Journey to Lucanmont

"Arkhan, it was clear you weren't the one who sabotaged the ship and shouldn't take responsibility. Why did you give him the money?"

Lancelot asked on the way back, his voice filled with puzzlement.

Watching those clear, childlike eyes, Arkhan sighed inwardly and replied, "Lancelot, even though we didn't damage the ship ourselves, this incident is still connected to us."

He went on to explain the assassination attempt he had endured two nights ago.

Kay and Artoria, of course, were shocked and angered. As Arkhan's squires, it was their duty to protect his safety, and someone had attempted to assassinate him right under their noses. What was even more infuriating was that they hadn't detected it at all.

However, it wasn't entirely their fault.

That night, Kay had been trapped in a dream, experiencing a profound sense of 'harmony of life' that even upon awakening, he couldn't fully comprehend.

Artoria, on the other hand, had undergone a two-month ordeal of the trial of Excalibur in Avalon, leaving her mentally and physically drained, leading to certain oversights.

The two siblings exchanged guilty glances, both seeing a hint of embarrassment in each other's eyes.

"So, it was those who didn't want you to ascend the throne who sabotaged the ship?" Lancelot pondered.

"Otherwise? How could such a coincidence happen? We decide to board the ship, and soon after, it's sabotaged." Arkhan responded with a wry smile.

Lancelot scratched his head in frustration. "Sometimes I can't quite fathom what people from the outside world are like. Arkhan, you're friendly and wise, and Artoria is just and loyal, but those people seem different."

"That's humanity for you..." Arkhan sighed. "Ever-changing, complex, and fickle. Even Odin, who drank from the Well of Wisdom, couldn't accurately define the nature of humanity. So, we don't need to dwell on finding that answer. Just stay true to ourselves and that's enough."

"Though I may not completely understand, I'll remember what you said." Lancelot replied earnestly.

"So, Your Majesty, how do you plan to get to Lucanmont now?" Merlin asked with a mischievous grin.

Arkhan glanced back at the harbor and answered, "Since the water route is no longer viable, we'll have to travel by land."

As a major hub town, horses were indispensable for transportation. Arkhan easily found a stable and, after some negotiation with the stable owner, purchased five excellent horses for a remarkably low price.

The reason for this generous deal was, of course, the moment he entered the stable, his regal aura sent the owner into a frenzy of fear. The owner promptly bowed and handed over the finest horses in his stable.

Well, not really.

The real reason was that these horses were all crossbreeds, with volatile tempers. They could gnaw bones as easily as carrots and had razor-sharp teeth.

Additionally, these hybrid horses tended to have short lifespans, often not living past two or three years. This was the main reason they were hard to sell unless some thrill-seeking nobles wanted them as collectibles.

However, for Arkhan, this wasn't a problem. He exuded a bit of Nidhogg's aura, causing these horses to behave as meekly as rabbits.

"Even Sleipnir was scared to death by me when we first met, and now you're using my aura to terrify a bunch of mongrel horses? This is sacrilege! Utter disrespect!" A certain voice in his mind complained in exasperation.

Arkhan placed his hand on the heads of these unique horses and, with the power of Abyss Flower, reorganized their chaotic genetic sequences. The short lifespans of these horses were primarily due to their jumbled genes, which led to conflicts within their bodies, resulting in an early demise.

The 'creation' power of Abyss Flower was especially skilled at addressing these genetic issues.

After receiving treatment, these horses didn't show any significant changes in appearance, but their emotions had visibly calmed compared to before.

Guinevere, who had never learned horseback riding, shared a horse with Artoria. The remaining four horses were divided among Arkhan, Kay, Lancelot, and Merlin.

The group rode on horseback under the scorching midday sun, departing from the main gate of Cramond, and heading north.

Meanwhile, numerous eyes remained hidden in the darkness and quietly watching their departing figures.

===

Ten days later.

Arkhan stood on a hill, gazing at the imposing city in the distance, which resembled a fortress.

"We've finally made it." Arkhan said with a relieved tone.

That was Lucanmont, a city located on the border of Camelot, their destination for this journey.

"If it weren't for those bastards, we would've been here two days ago." Kay grumbled.

Arkhan sighed in resignation.

This was probably the most challenging journey he had ever undertaken, spanning both of his lifetimes. Those assassins were like a pack of relentless hyenas, constantly trying to tear a piece of flesh from him, showing no regard for their sacrificed comrades.

No, in the minds of these individuals, there was probably no concept of comrades at all.

Recalling the images he had glimpsed from those memories, even Arkhan couldn't help but feel a sense of sorrow. Even with his knowledge, he had never witnessed such inhumane and barbaric methods of training.

Those who had emerged from that hellish place had long lost their human emotions.

"Don't worry, Kay, those guys will pay soon." Arkhan's eyes held a hint of cold determination.

Though this journey had been undeniably troublesome, it was thanks to it that he was able to root out all the assassins.

Frankly, even Arkhan hadn't anticipated the extent of the forces involved in this matter. If one were to investigate thoroughly, it appeared that nearly half of the Camelot nobles couldn't escape implication.

Of course, not everyone on this web was motivated by the desire to protect the rightful heir to the throne. In fact, the majority only wished to prevent a new king from rising in the kingdom.

Without a king for fifteen years, some began to entertain the idea that the Vile King Vortigern had perhaps passed away, especially since neither the Anglo-Saxons had made any advances to the South.

And they were not in the minority.

In the absence of a king, the kingdom had continued to thrive. If Vortigern was indeed gone, what was the necessity of a king now?

When they had finally enjoyed fifteen years of freedom, suddenly, a self-proclaimed king had emerged, a rustic countryside lad who had pulled a sword from a stone, all by sheer luck. How could the proud nobles accept this?

If he were to place himself in their shoes, Arkhan could understand their perspective.

But for now, he only wanted to send those fools to hell.