Chapter One: The Beginning (The protagonist will not appear so soon)

“Arthur, you shouldn’t have done that. Lancelot is a good man—he’s worthy of being called a knight! He even saved my life once! And he’s a noble!” The young squire Merlin grumbled as he helped the equally youthful Prince Arthur out of his armor. “You can’t just throw him into the stables. That’s work for servants!”

“Shut up, you fool! You’re just a servant. You have no right to decide who gets to be called a knight!” The young prince tossed his gauntlets onto the rack, impatience in his voice. Yet, after his outburst, Arthur hesitated and then, feigning indifference, offered a brief explanation for his harsh tone. “You’d best not let Father hear you say such things. He doesn’t like servants discussing matters that don’t concern them.”

But Merlin, indignant over his prince’s refusal to admit a worthy knight, paid no heed to Arthur’s scolding or his explanation. Truth be told, Merlin was something of an old hand at this. He had long since lost count of the times he’d angered Arthur’s father, the infamous King Uther. And yet, in a twist that baffled the court, the king—reputed as a tyrant—always forgave Merlin’s transgressions.

Of course, this wasn’t due to any special kindness, but rather because Merlin had a good teacher and a faithful friend. Thanks to their guidance, he always managed to weather the storm, escaping every crisis unscathed. This had emboldened him over time, so much so that he had even dared to forge proof of nobility.

“By the way, Merlin, which family did you say Lancelot was from?” At that moment, Arthur suddenly recalled Merlin mentioning Lancelot’s background; at the time, Arthur hadn’t paid much attention, never expecting Merlin to recommend anyone of true consequence. He’d only agreed to let Lancelot take the test because the man had saved Merlin from a griffin, never imagining Lancelot would actually pass. Even though his methods had been rather by-the-book, Arthur was willing to give him a chance.

Naturally, there was no need to let Merlin know this. Arthur feared Merlin would blurt it to Lancelot, which would be outright cheating—something Arthur refused to countenance.

In any case, Arthur felt Merlin’s instincts hadn’t erred this time, and so he wanted to learn more about Lancelot. If Lancelot truly had the makings of a knight, Arthur would gladly welcome him into the order.

Yet this casual question made Merlin suddenly apprehensive. Indeed, Merlin had forged Lancelot’s noble credentials!

Lancelot was tall, handsome, and possessed an innate, commanding presence. Anyone who saw him fight couldn’t help but marvel at his courage and prowess. In Merlin’s eyes, if such a man could not become a knight, then no one in the world deserved the honor.

But Lancelot had one fatal flaw: he was a commoner. His family had tilled the soil for generations, and not a drop of noble blood could be found in his lineage.

“He’s the fifth son of Lord Lausannebia,” Merlin replied, keeping his face steady even as panic gripped him inside. He could only pray Arthur had never heard of this obscure house—he’d chosen it precisely because it was so remote and unremarkable.

Perhaps the gods heard his prayer, for Arthur seemed none the wiser.

“Oh, Lord Lausannebia,” Arthur echoed, his eyes blank, though he tried to appear informed. He had no desire to seem ignorant in front of his friend and squire.

Truth be told, Arthur had always been a poor scholar. Since childhood, his greatest passion was for sword and spear. Aside from a passable grasp of court etiquette and barely being literate, he had little interest in anything else. How could he be expected to recall all the noble families and their heraldry? The subject filled three thick tomes, each as heavy as a stone from the castle wall. Arthur could use them as a shield, but to memorize them all? Impossible.

Though Merlin and Arthur had only known each other for a few short months, Merlin had come to understand the prince’s simple, almost endearingly foolish nature. Seeing Arthur like this, he knew he’d managed to bluff his way through. Since Arthur didn’t recognize the house of Lausannebia, he wouldn’t pursue the matter and risk exposing his ignorance. Merlin had no intention of revisiting the subject either, and so, with perfect mutual understanding, they dropped it and tidied up before heading to the dining hall.

Today, King Uther had some rare free time and intended to dine with his children, so Arthur had returned early from the knights’ training.

As they walked down the castle’s pristine white corridors, Arthur suddenly noticed the roses blooming in the garden. He stopped abruptly and turned to his squire.

“Merlin, what month is it now?”

Merlin, still preoccupied with how to help Lancelot, nearly bumped into him. “May? Why, is there something special about it?” Merlin knew his prince was hopeless without his servants—he couldn’t even dress himself unaided. Besides fighting, Arthur was oblivious to most things, so Merlin wasn’t surprised he didn’t know the date. He just wondered why Arthur was suddenly curious.

“May… So it’s been ten years, then? Kay…” Arthur did not answer Merlin, instead murmuring to himself.

Hearing the unfamiliar name, Merlin was puzzled. Kay? What an odd name. As he was about to ask who this Kay was, Arthur suddenly strode forward in silence.

Merlin watched, uneasy, as Arthur—normally so full of life—fell into a somber mood. Boundless energy was a trait of his, and such people always found reasons to rouse their fighting spirit. Except when sleeping, they were never still. For him to fall silent now—could it mean the end of the world was nigh?

...

When they entered the dining hall, Merlin sensed something was amiss. King Uther, Arthur, and Princess Morgana all seemed weighed down by heavy thoughts. Uther was not a cheerful man, and family meals were never lively, but at least there was a sense of togetherness—unlike today, when the air in the hall was so thick with gloom it might have started to rain at any moment.

Arthur toyed distractedly with the food on his silver plate, head bowed, silent.

King Uther drank deeply from his beloved golden goblet, leaning back in his high-backed chair, his eyes vacant, lost in thought.

Even Princess Morgana, whose gentle smile usually warmed all around her, gazed wordlessly out at the blooming roses, her face devoid of joy.

Seeing the beautiful, kind Morgana so downcast, Merlin’s heart ached.

All Camelot knew that Morgana was not only the fairest and kindest princess in the kingdom, but in all the world. Her beauty could make the birds forget to fly and fall from the sky, and the fish in the streams stare in wonder, forgetting how to swim. Her loveliness could shame the moon into hiding behind clouds and cause the brightest flowers to wither.

But even more renowned was her kindness. She alone dared to counsel King Uther, though her advice seldom prevailed against his legendary stubbornness. Her goodness inspired gratitude in all who knew her, and the tales of her charity in Camelot would take days and nights to recount.

She was the dream of every man, and the idol of every woman.

Merlin was no exception. Having grown up in a small village, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen before coming to Camelot was the freckled daughter of the tavern keeper on the east side of the village. But on his first day in Camelot, the moment he saw Princess Morgana, Merlin realized a woman could be as lovely as the gods themselves.

From that moment, he forgot all about the tavern girl. Morgana became his new dream.

To see his beloved so sad, Merlin wished—well, he could only wish. He was a servant, unworthy even to comfort the princess, let alone hope for anything more. As for King Uther and Arthur, Merlin could not care less. Uther was a cruel king, and Merlin disliked him. Arthur? Arthur was a fool—who would worry about him?

At length, it was Morgana who spoke first.

“Father… There’s still no news of Kay? Not a word?” Her voice was thick with hope against hope, longing for her father to give a different answer.

This was the second time that day Merlin had heard the name.

King Uther raised his head to look at his children. For once, the stern, sometimes grim mask he wore softened into sorrow and tenderness. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but in the end, only shook his head in defeat.

Morgana closed her eyes, turning away and covering her face with her hand.

Arthur, however, lifted his head and declared, voice ringing with conviction, “Kay will be fine! He must have been delayed! He’s the strongest knight—no one can defeat him! Not even death!”

His eyes shone with unwavering faith.

King Uther longed to comfort his children, but the words caught in his throat. For all their grief, it was he who had known Kay longest—he had always treated Kay as a son, no less than Arthur.

But as king and as father, he knew his children must face reality. The conflict tore him apart.

Just as he steeled himself to speak, the bells of Camelot rang out. As king, he knew at once—these were the bells from the city walls.

It meant the city was under attack.