Chapter Nine: The Free Knight

“Lancer! What are you talking about? The king is still alive—what do you mean by saying such things?” Unlike Merlin, who had long since made his prophecies, Toria was simply a young girl under her teacher’s guidance, aspiring to become a knight. To her, Lancer’s words were nothing short of treason, and she rebuked him loudly.

“How do you know this?” Merlin’s tone was cold, though the anger Toria had expected from her teacher did not appear.

Lancer’s mind raced. The last thing he wanted was to fall out with this era’s great power at the very start. Glancing at his right hand, he quickly came up with an explanation.

“It’s this that told me,” he said. Merlin’s gaze shifted once more to the dagger in Lancer’s hand. He recalled the strange incident during their previous fight, where the elf’s protection had been broken without any magical fluctuation—something highly unusual.

Ignoring them, Lancer continued, “Do you remember the question I asked you? That was the activation incantation. This dagger is cursed by the heavens. Its very reason for existence is to assassinate the king.” He turned to Toria. “And now it whispers to me of its hunger, its yearning for the blood of a worthy king.”

As a magician of half-human, half-elf blood, Merlin knew such things did exist in the world. These weapons, however, could only be used by elves or by those acknowledged by the weapon itself, and they always shared a bond with their wielder. Hearing Lancer’s tale, Merlin’s first thought was that Lancer must have assassinated their “king” in the East and fled here. Remembering the sorrowful aura that had once surrounded Lancer, he became even more convinced.

One man spun a tale he could hardly believe himself, while the other, knowing too much, believed it anyway. With this strange tacit understanding, they chose not to pursue the matter further.

――――――――――Time Passes――――――――――

A year had passed since Lancer first met Toria. By now, he was living in Merlin’s magic tower, serving as a guard. In this age, when King Uther still lived, there was little war and nothing much required of him. Not that Merlin needed any protection, anyway. Later, he did visit the mercenary guild, which was not quite as exaggerated as in novels. After all, no nation would tolerate a massive armed group under its rule. Lancer registered as a mercenary, taking odd jobs and sightseeing as a sort of holiday. Some of these missions, however, were terrifying—sometimes, after accepting a quest, his ring would suddenly inform him it had become a side mission, leaving him speechless. Once, for example, the target he was to protect turned out to be the prey of a vampire—not the Dead Apostles of the Type-Moon universe, for he only favored the Fate series, so no other series would appear. The vampire was a duke-level creature, and that encounter brought Lancer closer to death than even his battle with Merlin. Merlin had never truly aimed to kill him, whereas the vampire showed no mercy. In the end, the employer was unscathed; both Lancer and the vampire were gravely wounded. It was only by surprise that Lancer stabbed the Shadowrender into the vampire’s chest and finished him off with Lightbane. Perhaps because the Ten Famous Swords of Heavenly China are all swords of justice, the vampire did not revive but was instantly purified.

The final reward was a white garment.

Light and Shadow: Both light and shadow; when the master is surrounded by light, it is white, and when shrouded in darkness, it is black. It possesses strong anti-magic properties and is immune to most physical attacks. Rank: B+ upper limit. If attacked by a Noble Phantasm exceeding A rank, it will be damaged but recovers automatically in a day, or faster with mana.

At least Lancer was pleased with this item. He’d lacked good armor, and this came at the perfect time. He put away the commemorative shirt from his first mission and wore Light and Shadow from then on.

Though he’d only acquired this one Noble Phantasm over the year, the experience gained was considerable—an even four thousand points. Now, rather than heading out on a mission as usual, he sat in Merlin’s chamber.

“Old man, are you sure?” Lancer asked solemnly, aware this would be the spark that ignited everything.

“Yes. The king has died.” Though he had come to serve the royal family as the court magician for the sake of the prophesied Toria, after more than twenty years by the king’s side, he felt genuine emotion.

“You must have known this would happen. My condolences. But now the most important thing is how to keep that pack of wolves in check.” Lancer held little affection for the nobles of this era. Aside from the dukes, he’d killed at every rank. To him, they were parasites of the realm. King Uther had known and tacitly approved, but now, with the king gone, ambition ran wild. Since Uther had left no heir, the nobility began scheming. Merlin and Lancer both sought to see Toria inherit the throne. Merlin knew only Toria could lead the country to glory. Lancer, for his part, was driven by an otaku’s conviction—though Toria’s fate as king was tragic, he believed that with his help, such misfortune could be averted. And after all, could Saber be Saber if she never became the King of Knights?

“Want me to just get rid of them all?” Lancer proposed, not entirely joking. He’d long disliked that lot.

“No. If you did that, even if Toria became king, she would never truly command them. The monarchy would collapse,” Merlin replied, the wisdom of his many years showing. After speaking, Lancer realized his own impulsiveness. He glanced at his right arm—though Lotus’s help had lifted the curse, the demon hand still fed his bloodlust, though not yet to the point of losing himself. The bandages decayed faster, needing ever more frequent replacement.

“Haven’t you noticed? Merely suppressing them will only lead to a greater eruption in the end.” Lotus, seated upon a cloud, addressed Lancer in a voice only she could hear.

“Only Toria can draw the Sword in the Stone, that much is certain. But how can we make everyone else accept it?” Lancer and Merlin racked their brains, but found no solution. The news of the king’s death could not be concealed for long. Eventually, Merlin decided to announce it openly. After all, King Uther himself had once declared, “Whoever draws this sword will become king.”

Unexpectedly, the declaration received universal support. Small nobles with no hope of the throne threw their weight behind it, as it was preferable to a power struggle among the great houses. Some of the high nobles—friends and comrades of King Uther, who respected Merlin—also assented. The rest decided to watch Merlin’s next move before acting. Thus, through compromise, the matter was settled.

At the same time, Lancer went to the mercenary guild to spread the news. Famous free knights likewise voiced support. Yet a new obstacle emerged.

The Castel family—England’s greatest marquess house, rivaling the two ducal houses—learned of the king’s death through their own spies. Once a ducal family themselves, demoted by the king’s father, they had long sought to overthrow the Pendragon rule. Now, they saw their chance. Their plan: assassinate free knights without powerful backers to intimidate the others, then murder the one who drew the sword, and finally ambush the nobles at the coronation feast. Yet before they could set their plan in motion, Lancer received word of it.

“Ambition of traitors—the Castel family plans to rebel upon the king’s death, to slaughter the nobles. As a knight of the king, you cannot allow this outrage to mar the new king’s coronation feast.

Mission objectives—① Ensure the safety of all forty-two free knights, without revealing details to anyone; each survivor earns 100 experience points. ② Guarantee the completion of the coronation feast; once it begins, you may inform a select few, but must not disrupt the celebration. Time limit: one hour.”

With the mission came a recording device in Lancer’s ring, containing the Castel family’s entire discussion. Lancer was speechless—this task was nearly impossible. He didn’t particularly care if those free knights died, but some of them were friends; after all, he’d never completed missions alone.

“Well, I’ll go to the mercenary guild tomorrow and put out the word. Hopefully my reputation counts for something.” With that thought, Lancer stopped worrying and went to sleep.

――――――――――Region Change――――――――――

A blond man sat by the lake, polishing a shield marked with a pentagram, a golden sword slung across his back. “Lancer, this time I will defeat you! With this sword, blessed by the Lady of the Lake.”

“Master, is this the hope of our homeland?” A black-robed man stood atop a waterfall, watching Toria practice swordplay below.

“Father, I swear I will uphold the honor of knighthood and forever serve the king.” A youth knelt before a grave, clutching a rusted sword.

“Who’d have thought that brat would become king? As his sworn brother, does that mean…” A young man sat on a rooftop, hugging his sword and grinning foolishly.

Care to guess who these people are? Feel free to post your thoughts in the comments—their names are all among the well-known Knights of the Round Table!

(Today I’m in a good mood, so here’s a brand new chapter. But this one’s freshly written—the stockpile is gone, and the bitter life of daily writing begins anew. If you feel sorry for me, please vote! If not, a bookmark will do.)

End of chapter.