The wind swept gently across the open plain, rustling the grass like waves upon a quiet sea. The lone tree stood at its center, a silent guardian over the land where countless hours of training had been spent.
Arthur approached with steady steps, his gaze settling on Artorius, who sat beneath the tree. The soft golden light of the evening sun framed her figure, casting long shadows behind her. She looked lost in thought, yet when she noticed his presence, she rose to her feet with newfound resolve.
Arthur studied her carefully. Gone was the uncertainty that had clouded her before. Now, her eyes burned with a quiet but unshakable determination.
"She has decided."
"Have you thought about it?" Arthur asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.
"I have," Artorius said firmly, meeting his eyes. There was no hesitation in her voice. "I have decided, and I understand now. You were right—but I was not wrong either. No one was."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He gestured for her to continue.
"At first, your words contradicted everything I had been taught," she admitted. "A king exists to serve something greater than themselves. We do not question—we act. We rule so that others may live, so that they may prosper, even at the cost of ourselves. To be king is to carry the burdens of all, to forsake one's own desires for the people."
Arthur nodded slightly. He had expected as much.
"And you still believe that?" he asked.
"I do," she said without hesitation. "But I also believe what you said was true—that people do not follow statues of perfection. They follow those who inspire them, who fight beside them, who understand them."
Arthur crossed his arms, listening intently.
"What I believed before..." she continued, looking slightly down, "...would have led to my people fearing me. They would have seen me as something distant, untouchable—a ruler rather than a leader. A being to obey, not to follow. And in time, they would have turned against me."
She clenched her fists. "That is not the kind of king I wish to be."
Arthur exhaled slowly. She truly understood.
"...But I do not know how to change that," Artorius admitted. "I do not know how to bridge that gap."
She took a step forward, her voice filled with conviction. "That is why I ask you, Arthur—join me. Become my teacher, not just until the selection, but always. When I pull the sword from the stone, stand beside me. Help me lead Britain back to happiness, so that hope spreads across the land, so that fear no longer grips the hearts of our people."
She reached out her hand to him.
"Be the one person a king can lean upon."
Arthur stared at her extended hand, then at her face. Her expression was not one of arrogance or blind idealism. It was the expression of someone who had truly considered her path and had chosen it, not out of obligation, but out of will.
A slow smile formed on Arthur's lips.
"Once you pull the sword from the stone," he said, reaching out and clasping her hand, "I shall swear all my loyalty to you. And that is my honor as a knight."
Their hands remained clasped, a silent pact formed between them.
For the first time, Artorius did not feel alone.
The silence that followed their handshake felt oddly profound. A moment ago, it had been a solemn vow, a silent promise between two warriors, but now something else lingered in the air.
Then, without warning, Artorius pulled her hand away. Arthur blinked, his gaze shifting to her as he noticed the subtle tension in her posture.
She hesitated, as if weighing whether to speak, before finally asking, "How did you know I was a girl?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow at the sudden question. So, she was hiding it.
A knowing smirk tugged at his lips, but he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her for a moment, his blue eyes holding an amused glint.
"...It was rather obvious," he finally said. "It's difficult to claim such a petite beauty is a man."
Artorius stiffened at his words, a faint flush creeping onto her face, but Arthur continued as if he hadn't noticed.
"Besides, I have a habit of analyzing my opponents," he said, folding his arms. "I can instinctively break down a person's strengths and weaknesses, assessing their combat efficiency in an instant. That kind of observation becomes second nature."
His eyes met hers again, and this time there was no teasing in his expression—just simple honesty. "So, when I did my usual assessment of you, well... it was impossible not to notice your—" He made a vague motion with his hand before smirking. "—more feminine features."
Artorius, who had kept her composure through battle, hardship, and endless training, suddenly found herself at a loss for words.
A faint breeze swept through the field, ruffling their hair and clothing as she processed his response. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.
Arthur, seeing her reaction, decided to press just a little further.
"Were you really so confident in your disguise?" he asked, tilting his head. "Or did you just think no one would dare question it?"
Artorius narrowed her eyes slightly, her initial embarrassment now shifting into something more guarded.
"...It doesn't matter," she said at last, her voice regaining its usual resolve. "I am a knight, and I will become king. That is all that should matter."
Arthur chuckled. "A fair answer."
She crossed her arms, still looking slightly irritated, but Arthur simply grinned.
"Still, it's admirable," he admitted. "The effort you've put into hiding it, the way you carry yourself—it's impressive. But strength isn't determined by gender, Artorius."
She glanced at him, her expression unreadable.
"...You are not like the others," she murmured after a pause.
Arthur smiled, but there was something softer in his gaze now.
"No," he agreed, "I'm not."
For a moment, neither spoke. The wind continued to blow, the sky beginning to shift into the hues of an approaching sunset.
Then, Arthur turned away slightly. "Well, I think I've embarrassed you enough for one day," he said lightly. "Shall we call it a day?"
Artorius exhaled, her composure returning fully. "Yes... I believe we should."
Arthur had barely taken more than a few steps when her voice called out to him again.
"Wait a moment, Arthur."
There was something in her tone—firm yet uncertain. He turned back, curiosity flickering in his blue eyes as he regarded her. "Yes?"
Artoria took a breath. She had made her decision.
"...Before, I introduced myself as Artorius," she said, her voice steady despite the slight hesitation in her posture. "But that was not my true name."
Arthur remained silent, watching her with that same unreadable gaze.
"My real name is Artoria."
There. The words were spoken. A truth she had concealed for so long, now offered freely to him.
Arthur blinked once. Then, to her surprise, a slow smile of amusement formed on his lips.
"Very well," he said, inclining his head slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow then... Artoria."
He lingered for a moment, his gaze locked onto hers—not scrutinizing, not judging, but merely acknowledging. It was a look that told her he had already known, that her revelation had changed nothing. And yet, there was an undeniable weight to it, as if her name now meant something more simply because she had chosen to tell him herself.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his figure growing smaller as he disappeared into the vast plains.
Artoria remained where she stood, beneath the lone tree, her hands tightening slightly at her sides. The wind brushed against her, but she barely noticed it.
She had expected many things from him—skepticism, questioning, even dismissal.
But she had not expected this.
—--
It had been several months since Artoria had fully revealed her identity to Arthur, and in that time, her growth had been nothing short of astonishing. No longer was she the inexperienced warrior struggling to match his pace—now, she demanded his full attention.
For the first time, Arthur had to grip his sword with both hands instead of one, a silent acknowledgment of how far she had come. And yet, no matter how much she improved, the distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly. If Artoria grew stronger, Arthur somehow grew even more, his strength an ever-expanding abyss that she could never seem to reach.
But that did not matter.
Her emerald eyes burned with determination, her entire being focused on one singular goal: victory.
The sound of steel clashing filled the air as their swords met in a furious exchange. Sparks erupted between them, illuminating their fierce expressions. Artoria pressed forward, her blade singing as it struck again and again, each strike carrying her unwavering resolve.
Arthur, as always, remained calm. A slight smile graced his lips, unreadable yet ever-present. He was not mocking her—no, it was something else entirely. A quiet acknowledgment, perhaps, or a simple appreciation for the battle itself.
Their duel raged on, the wind howling around them, their footsteps tearing into the earth beneath. Artoria's arms ached, her breathing growing heavier, but she refused to let up.
And then—
Something shifted.
A foreign sensation surged within her, a sudden, overwhelming force that spread through her body like wildfire. Her muscles tensed, her grip on her sword tightening as an unknown power welled up from deep within. Her vision sharpened, colors growing more vivid, the world around her seeming to slow.
Her pupils—once round and human—became thin, vertical slits.
Arthur's eyes flickered with recognition, but before he could react, Artoria's power exploded.
A blinding shockwave burst from her body, the sheer force of it tearing through the ground beneath them. The next clash between their blades was no mere collision—it was destruction.
Both swords shattered on impact.
Fragments of steel scattered in all directions, glinting under the sunlight as they fell. Artoria barely registered what had happened, her body still surging with newfound strength. Her breath was ragged, her hands trembling as she stared at the broken remnants of her weapon.
Arthur, however, remained still, his expression unreadable. He slowly looked at his own ruined sword, then back at her.
"...Well," he finally murmured, amusement laced in his tone, "that was unexpected."
Artoria looked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, her mind still struggling to comprehend what had just transpired. The sheer pressure within her was overwhelming, yet intoxicating.
"What... was that?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Arthur studied her for a long moment before exhaling lightly. "You tell me," he said simply.
Artoria clenched her fists. This power—it felt like something ancient, something primal that had been buried deep within her all this time. But now, it had surfaced, and she had no idea how to control it.
She met Arthur's gaze once more.
And for the first time since they began their duels, she saw something in his expression other than calm amusement.
Surprise.
"I am unsure," Artoria admitted, her brows furrowing as she examined herself, flexing her fingers as if expecting to feel something different.
Arthur observed her with quiet amusement before his usual calm smile returned. "Well, it seems we have even more to train on."
Artoria blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"
"What are you confused about?" Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly. "Did you think we wouldn't train to understand this unknown power?"
Artoria opened her mouth to respond, but he continued before she could.
"Figuring it out through training is necessary," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "We cannot allow our future King to enter battle with uncertainties, can we?"
There was a warmth in his words, but beneath them lay a firm conviction. Artoria could see it—he wasn't just saying this for her sake. He meant it.
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Right!" she said with newfound determination.
Arthur nodded approvingly before glancing at the shattered remains of their swords. "But first... weapons."
Without hesitation, he extended his hand, his magic weaving through the air like threads of golden light. The scattered fragments of their broken swords trembled before slowly rising from the ground, glowing as they were pieced back together.
No—these weren't just simple repairs. The material transmuted, refined by his magic, reshaping into something even greater than before.
Artoria watched in awe as her sword reformed in her grasp. The weight was familiar, yet something about it felt... stronger. Sharper.
Arthur twirled his newly forged blade once before settling into his stance. "Again."
Their swords met once more, the clearing echoing with the rhythmic clash of steel. Artoria pushed forward with renewed vigor, her strikes faster, sharper, more precise. But Arthur remained unfazed, meeting her attacks with effortless counters, his movements fluid and controlled.
She gritted her teeth. Still... too far.
And then—
That sensation surged again.
Her body tensed as the heat spread through her veins, an overwhelming force awakening from deep within. Her pupils constricted into thin slits, her breathing slowed, and her instincts sharpened to a razor's edge.
The world around her seemed to shift. Sounds became clearer, movements more predictable, her body suddenly far more responsive than before. Every muscle felt like it had been refined beyond its limits, her strength doubling—no, tripling.
Arthur had been prepared this time. When she launched forward, her speed was beyond what she had displayed before, but his sword met hers without breaking. The force behind her swings, however, had increased significantly. She was relentless, attacking with newfound aggression, her instincts taking over as she pressed Arthur with overwhelming intensity.
A predatory grin formed on her lips—one she normally wouldn't allow herself.
Arthur immediately took note of the shift in her demeanor.
Draconic.
Her fighting style had become less methodical and more instinct-driven, almost primal in its ferocity. Gone was the composed and precise swordplay of before. In its place was something wilder, something that radiated raw power and confidence.
Arthur parried another blow but noted the sheer force behind it. This is not a mere transformation. It's an awakening.
This wasn't a temporary state—no, this was something deeper, something that was clawing its way to the surface permanently.
She will grow into this completely one day... and when she does, this will be her base state.
A powerful thrust forced Arthur to step back. Artoria smirked.
"What's wrong, Arthur?" she asked, her voice carrying a slight edge—still her, but layered with something more assertive. More commanding. "You look like you're finally taking this seriously."
Arthur chuckled, flicking his sword in a small flourish. "Perhaps."
Artoria lunged at him once more, her slit-pupiled eyes gleaming with exhilaration.
Arthur smiled.
This will be fun.
Raising his blade, he met her strike head-on, the sound of clashing steel ringing through the clearing. The force behind her attack sent a sharp vibration up his arm—not enough to shake him, but enough to make him acknowledge the power behind it.
And then, she came at him again.
Their blades crashed against each other in a ceaseless rhythm, an endless exchange of attacks and counters. Artoria's movements, while no longer methodical in the traditional sense, were far from reckless.
Arthur had initially assumed that her awakening would come at a cost—perhaps a sacrifice in precision or control. But he had been wrong.
Her instincts and skill didn't clash—they blended.
Her footwork, once strictly disciplined, had become fluid and adaptive. She no longer fought like a knight bound by formality but as a warrior whose every motion carried purpose, guided by an innate sense of battle.
She was no longer just fighting. She was hunting.
Arthur deflected another blow, his mind racing to adjust. He had always been holding back to some degree—not out of arrogance, but necessity. No one had ever been able to truly push him before.
But now...
A flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.
Excitement.
She's strong.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Arthur truly applied himself.
His grip on his sword tightened, his stance shifted, and the air around him seemed to thrum with something intangible. He stepped forward, his own attacks suddenly gaining an edge—sharper, faster, more refined.
Artoria's eyes widened as he pressed forward, their once evenly matched exchange shifting as Arthur adjusted to her power. He was still smiling, but there was something different about it now—something more genuine.
"You're finally trying," Artoria noted, her voice carrying both satisfaction and anticipation.
Arthur chuckled. "Of course. Wouldn't be fair otherwise, would it?"
She didn't respond with words—only action.
She surged forward with newfound speed, their clash intensifying. The ground beneath them cracked as their blows sent shockwaves through the air. Sparks ignited between their blades, illuminating their determined expressions.
Arthur could feel it—his heartbeat quickening, his blood rushing. This was what battle was supposed to be. Not a simple exchange of skill, not an exercise in restraint—but a true contest.
Artoria grinned—a sharp, draconic grin—as if sensing his thoughts.
"Don't hold back now, Arthur." Her voice had a new weight to it, laced with both challenge and excitement. "I will surpass you."
Arthur exhaled, his smile widening.
"I'd like to see you try."
And with that, he launched forward, the battle truly beginning.
The sound of clashing steel echoed through the training ground, each strike carrying more force than the last.
Artoria gritted her teeth as she pressed forward, her body moving on instinct. Every exchange with Arthur pushed her to greater heights, her body and mana responding in kind. She was adapting—evolving—with each clash of their blades.
But Arthur was still ahead.
His skill was incomprehensible. No matter how fast she became, no matter how much her strength increased, his technique remained untouchable—flawless, effortless, unshakable.
Yet despite the overwhelming gap in sheer mastery, she refused to falter.
Arthur, in turn, had begun to enjoy himself. A true grin had formed on his face—not the composed, knowing smile he usually wore, but something far more genuine.
It was the grin of a warrior excited for battle.
Another clash. Sparks flew as their swords met once more. Arthur twisted his blade, deflecting her attack before countering with a precise strike. Artoria barely managed to intercept it in time, her arms trembling from the impact.
He was pushing her back.
Her narrowed, draconic pupils flickered with determination.
She refused to lose.
Then—she saw it.
A subtle shift in his stance. The angle of his sword. The way his weight seemed just slightly off-balance.
An opening.
No, it's too easy...
Her battle instincts screamed at her.
But there was no time for doubt.
A lesser warrior would hesitate, question the opportunity, and lose the fight in that moment. But Artoria was no lesser warrior.
She acted.
With a burst of speed, she lunged forward, pouring everything into the strike. Her mana surged violently, her blade glowing with power as she activated Mana Burst in a split-second decision. A shockwave exploded from beneath her feet as she closed the gap in an instant, aiming to overwhelm Arthur with sheer force.
The attack was perfect.
Her blade was faster than ever, her power at its peak.
She knew she had him.
Then—
CLANG!
Her eyes widened in shock.
Arthur's blade was already there.
Not only had he predicted her move, but he had baited her into it.
The "opening" had been false—a deliberate trap set in place. And she had walked right into it.
Arthur's expression didn't change. His stance remained unshaken. It was as if he had known exactly what she was going to do the moment she thought of it.
Artoria barely had time to react before a counter-strike came in an instant. She twisted her body, barely avoiding a direct hit as Arthur's sword skimmed past her. The sheer force behind it sent a shockwave through the air, making her stagger back.
She landed, breathing hard, her blade shaking slightly in her grip.
For the first time in a long time, doubt crept into her mind.
Arthur exhaled, lowering his sword slightly. His smile remained, though now tinged with a hint of approval.
"Not bad," he said simply. "You committed to it fully. But..." He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes watching her closely. "You still hesitate at the last moment."
Artoria clenched her fists. "Hesitate?"
Arthur nodded. "Your instincts warned you. You felt it, didn't you? That something was off." His expression softened slightly. "Yet you went against your own intuition because you wanted to believe it was an opportunity. Because you wanted to win."
Artoria remained silent, her breath still heavy.
"...That's not a flaw," Arthur added, stepping forward. "It means you're still growing. But the difference between an excellent warrior and a true king is knowing when to trust your instincts completely."
Artoria met his gaze, her mind racing.
She had come so far—grown so much—yet the gap still remained.
But she had made him take her seriously. She had forced him to put in effort.
A small smirk formed on her lips as she lifted her sword again.
"Then I'll just have to close that gap, won't I?"
Arthur chuckled, raising his own blade. "That's the spirit."
And with that, their battle resumed.
—-
The training grounds were silent save for the rhythmic sound of Artoria's breathing. She was drenched in sweat, her body aching from the grueling spar, yet despite her exhaustion, a small smile played on her lips.
Arthur stood before her, his posture relaxed, his own breathing steady—his form nearly unfazed despite the intensity of their battle. The difference in their stamina was still staggering. Yet, for the first time, Artoria felt as though she had truly pushed him.
Arthur exhaled softly before sheathing his sword. "I think we should call it a day."
Artoria took a deep breath, her pupils slowly shrinking, their draconic slits gradually softening into something more human—though not entirely. Even as she regained her composure, something in her gaze remained untamed, an ember of primal fire refusing to be extinguished.
She nodded, straightening with effort. "Very well, Sir Arthur." Her voice was steady, yet fatigue weighed heavily upon her frame.
Arthur studied her for a moment before a small, approving smile formed on his lips. "You did well today."
The words, simple as they were, carried weight. Artoria's heart swelled, though she refused to show it outwardly. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly, meeting his gaze with renewed determination.
"I will do better tomorrow," she declared.
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Of that, I have no doubt." He turned to leave but paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "Rest, Artoria. You'll need it."
Artoria nodded, watching as he walked away, his presence as unwavering as ever.
She exhaled, her grip tightening slightly around her sword.
Tomorrow.
She would push herself even further.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the modest estate, Artoria made her way home. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, her muscles aching from the relentless training, yet her steps remained steady. The familiar sight of her home should have brought her a sense of relief, but instead, she was met with the stern, expectant gaze of her foster brother, Kay, who stood waiting for her at the front door.
"There you are, Artoria—where have you been?" Kay's voice carried an edge of concern, his arms crossed over his chest. His usual dry, teasing tone was absent, replaced instead by something more serious.
Artoria met his gaze evenly, though she couldn't ignore the slight guilt that tugged at her. "I've been training," she answered simply.
Kay's brow furrowed. "Training? At this hour?" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn it, Artoria, do you even realize how late it is? You were supposed to be back ages ago."
She sighed, brushing past him to step inside, but Kay wasn't about to let it go that easily. He followed closely behind, his frustration barely concealed. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I have to," Artoria replied, her voice firm but not unkind. She turned to face him, her emerald eyes steady despite her exhaustion. "I don't have the luxury of holding back. If I am to wield and pull the sword from the stone one day, if I am to be worthy of the throne, I must keep training."
Kay scoffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "And what good will it do you if you collapse before you even get there? You're not just a warrior, Artoria—you're a person. You need rest."
Artoria's lips pressed into a thin line. "My training partner doesn't tire."
"And who is that," Kay shot back without hesitation. Artoria did not respond "And don't give me that look—I know exactly what you're thinking." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Look, I'm not saying don't train. I know better than to try to stop you from doing what you think is necessary. But for once in your damn life, could you just think about yourself? Even knights have limits."
Artoria hesitated. She knew Kay was right—she had been feeling the strain, even if she wouldn't admit it aloud. But at the same time, the fire in her heart refused to let her slow down.
Kay sighed again, softer this time. "At least eat something before you pass out."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Artoria's lips. "That sounds like an order, Sir Kay."
He rolled his eyes. "Damn right it is." He turned toward the kitchen. "Now sit down before I make you."
Artoria chuckled faintly, following Kay toward the kitchen, the warmth of their sibling banter lingering in the air. Just as she was about to take a seat, the familiar sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. She barely had time to react before two imposing figures entered the room.
"Hey-llo~!" Merlin's ever-cheerful voice filled the space as he strolled in, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. Behind him, her father, Sir Ector, stepped in with a more measured gait, his expression far more serious.
Artoria straightened instinctively, caught off guard. "M-Merlin? Ector?" she stammered, blinking in surprise.
"I would say you're late for training," Merlin continued smoothly, tapping a finger against his chin, "but it seems someone else has already taken up that responsibility." His eyes twinkled with curiosity as he took a seat at the table, completely at ease. "Now, that's interesting."
Artoria felt a slight bead of sweat form at her temple. The way Merlin's gaze sharpened ever so slightly made her uneasy. Her father's expression wasn't any better—Ector's furrowed brows and expectant silence sent a clear message: Explain. Now.
"So," Merlin hummed, resting his elbows on the table as he laced his fingers together. "Who's the mysterious teacher you've deemed so exceptional that you'd hide them from us?"
"Yes, I'd like to know as well," Ector added, his deep voice leaving no room for avoidance.
Artoria froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Her mind scrambled for an answer, but there was no use—Merlin was too perceptive, and Ector too steadfast to ignore the truth.
"Does it truly matter?" she finally asked, her voice steady despite her internal panic. "My swordsmanship is improving. Isn't that what's most important?"
Merlin's smile only grew wider at her response, his amusement palpable. "Oh, very clever, little lion. You answer a question with another question." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "But that only makes me more curious."
Ector, however, was less amused. "It does matter, Artoria," he said firmly. "You are to be king one day. We cannot allow just anyone to influence your growth. So I will ask again—who is training you?"
Artoria clenched her fists in her lap. She knew they wouldn't let this go, but revealing Arthur's name without his permission felt... wrong.
Kay, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly let out a scoff. "Tch. You two are making too big a deal out of this," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Artoria's strong enough to make her own choices, and if she's getting better, what's the problem?"
Ector shot him a sharp look. "The problem is that we don't know who is shaping her into the warrior she is becoming. And in our world, knowledge is everything."
Kay held his ground, but Artoria could see the tension in his stance. He wasn't going to sell her out, but he wasn't going to help her dodge this either.
Merlin exhaled dramatically. "Ah, young knights and their stubbornness." He glanced at Artoria, his gaze softening just slightly. "I'm not upset, you know. I'm just intrigued. You wouldn't be this defensive unless it was someone truly extraordinary."
Artoria remained silent.
Ector's expression darkened. "If you cannot tell us now, then I expect an answer soon."
The weight of their expectations pressed against her, but Artoria kept her posture firm. She wouldn't betray Arthur's trust so easily.
For now, she had bought herself time. But she knew this wasn't the last she'd hear of it.