Evilness, the all-consuming power that holds sway over life and death.

Arthur’s perspective on love and the societal structure of the empire encapsulates a deep internal conflict between tradition, survival, and a yearning for change. The empire’s harsh realities—where life expectancy is uncertain due to constant threats from the mutant beasts—have forced a system in which love and reproduction are entwined with survival. The pressure to have children as soon as physical maturity is reached is not just a societal expectation but an ingrained law of necessity. Yet, Arthur, as king, bears the burden of understanding that while this is the way things are, it is not the way he wishes them to be.

Arthur, a man torn between the weight of tradition and a desire for a more humane future, considers the lower age at which children in the empire are expected to marry and have families as something akin to a curse. It is a law not enforced with brutality but something inescapable, born from the harsh realities of their world. The uncertainty of life means that once a girl has her first period, she must be ready to bear children because no one knows when death might come for them. The same rule applies to boys—they are expected to marry and reproduce as soon as possible to preserve their bloodline, even as they train to defend the empire.

Only the nobles are spared from this urgency, for their families can afford the luxury of protection and delayed responsibility. But this delay comes with its own price: their childhood is cut short by the rigorous demands of training in the arts of war, combat, and the necessary skills for leadership. These children, though spared from early marriage, are never truly allowed the innocence of a typical childhood.

Arthur’s knowledge of historical records, documents he has studied extensively, fills him with a deep longing for another way of life. He reads of times long past when children were considered children until they were 18 or 21, where youth could flourish in play, study, and personal growth before being saddled with the weight of responsibility. He yearns for this kind of world, especially for his own children, Lasui and Sasari. But reality forces his hand, and while he dreams of a different life for them, he cannot deny the brutal facts of the world they live in.

In keeping with the empire’s traditions, Arthur has allowed Lasui to marry Marceline

and start a family, despite their youth. Similarly, Sasari has been encouraged to try for children with Javier. This isn’t just because Arthur feels pressured by societal norms, but also because the tradition of their bloodline dictates it. Nobles, especially royal families, are expected to keep their blood pure. Sibling marriages between Sasari and Lasui were once seen as the only way to preserve this purity, ensuring the strength of their lineage.

Thanks to Saint Mary’s medical abilities, the fear of genetic defects, often a byproduct of such unions, has been mitigated. If any abnormalities appear in their offspring, Mary can intervene and correct them. Despite this safeguard, Arthur remains uneasy about such practices. His heart aches for a time when love and family could flourish naturally, without the looming shadow of death and necessity driving every decision.

Arthur’s hope, however, is reignited by whispers of change. He has heard of the Savior and another Retter Messiah emerging within the empire—figures of immense power and promise. In these beings, Arthur sees the potential for something greater, something that might free them from the chains of tradition and survival. Perhaps, he thinks, not immediately, but in his time, things could change. Perhaps, for the first time, there could be a world where children are allowed to be children, where families can form out of love rather than necessity, and where the future isn’t clouded by the constant threat of extinction.

Arthur is a man of practicality, but beneath the veneer of his duty lies a dreamer. He knows that all kinds of love are allowed in the empire

, but love must be genuine. It cannot be twisted into something that harms oneself or others. He has made it a decree that love must be love, whether it is between siblings like Sasari and Lasui, between individuals of the same gender, or between nobles and commoners. But it must be real, not driven by fear or manipulation.

For Arthur, love is both a necessity and a potential savior. It is a complex web of emotions, duties, and dreams that he must navigate as a king. He hopes that through the emergence of the Savior and the Retter Messiahs, the future might hold a different path—one where the traditions of the past no longer dictate every aspect of life, and where love, in all its forms, can be chosen freely and without fear of survival hanging over it.

Arthur dreams of a world where love, in all its forms, can flourish in peace, and perhaps, with the winds of change stirring, that world is closer than he dares to hope.

It’s clear that Arthur is not the typical useless royal or villain like in Tate no Yusha. Even though he may seem too good to be true, he is very human and carries his own trauma. According to tradition, his grandfather had to lead the vanguard when Arthur was born, and then his father had to do the same when Lasui was born. Arthur tries to stay in contact with them, but the vanguard is on another continent, and the technology doesn’t allow him to know what’s really happening.

With the discovery of Aido and Luyira, Arthur has hope—maybe things can change, even if just a little. Lasui was the first to ask him if he could marry Marceline instead of his sister, choosing love over the duty he was expected to fulfill. Arthur, in his desire to challenge destiny, allowed and supported his son's decision.