(A/N: I am back! RAHHH!!)
***
**
*
"Hold up. Wait a minute. Something ain't right with what you just said."
"What do you mean?"
"Run that by me again."
"Well… I said that I was one of six candidates in the royal selection before you interrupted me."
After having incinerated the corpses of the witchbeasts, Artorius went back to the Mathers' Mansion. There, he found Emilia wandering the halls like a ghost. She hadn't been able to sleep, so instead, she chose to wander through the corridors.
Sensing an opportunity, he decided to ask around about the Royal Selection. He'd expected some deviations—after all, the butterfly effect was bound to cause ripples. But what he found wasn't just a few ripples.
It was a goddamn tidal wave.
Shit didn't hit the fan—a hurricane hit the sewers of New York.
"So, what are the names of the other candidates?" he asked. A name was all he needed to gauge what kind of nuclear disaster he'd be dealing with.
"I don't know much about them," Emilia admitted, "but if it's names alone… There's the Matriarch of House Karsten, Crusch Karsten. A merchant from Kararagi called Anastasia Hoshin. Someone known as the 'Blood Bride'? Priscilla Barielle."
So far, so good.
"There's also a new candidate whose name is being kept hidden for now. And the other has… unclear backgrounds."
'That's Felt,' he thought instinctively.
"I think she was called… Morgan le Fay?"
The final nail in the coffin. The name hit him like a blade to the chest.
The world fell silent.
His grip tightened around Beatrice, who was resting on his lap.
"Artorius?" Beatrice's voice broke through the haze, her tone laced with discomfort.
Snapping out of it, he blinked and looked down. "Sorry, Betty."
"Betty forgives her horrible contract," she muttered with a huff.
"You cheeky little—" He pinched her cheeks, puffing them up like a squirrel's.
"Stowwwpppp!" Beatrice whined, but made no effort to actually stop him.
"You all sure are enjoying yourselves." Puck manifested as the clock hit 7. "Maybe you lovebirds should take it somewhere else. Lia has spirits to talk with." He made a shooing motion.
"Oh yeah?" He grabbed Puck by the tail before dragging him into the group hug, tickling him and playing with his fur.
"Lia, help me~! I am being bullied!" He said in a happy tone, clearly enjoying being bullied.
Rem quietly walked towards them. "Lord Artorius." She called out, bringing his attention to her. "Lord Roswaal has arrived. He is requesting your presence."
"Hm?" Artorius looked over, releasing Puck. "I will be there shortly," he replied. Giving a short nod to Emilia, he followed behind Rem, who guided him to Roswaal's personal study.
"Lord Roswaal. I have brought Lord Artorius." The door opened as Roswaal, in his usual clown fit, welcomed Artorius and Beatrice in. Rem stayed outside.
"And oooonce again, I find myself indebted to you, Artorius," Roswaal said in his usual sing-song voice. "You not only saved my employeeee, but also prevented haaarm from coming to those who dwell on my laaand." His smile, for once, seemed genuine. "Aaaand you aaavoided the political baaacklash that would've followed if either of those things had haappened. Truly, a veeery wonderful deed."
"I only acted in accordance with my oath. There's no need for praise." Artorius's tone shifted, shedding the casual warmth he'd shown Emilia and adopting a more composed, knightly demeanour. "That said, I find this attack… suspicious."
"More than likely sabotage," Roswaal replied, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Word must've gotten out about my support for Lady Emilia, a half-elf. You know how many in the capital feel about that. They wouldn't miss the chance to cause trouble."
A brief silence passed.
"Then shall we move on to the next part, Artorius?"
"Next part?"
"Aaaahh, don't play coy," Roswaal chuckled, his usual laid-back tone returning. He offered a knowing smirk. "You knooow what I'm going to saaay." He spread his arms wide, striking a familiar pose—the same he had on the day they first met. "What do you want from this?"
Artorius held his gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"I wish to enter the Sanctuary. I've also reconsidered your offer of employment."
"Fufufu~." A dangerous glint flashed in Roswaal's eyes. "And what prompted the change of heart~?"
"Things have changed." That was all he offered.
"Interesting~" Roswaal tilted his head, intrigued. "Does that mean you'll be supporting Lady Emilia in the Royal Selection?"
"Yes."
Morgan le Fay.
Even if it was just a name, the implications were enough. Not because she might be the Lostbelt Morgan who'd hurl Rhongomyniad like candy, but because any Morgan could be dangerous.
In legend, Morgan was the one who stole Avalon, leading to Arthur's downfall. And if servant logic applied here, then Avalon's absence could very well become his greatest weakness.
He needed information. He needed control.
"I want a comprehensive file on all Royal Candidates. I'd like to prepare."
"But of course~" Roswaal returned to his melodic tone, and after discussing several formalities, he passed the Mathers seal to Artorius. With it, Artorius could act on Roswaal's behalf—his authority second only to Roswaal himself.
Later, in Roswaal's study…
"Lord Artorius?"
Rem's voice broke through the silence. Artorius sat slouched, staring down at the table, lost in thought, with his head leaning on Beatrice's.
Frustration.
That was the emotion that had plagued him ever since he'd arrived in this world. Nothing had gone according to plan. His limited knowledge of the story had quickly proven useless in the face of countless variables. Unpredictable threats. Constant instability.
He had pushed himself harder than he should have, especially with the Black Serpent's venom. His body was breaking down. He'd only survived by redirecting the dragon factor from his heart to his eyes and brain, staving off necrosis and stockpiling magical energy just to keep those organs from shutting down.
His actions clashed with his values and beliefs. That disconnection made his decisions feel hasty, at times irrational.
In A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (1957), Leon Festinger proposed that humans strive for internal psychological consistency. When that consistency is threatened, discomfort arises, pushing the individual to change either their beliefs or behaviour to reduce the tension. But that change often leads to inconsistency in other areas of thought.
Artorius couldn't even recognise that Morgan posed no threat, as long as she didn't know he existed. The smartest course of action would have been to leave Roswaal's mansion and settle somewhere remote. Work with Beatrice to research a way back home.
But he didn't.
Rem, watching him in silence, felt her heart twist. She'd seen flashes of his past through the dream cycle—a fragmentary link forged through Avalon.
She knew glimpses of his life. She knew what Avalon and Excalibur meant to him. And still, he gave them up. He gave her his immortality.
She didn't know how to feel.
On one hand, he was Lord Artorius—the man who saved her and healed her sister. On the other… the foul scent of the witch clung to him.
She didn't know what to do.
Then she heard him mutter under his breath.
"What do I do, Master…?" he whispered. "Ugh… If only that Merlin were here too…" He groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
"Rem. Beatrice." Both girls snapped to attention at his call. "Could you leave me alone for a while?"
His hollow, unfocused eyes unsettled them. Beatrice hesitated, then gently squeezed his hand before sliding off his lap and leaving with Rem. The door to the study clicked shut behind them.
Artorius glanced around the office. It felt… empty. Shelves barren. Cabinets cleared.
"So he knows… even this." He stood up slowly. "There's an old saying: 'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.'
"But Pryce… he'd say, 'If life gave me lemons, I'd squeeze them into people's eyes.'"
"Then Bryan, the idiot, would shout back, 'I'd make lemonade and poke people's eyes with my lemon juice fingers!'"
"And Eddie, that nerd, would just mutter, 'But life never gave us lemons. We made them.'"
…
"Tell me!!" he screamed suddenly, voice echoing. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do!! You promised to guide me, Master! Where are you now!? Why aren't you here like in that damned flashback!?"
In a surge of rage, he grabbed a chair and smashed it against the table. Wood cracked. One leg snapped off, which he hurled through the glass window. Then he punched the wall, kicked the table, and slammed his fists into the floor—his strength causing cracks to spread like spiderwebs beneath him. A small tremor rattled through the mansion.
"Tell me…" Tears blurred his vision.
He had arrived in what he thought was a fictional world… in a dying body.
He had immersed himself in the events of this world—fought for it, bled for it—pushing his own humanity aside, masking the stress with jokes and humour.
But it was all unravelling. A dream turning into a nightmare.
Roswaal's schemes only reinforced that nothing here was truly real. Nothing made sense anymore. And his mind, frayed from stress, had started to collapse under the weight of it all.
He exploded with magical energy, launching himself into the air with a sonic boom.
"Eh?" Puck blinked, ears twitching. He and Emilia stood in the garden when Artorius shot into the sky like a comet.
"Artorius?!" Emilia turned, startled. She made to follow, but—
"Wait, Lia," Puck said, stopping her. "Let me handle this."
She hesitated, torn between helping her friend and talking to the spirits.
"Go on with talking to the spirit. It's part of your contract—you can't miss it." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll bring him back."
And with that, the small spirit took off, chasing after the man spiralling through the clouds.
***
Elior Forest
Facedown in the snow, Artorius stared at his hand in a daze, almost like a child seeing it for the first time. The cold bit into his skin, but he barely registered it. The weight in his chest was heavier than the frost.
"What's gotten you so down?" came Puck's voice, light as ever, floating in on the wind.
Artorius didn't answer at first. His lips parted, but only a shallow breath came out.
"…I don't even know," he said eventually. "These past few days… nothing's felt real. Even choosing to join Roswaal… It's like my body moves on its own. My mind tells me one thing, but my instincts pull me in another." The words spilt from him slowly, confused, contradictory, and painfully honest.
Puck floated closer, ears twitching. "So you're just overwhelmed," he said with a small, almost teasing tilt to his voice. "I thought you were mature… turns out you're just a kid trying to act tough." Puck tried to lighten the mood… in the worst possible way.
Artorius froze. 'This piece of-' Something in him snapped.
"… Take that back," he said, rising to his feet.
Puck blinked. "Or what? You'll punch a cute little kitty like me?" Puck didn't get to finish as Artorius' fist sent him crashing into the winter forest.
Artorius stood still, shoulders heaving. His voice erupted with raw fury, shaking the air itself. "YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE?!"
A burst of black miasma spilt from his skin, rippling outward in waves.
"I'M THE ONE WHO GETS THROWN INTO ANOTHER WORLD. ME! I HAD A LIFE — A REAL ONE! FRIENDS! FAMILY! DREAMS! AND NOW I'M STUCK IN THIS TWO-BIT WORLD I COULDN'T GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT!"
His eyes narrowed into green reptilian slits. His voice trembled with rage, with grief, with the pressure of something far deeper.
『Witch's Mark (EX Rank)』
"I SHOULD JUST—" he choked, the words spilling before he could stop them. "—kill everyone, even that daughter of yours…"
His breath hitched. He hadn't meant that. He hadn't, right?
A glacial wind howled through the trees.
In the next instant, ice surged from the earth, encasing him in a crystalline prison. Puck hovered above, eyes burning with rage, a side of him few had ever seen and none had lived to tell the tale.
"You should've never said that," he said coldly.
But the ice would not hold.
『Sign of the Red Dragon』
A pulse of dark mana shattered the frozen tomb. Red and black light erupted from within, scattering shards across the clearing.
Artorius stepped forward, changed.
His once-pristine armour had turned black as obsidian, with red marks running all over, his blonde hair had gone pale, and his eyes shone an ominous golden colour. And in his hands—
『Excalibur Morgan: Sword of Promised Victory』