happened, right?!"
"..."
"What's with that look?"
"Was I wrong?"
"I don't know if you were wrong."
Ian, in turn, reached out and began to stroke Mélusine's head.
"But if you're worried Artoria will punish you, I don't think that's necessary."
"Artoria never minds these things—"
"But I broke her sword."
Mélusine said, blaming herself.
"Clearly, she had already called a stop."
"And yet I still..."
"But she was also willing to do it because she acknowledged you, right?"
Ian recalled Artoria's movements, then mimicked her, making a sword-raising gesture with the hand that was not petting Mélusine's head.
"Artoria genuinely believed you could withstand her attack, which is why she raised her sword without hesitation."
"She has already acknowledged you as a member of the Round Table."
"..."
Mélusine moved Ian's hand from her head.
She looked up and stared at him.
"I'm warning you, don't touch my head."
"Or else, I'll bite you to death!"
"..."
Mélusine said this, but she still saw Ian extend his hand towards her.
"What are you doing?"
"Letting you bite it."
"Mélusine, your head is very comfortable to pet."
"You!"
Mélusine felt she had truly met her natural enemy.
She couldn't bite through Ian's hand, nor could she stop him from giving her a head pat.
"Honestly, why did I have to meet you!"
"Perhaps this is fate."
"Fate my ass!"
"Another member for the Round Table?"
A familiar voice rang out.
The bickering Mélusine and the enjoying Ian both looked over.
It was the still-scruffy Merlin.
Almost instantly, Ian felt an uncontrollable anger welling up.
He instinctively felt uncomfortable around this man; otherwise, he wouldn't have punched him the moment they first met.
Merlin quickly spoke up:
"Don't be hasty!"
"I'll leave after I've talked!"
"I absolutely won't hold you up!"
"Then what do you want to talk about?"
Mélusine looked at the sloppily dressed man who had walked over at some point.
"I've only just arrived in Camelot myself."
"I can't answer anything."
"No."
Merlin shook his head.
"You must know, Mélusine."
"Because what I want to ask is about you."
"You... how exactly did you appear in Britain?"