King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

Artoria's whisper brushed softly against his ear.

Her breath tickled, and Arthur's cheeks flushed faintly.

He had to admit—Artoria was adorable like this.

But he quickly composed himself. Outwardly, they were still siblings. Entertaining such thoughts was unacceptable.

So he simply chuckled, patted her lightly on the back, and said, "I should be the one thanking you."

The two embraced briefly—formally, symbolically—then quickly stepped apart.

Arthur didn't notice that Artoria's cheeks were tinged with the same shade of pink. She, unlike him, concealed it well.

But just because Arthur missed it didn't mean Kay did.

Kay had been puzzled from the start. He was the first to be thanked—shouldn't he have been the first to be hugged? And yet, Artoria had barely spared him a glance, giving her full attention to Arthur instead.

Artoria wasn't the type to fuss over status.

That had struck Kay as odd—until he noticed the subtle changes in her demeanor. And then—

Their eyes met.

In that instant, Artoria and Kay both reached instinctively for their swords and wands, gazes sharpening into open hostility. It mirrored the same tension as Lancelot and Guinevere, constantly on the verge of combat.

"Artoria, you… you actually said that to my king—"

"Do you intend to stop me, Brother Kay?"

Their eyes locked, sparks flying in the air between them.

Arthur, sensing the charged atmosphere, tilted his head. "What's going on with you two?"

"No worries, my king," Kay replied with a slight bow. "I merely missed Artoria after such a long time."

"It's fine," Artoria said with a faint smile. "Let's get started. Sir Lancelot's been waiting, and the potion's ready for use."

"Ah, good." Arthur glanced over at the couple who had finally stopped bickering. "Let's begin the experiment."

"My apologies, my king, for letting you witness my disgraceful display," Lancelot said, holding his bruised left eye. "It's all because of that insufferable woman who only knows how to make trouble."

"!!!"

Guinevere's rage flared up again, her face twitching with fury. She looked ready to start another round.

Arthur quickly intervened. "Enough. No more fighting. Focus on the experiment."

These two are hopeless, Arthur sighed internally. If you have this much energy, why not go make Galahad? Or—better yet—Mash.

You've been married for ages and yet still no baby bump. I even set the table for you.

Of course, Arthur could only stew in silence.

It wasn't something he could ask Gawain to do.

And as for himself? Absolutely not. That was Guinevere.

He couldn't afford to offend her. He couldn't afford to offend her.

Come to think of it, ever since their wedding, Lancelot had taken up residence in the military barracks and Arthur's own castle, never once returning to his own home.

Clearly, this "marriage" was devoid of affection.

Honestly, if not for their respective reputations and their desire to remain in Camelot, the two probably would've drawn blades on each other long ago.

Read as "husband and wife," but truly written as "sworn enemies."

At that moment, a figure leapt onto Arthur from behind. The soft weight on his back and the familiar scent of flowers told him exactly who it was.

"Oh my~ Such an exciting event, and no one thought to invite me? I'm heartbroken~"

"Get off me, Merry!"

"No, not Merry—Merlin~"

Before anyone else could react, Merry poked Arthur's cheek a few times and rubbed it gleefully.

My king is just too cute!

Trailing behind her was a small white animal who immediately jumped onto Arthur as well, rubbing up against him.

Ah. It's Fou.

"Get off me, you little gremlin!" Arthur barked.

Though cloaked by illusion to others—who still saw the figure of Merlin—Arthur's eyes saw the truth: a white-haired girl with a mischievous smile pressed against his back.

The influence of white hair on Arthur remained as potent as ever.

Though he still held his usual distaste for Merry, he no longer drew his sword in fury at her antics.

Of course, just because others couldn't see Merry's real form didn't mean they were fooled.

At the very least, Artoria and Morgan knew the truth. The two women moved swiftly—one grabbing Arthur, the other seizing Merry's head—and forcefully pulled them apart.

"You old freak," Morgan hissed coldly, tightening her grip on Merry's skull, "you're more shameless than ever. Looks like you're really enjoying that collar. Next time, I'll make a better one for you—together with that girl."

"Watch yourself, you harlot!" Artoria shouted, shielding Arthur behind her like a holy guardian. "He's the king! Even you must show respect!"

And while all eyes were on Merry, Artoria casually reached back to give Arthur a few sneaky pats.

Arthur, ever oblivious to the deeper meaning, simply took it as innocent affection between siblings. He smiled, took her hand, and gave her palm a gentle squeeze—causing Artoria to flush with embarrassment.

"Sister," Arthur said, "it's truly wonderful to see you living like an ordinary girl."

"Wah~" Artoria lowered her head shyly. "I just want to help in whatever ways I can. The responsibility of all Camelot is too heavy for you alone. These burdens were supposed to be mine. So I want to do my part… even just a little."

"Really? That's not a bad idea."

Arthur smiled and reached out, gently patting her head.

The warmth of the moment lasted only a few seconds.

He then cleared his throat, bringing the chaos to an end.

"No more distractions. Sir Lancelot, I'll ask one final time—are you sure you wish to proceed? Though I trust the institute's magicians, experiments are inherently risky. No one can guarantee a potion without side effects."

His tone was grave.

Lancelot was a cornerstone of Camelot's military strength. Losing him to a failed experiment would be disastrous.

Arthur still didn't understand why the knight was so insistent.

"My king, please rest assured," Lancelot said calmly. "Rather than let my comrades face the dangers of untested potions, I would rather take that burden myself. Besides, Camelot's magicians are the best in the world."

His appearance, his voice—everything about him was impeccable.

He was truly worthy of the title Knight of the Lake—the very image of the ideal knight.

Arthur nodded, deeply moved by his resolve.

But what he failed to notice—what no one noticed—was that the moment Lancelot turned and locked eyes with Merry, both of them broke into identical grins, bright with madness and anticipation.

-End Chapter-

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