King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

Everything unfolded exactly as Arthur had expected.

The coalition of kings, long broken in spirit, surrendered the moment Camelot's elite troops marched out of the city.

Neither nobles nor kings had the will to resist—they were taken away with sullen faces.

Afterward, Arthur received envoys from various kingdoms outside the walls.

But he had little patience for their endless pleas and protests, dismissing them with a mere wave of his hand.

"Ask for peace? Foolish. Either you submit entirely to me, or you starve to death. There's no middle ground. If you submit, your life will be spared. Refuse, and how can a king without food or fodder command armies or quell the people's rage? Tell your king this and send them home."

His words struck the heart of the matter.

Without food, there could be no soldiers, no authority.

The starving masses would first storm the castle, dragging nobles and kings into the streets—perhaps even worse.

Arthur's attitude was blunt, even harsh.

"My king, is this truly wise?" Draven's voice followed him anxiously.

Arthur, usually courteous, startled those who knew him by suddenly turning into someone colder, more ruthless.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Lord Agravain, perhaps you should speak with our king instead."

"I find nothing wrong with my king's approach," Agravain said with visible displeasure at Draven's skepticism.

"My king, perhaps you should treat these envoys with more gentleness. This place is hardly fit for your status; you should return to the castle soon. At least take guards with you if you must stay."

Draven's concern was palpable.

"Gentle? For these men? No disguise is needed. Toughness is fitting. Compassion is reserved for our own people. Don't mistake that, Lord Draven. Cruelty towards enemies is just—and necessary," Arthur replied casually, waving him off.

"Go back. You have work to do."

Reluctantly, Draven departed, and with him went the noise and fuss.

Before them lay a makeshift refugee camp—filthy, chaotic, filled with cries of despair.

Camelot's soldiers lined up, quickly distributing the sparse food supply, while other soldiers wielding swords enforced order. Bloodshed was rare but brutal—a few who tried to cause conflict had paid the ultimate price.

Arthur frowned as he surveyed the scene.

"My king, why don't you return?"

"No. I've seen worse. But I hate this," Arthur murmured, pressing forward.

On his coronation day, he had witnessed far crueller sights.

Compared to those, this was but a pale shadow.

Then—

A small figure stumbled into him.

The impact was so slight Arthur barely noticed, but the child tumbled to the ground.

A girl, small and ragged, her body wrapped in filthy rags.

Bruises and scratches marred her skin.

She had tried to get food but was too weak to push through the crowd, relegated to watching from a distance.

In this world, life held little value, and the future was even less certain.

Compassion was a myth.

Mutual aid was a cruel joke.

Powerless children like her were easy prey, exploited and cast aside.

To survive today was luck.

Arthur's mind made the grim calculation, and an uncomfortable weight settled in his heart.

"Kid, are you alright?"

Arthur helped her up.

Her answer was not a complaint about pain, but a single word:

"Hungry."

Yes—hungry.

In a refugee camp, a lone child stood little chance.

Even if kindness appeared, supplies vanished in seconds.

Soon no one helped anymore.

Among the desperate, children fared worst.

"Agravain, food."

"But—"

"I said, give me food."

Agravain hesitated, clutching the few slices of bread Manaka had prepared for Arthur.

He felt guilty—Manaka was always so cautious and meticulous about everything Arthur requested.

Still, Agravain unwillingly handed over the bread.

Life, it seemed, would never be peaceful from now on.

Arthur broke the bread carefully and gave it to the girl, also offering her some water from his flask.

Unfamiliar with such kindness, she coughed violently, startled awake.

"Are you alright?"

When he spoke, Arthur's throat tightened—not from thirst, but from the mounting guilt and blame.

"I never expected this. I'm sorry you've suffered."

But the words wouldn't come.

He could not say it.

Had he truly expected such suffering? Yes—his foresight had shown him this moment, even the encounter with this girl, years before.

Yet, he had ignored it.

He deceived himself.

Now, seeing it with his own eyes was a wholly different experience—crushing, suffocating.

Was everything he did truly right?

No!

Don't waver. Believe in yourself.

Doubt threatens to unravel the very essence of Arthur.

Stop your self-loathing.

Are others' lives more important than your own?

In a flash, Arthur steadied himself.

The last flicker of compassion left his eyes, replaced by a calm, gentle acceptance of the harsh reality.

Until—

-End Chapter-

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