"Fuck...! Why is it so hard to pull out? It's wrapped around me so damn tight!"
The man groaned as he strained against the sword, his face turning red, his muscles bulging.
He looked like he was trying to birth a fucking watermelon.
The girls in the crowd cast disgusted looks at him.
Their expressions said everything.
Who the hell is this retard?
It wasn't just that he'd failed to pull the sword. It was the way he'd said it. Wrapped around me so tight. Seriously. That was the best phrasing he could come up with? In front of a crowd? With children present?
Some of the more impatient onlookers started shouting. "What are you waiting for, you fool? Hurry up! The rest of us want to try too!"
"Alright. Alright. I concede." The man released the sword with visible reluctance, stepping back with a downcast look.
He disappeared into the crowd, probably to go rethink every life choice that had led him to this moment.
Then the floodgates opened.
Everyone surged forward with fervent excitement. One by one, they grabbed the hilt, planted their feet, and heaved with everything they had.
One by one, they failed.
Nobles in fine silks.
Commoners in rough-spun cloth.
Old men who should have known better.
Young boys who didn't know anything at all.
All of them tried.
All of them failed.
But no one gave up.
The story of the Sword in the Stone was too damn attractive to walk away from.
A legendary weapon.
A lost item from an older civilization.
The rumors had spread like wildfire through both noble courts and common taverns.
From a distance, Arthur and Merlin watched the chaos unfold.
Merlin's smug expression was practically radiating off his face. "Well, my king? Shall we give them a show? You could stroll down there, pull the sword out like it's nothing, slide it back in, and walk away without a word. Very mysterious. Very princely. They'd talk about it for generations."
"In which age are you living, Merlin?" Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "The mysterious persona doesn't work anymore. Technology's too advanced. Chatbots are everywhere. You want mystery solved? Just ask some AI. The romance of the unknown is dead."
He paused, glancing at the crowd with an expression that was equal parts amusement and pity.
Six years. That's how long it had been. He was eighteen now. Olivia and Stephanie were eighteen. They'd grown. Trained. Become something more than the scared children who'd survived a pirate raid.
Olivia and Stephanie had become regular sparring partners in their spare time.
Olivia, guided by Artoria's spirit in her dreams and sometimes in her waking thoughts, had grown exponentially.
The Heroic Spirit's instincts bled through—combat reflexes, tactical awareness, the muscle memory of a warrior king.
Stephanie, for all her noble training and natural talent, couldn't keep up anymore.
Every match ended the same way. Olivia won. Olivia always won.
The funny thing was, Stephanie didn't even seem to mind.
And the mechas? That was a whole different beast.
Heroic Spirits didn't need to train their piloting skills.
Their Riding stat covered that automatically.
Give them a mecha, any mecha, and they'd pilot it like they'd been born in the cockpit.
Luxion had taken care of the rest—built a hidden base where war machines were assembled in secret, machines that would make other kingdoms drool with envy if they ever found out.
The best part? Those mechas didn't even need pilots. Artificial intelligence. Coordination between Luxion and Cleare. Two ancient AIs working in perfect sync.
Then there were the drones. Hidden everywhere. Every corner of the island. Every shadow. Every rooftop. They watched. They listened. They reported back to Arthur in real time.
Not a single threat could approach Camelot's territory without being spotted, tracked, and catalogued long before it became a problem.
And it wasn't just drones. Cleare had gotten creative.
Cloned insects. Ants. Spiders. Tiny, artificial animals that crawled through the grass and flew through the air, completely indistinguishable from their natural counterparts.
The entire island was a surveillance network, and no one had any idea.
She could clone elves too, apparently.
The data was there.
The capability existed.
But humans?
No.
Both Luxion and Cleare drew the line at cloning humans.
Their original creators hadn't liked the idea—had considered it a violation of something fundamental—and the AIs respected that prohibition.
Arthur didn't push.
He didn't even want to start down that road.
Cloning humans sounded like a recipe for disaster.
He'd read enough Marvel comics to know how that shit played out.
Confusing storylines. Identity crises. Evil duplicates. Hard pass.
"Shall we go, then?" Merlin asked, already looking bored with the sword-pulling spectacle. "I've seen enough failed attempts to last several lifetimes."
"Yeah." Arthur turned away from the crowd. "We're done here."
They left without fanfare, disappearing into the forest path that led back toward Camelot.
Behind them, another hopeful fool grabbed the sword's hilt.
Another failure.
Another round of jeering from the crowd.
The Sword in the Stone stayed exactly where it was.
Waiting.
...
"Brother. A letter came from the royal family."
Olivia stepped into the room with the envelope already in her hand—the wax seal bearing the royal crest had been cleanly broken.
Someone had opened it before him.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And someone's already read it, I see."
Olivia's face flushed pink. She looked away, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the floorboards. "I... when I took it from Morgan, it was already like that. The seal, I mean. It was already broken. And I was curious, so I just..."
She trailed off, guilt written all over her face.
Arthur chuckled. "My sister isn't cute anymore. Reading her own brother's correspondence without permission. What happened to the innocent little girl who used to hide behind me during thunderstorms?"
"Brother!" Olivia's blush deepened. "I said I was sorry!"
"Don't worry. I'm joking." Arthur reached out and ruffled her hair—that same pale blonde hair she'd always had, though now it was longer, tied back in a practical braid for training.
"If you want to read my letters, read them. There's no need for formality between us. We're brother and sister. That bond comes before any royal seal."
Olivia's shoulders relaxed.
She nodded shyly, leaning slightly into his touch as he stroked her hair.
Arthur took the letter from her hands.
His eyes scanned the contents—formal language, royal flourishes, the usual diplomatic bullshit wrapped in pretty calligraphy.
But the message was clear enough.
"Well." He folded the letter and tucked it into his coat. "It seems they've finally noticed us."
"Is that... good or bad?" Olivia asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"Could be either. Could be both." Arthur shrugged. "The royal family doesn't send personal invitations to wandering adventurers unless they want something. Could be a job offer. Could be a threat. Could be they just want to size us up and see if we're worth recruiting or crushing."
He paused, considering.
"Either way, I have to go."
He turned to face Olivia fully, placing both hands on her shoulders.
His expression softened.
"Take care of things while I'm gone. Make sure Stephanie doesn't work herself into exhaustion and Merlin doesn't harass the new recruits."
"I will, Brother." Olivia straightened, a determined glint entering her eyes. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't." Arthur leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You've never let me down. Not once. Not ever."
Olivia's cheeks flushed again, but this time it wasn't guilt.
It was something warmer.
Something fiercer.
"Come back soon," she whispered.
"Always."
Arthur released her shoulders, adjusted his coat, and walked toward the door.
His stride was unhurried but purposeful—the walk of a man who knew exactly where he was going and wasn't afraid of what waited there.
At the threshold, he paused.
Glanced back.
"Oh, and Olivia?"
"Yes, Brother?"
"Next time you read my mail before I do, at least give me better intel. You said 'royal family' but didn't mention which member sent it. Sloppy reconnaissance."
Olivia's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"I—that's—you just said I could read your letters!"
"I did. I also said you should do it properly." Arthur's grin was pure mischief. "Consider this a training exercise. Next time, full report. Sender. Intent. Hidden subtext. Handwriting analysis. The works."
"You're impossible!"
"I love you too, sister."
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Olivia stood alone in the room, her face still warm, her heart beating faster than it should.
She pressed her fingers to her forehead where her brother's lips had been.
"Come back soon," she whispered again.
Then she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked out to fulfill her orders.
There was a party to manage. A kingdom-in-waiting to tend to.
And when Arthur returned—whenever that was—he would find everything exactly as he'd left it.
Better, even.
Because that was what it meant to be the sister of a king.
...
You can read 15 advance chapters of this story here: patreon.com/councilofevil