The Holy King’s Message

When Miranda finally reached the great chamber, she stared, not at the Fruit of Plenty, but at the stone tablet, gazing at it as if she were drinking in every word.

Arthur sneaked a look as well, but he could not make heads or tails of it, likely because it was written in the language of the Desert People.

“What on earth does it say? Something like… the best way to cook the Fruit of Plenty…?”

“No, this is more like a message our first chieftain left for us. It says… ‘When Britannia is in trouble, help them no matter what… and when we are truly in dire straits, Britannia will surely help us in return.’ It speaks of the deep friendship between the Holy King and our people.”

Miranda hugged the stone tablet to her chest as if overcome with emotion. The Desert People and Britannia were enemies now, but once, they must have been on good terms and had lively exchanges.

Because it had all happened hundreds of years ago, even Arthur did not know the details. But when Miranda lifted the stone tablet, he happened to notice a rosary lying beneath it—old, yet showing not a trace of rust—and he casually picked it up.

“Whoa!?”

The moment he took it in his hand, the rosary flashed for an instant, and he felt a strange magic flow into him.

The place he stood in now was a strange space, white in every direction.

“I should have been with Miranda and the others…”

Startled by the sudden change, he looked around, but there were no walls, nothing at all—just an endless world of white stretching on and on.

“Hey, is anyone there?”

He shouted at the top of his lungs, but of course there was no reply; then Arthur came up with one idea.

“Lancelot, you idiot!! Quit staring at me all meaningfully like that, it’s creepy!! Morgan, you nag!! You could at least be a little nicer to me, you know!!”

Yes, this was stress relief. He shouted all the things he could never risk saying back at the castle, where he never knew who might be listening.

As for his vocabulary… well, best not to comment.

“You’re having fun, I see. Is this Morgan person your lover, perhaps? Mm, mm, I understand. I was often henpecked myself.”

“Whaaa!?”

A voice suddenly spoke from behind him; Arthur jumped in shock, and the figure there chuckled softly.

“So, if you’ve come here, does that mean Britannia has once again joined hands with the Desert People?”

Standing before him was a gentle-looking young man, about seventeen, with golden hair; he resembled Arthur somewhat, but the atmosphere around him was different.

His smile was not a fawning one, but a warmth that welled up from the depths of his heart, and in his eyes there was unshakable confidence.

Yes… it was obvious at a glance that his stature as a person was on a different level.

“Who… are you supposed to be?”

“Me? Let’s see… I’m the one you people call the Holy King. Though, strictly speaking, Merlin used his magic to leave only my lingering thoughts behind here.”

“Wh—what…?”

It was not something he could easily believe, yet strangely, Arthur found himself accepting it; the reason was that the young man’s magic felt so familiar—so very similar to the healing magic Arthur himself possessed.

“So then… what about the Holy King? What does this have to do with anything?”

“I worry too much, you see… So I prepared several items that would activate should my precious, beloved Britannia fall into danger. This is one of them—the rosary that bears the power of the Holy Grail.”

“Danger for Britannia…?”

The young man who called himself the Holy King nodded at the astonished Arthur.

“It might be civil war, or some plot by unknown enemies. I prepared these things for when something like that happened. You have the Good Deed Notebook, don’t you? That’s also one of the things I left behind.”

The Holy King pointed at Arthur’s chest, where the Good Deed Notebook was tucked away, and gave him a wry grin.

“You’re probably what they’d call a throwback to an ancestor… you must have inherited my power more strongly than anyone else. So, join forces with your brothers and save Britannia… and save her as well… please. If you don’t, then… will… be destroyed.”

“Hey, what exactly is going to be destroyed?”

Arthur cried out in a panic, but the Holy King’s figure vanished, and the pure white space shattered apart.

“Lord Arthur!! Lord Arthur!! Are you all right?”

“Hm? Ah… sorry.”

When he looked around, it seemed quite some time had passed; Miranda was peering at him with a worried expression.

He had a vague memory of talking to someone, but he could not remember who.

“Lord Arthur!! The number of monsters is getting too high—we can’t hold them off much longer!”

“Right, my bad. Let’s go, Miranda!!”

“Yes!!”

While Arthur had been unconscious, Miranda had secured a sapling of the Fruit of Plenty; as she put the flute to her lips, Crimson Arrow dashed off, racing onto the half-melted ice road.

Would this somehow be enough? Yet Arthur could not shake the feeling that he had forgotten something important.

And all the while, without his noticing, the rosary was now resting in his pocket.