Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [61] [30 PS]

Bonus Chapter!

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"As Kaelar has taught, before loving others, one must first love oneself."

Uther's final words of regret remained unsaid as he looked at Artoria, shaking his head. "Young girl, can you tell the difference between admiration and love?"

But he left it unspoken, for he knew that Arthur would not be swayed.

Love, after all, was a mystery even to those who led thousands, even to kings. His time was short; he could only hope his descendants would possess the wisdom he lacked.

—

In the present, Artoria emerged from Merlin's vision of fate with an even stronger resolve. This was her moment of revelation as a dragon.

"Yet I do not believe destiny is set. I, Artoria, stand here to carve a new history."

Clad in resplendent robes, openly declaring her identity as a woman, Artoria's voice rang out, "Even when I draw the Sword in the Stone, I will still be myself. I am Artoria Pendragon!"

"The crown of Camelot serves only to highlight my grace as Artoria Pendragon. It is not my whole being, nor can it dictate the course of my life!"

"If anyone dares challenge me as a queen, let them come! I, Artoria, have what it takes to unify Britain!"

Merlin was momentarily speechless. At last, she turned to Kaelar and said, "You've taught Arthur well, but I beg your forgiveness as I cling to my old ways."

"Arthur, remember, fate cannot be defied…"

"In your brightest, most triumphant moments, betrayal will shadow you."

Merlin, the beloved icon of Camelot, had arrived like a beacon of prophecy. Her presence drew the remaining nobles as though they were sharks scenting blood in the water. They swarmed the city gates, crowding around the Sword in the Stone, awaiting the turning of the tide.

They could sense it—the birth of a new ruler was imminent!

After voicing her thoughts, Artoria ignored Merlin's words entirely, lifting her head high and confidently striding toward the Sword in the Stone.

To her, Britain and Camelot were mere specks. Artoria had never troubled herself with the endless strife on the Isle of Britain; her vision already stretched across Europe. Her new ambition was to conquer Rome itself and be crowned as Emperor Arthur.

The Sword in the Stone appeared to be forged of mundane iron, firmly embedded in rock, which was itself bound to the earth. Only the hilt lay exposed.

In full view of the gathered crowd, Artoria reached out her fair, slender hand and took hold of the sword's hilt.

With the slightest effort, she drew forth the sword that no one else could move from its place.

"Today, I stand as Britain's king!"

—

"Congratulations, King of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, ruler of all the Celtic lands."

Merlin lingered, offering her blessing with a sly smile that held an undercurrent of prophecy. "Arthur... no, King Arthur, you've crafted a new history, a new stream of destiny."

"But I remain stubborn. I cling to my belief that your destiny as king is one that can only end in tragedy."

Merlin grinned. "King Arthur, would you, like your father and grandfather, invite me to serve as your loyal court mage?"

The instant she drew the Sword in the Stone, Artoria's entire body froze. She glimpsed an alternate timeline, one without Kaelar—a timeline that seemed like destiny and history's final revenge, looming and fractured.

Artoria saw herself as a paragon of justice, a king whose perfection transcended human limits. With twelve resounding victories, she drove all foreign invaders from the island, proclaiming Britain's independence.

But she clung to the impossible—trying to freeze the Age of Gods at this perfect moment, eternally suspended.

Yet the flow of the world's origin would not change, no matter the king's relentless devotion.She was perfect and selfless, with not a trace of human desire within her. Because she could not give her queen the true love of a spouse, she turned a blind eye to her "queen's" affair with her own knight, choosing to think of her queen's happiness rather than her own feelings for this woman who needed love.

Her heart belonged only to the kingdom, yet in the end, it was Tristan's words—"the king does not understand the hearts of men"—that led the Knights of the Round Table to splinter apart. Half of her knights left with Lancelot.

Clear-headed yet tormented, she watched the kingdom she cherished more than life itself sink into the abyss of ruin.

"Kael… is this my fate?" Artoria whispered to herself, gripping the Sword in the Stone. "Is this the fate awaiting me in the timeline where you don't exist?"

"Yes, Merlin was right. I have created a new history."

Artoria smiled. "Surely, it can't turn out worse than this, can it?"

Though the Sword in the Stone appeared to be an ordinary blade, it had now transformed into a noble phantasm. By drawing it, Artoria's physical potential had been awakened, and her age was now permanently fixed at fifteen.

The small, almost childlike king, dressed in finely made and intricate feminine attire, stood before the court of Celtic lords and declared herself as the "King of Britain." Naturally, this jarring contrast sparked discomfort, even fierce opposition among the assembled lords.

In truth, many already felt that the "Sword of Selection" was a mockery of the throne, yet had held their tongues due to Hector and Lancelot's looming presence.

Now, this mockery of a selection sword had chosen what could only be described as a laughingstock of a Celtic king—

A tiny girl, not yet of age, a child still green with youth...

"This is ridiculous!" A knight in full armor suddenly stepped forward, veins bulging in rage. "Merlin! Hector! Is this what you take Camelot's throne for?"

"The Sword of Selection… this so-called Sword in the Stone… chose this as our king?"

The knight stood tall, undaunted even under the harsh gazes of Merlin, Lancelot, Hector, and even Kaelar, as he continued stubbornly, "You would place the burden of kingship on a mere girl? Where is your pride as warriors of the Celts?"

"And if the Vortigern's forces come, who among us will lead us to victory?"

Lancelot's brow furrowed as he looked to Hector. His expression was clear: should we kill him?

This was the Celtic way of persuasion.

You don't agree?

State your opinion, then let us make sure it's the last opinion you ever give.

With a wicked grin, Merlin stepped aside, knowing her part was done. She had played her role in fate; now, her job was merely to watch.

A well-behaved spectator, silent in the face of the unfolding game.