Incest Pendragon

Every time they passed through the once-prosperous territory of Gwynedd, now fallen to ruin, they could see the unmistakable fear in the eyes of its people.

Yet, not a single soul dared to raise their voice in defiance or show the slightest opposition toward the conqueror.

The silence of submission hung heavy in the air.

Seated atop his imposing warhorse, King Uther gazed sternly over the subdued populace, his demeanor one of cold composure, as he marched with his army, returning from the bloody expeditions in the west and the conquest of Holy Island.

By his side, Merlin, mounted on his own steed, kept a close, watchful pace.

"Is this the kind of kingdom you truly wish to rule, my king?" Merlin's voice cut through the stillness, heavy with disapproval.

Beneath his words lay a deeper question, one that spoke to the conflict that now consumed them.

This was no longer a war fought against the Saxons; it was a war waged against their own former allies. Merlin might have stayed silent if Uther's campaign targeted only traitors, but now the king's wrath was turned against the very people he once vowed to protect—Celts, not Saxons.

This was no longer a fight for what was just or righteous. It was a conquest born from sheer selfishness and unchecked ambition.

"I'd rather overstep the world than let the world overstep me, Merlin." King Uther declared with a chilling certainty that brooked no argument.

The previous King Uther granted them mercy, extended a hand of friendship, and offered them both shelter and protection.

Yet, when his kingdom faced the relentless onslaught of Saxon invaders, where were they?

Huh...?

Yes, where were they in that crucial hour?

Why did they allow the very kingdom that safeguarded them, that provided them peace and security, to be reduced to ashes, while they sat idly, basking in the peace of the very realm that was still protecting them?

Is it truly cruel to now consider massacring them and seizing their wealth?

No, it was not cruelty.

What they did—their betrayal—was far crueler than anything he could ever do.

They turned their backs on him first, abandoning the very hand that fed and protected them.

Now, it was time for retribution.

He was merely taking back what Uther had so graciously bestowed upon them in the first place: his wealth, his compassion, his protection.

And now?

Now, they were even.

Yet, deep within him, it wasn't enough.

His soul cried out for more vengeance, more punishment. The hunger for retribution burned hotter than ever.

He wanted nothing less than for them to regret—truly and deeply regret—ever crossing his path.

As he had made clear before, he would much rather overstep others than allow himself to be overstepped.

Take the examples of Gaius Julius Caesar or Louis XVI—they forgave their enemies, but at what cost?

Their clemency led to their downfall. Both men lost their lives because they extended mercy to their opponents.

People were fickle; after all, they will not be grateful for your mercy. They are only grateful if you are ruthless enough. If you are forgiving, people will only think that you can be easily overstepped, and they will make a second attempt to undermine you.

History, written in blood, provides evidence of this truth.

Louis XVI spared the revolutionaries and allowed them to rape and pillage his people, even though he could have crushed them before they grew in strength.

Yet he did not, as he naively believed that listening to their voices would offer him a better outcome.

His naivety and benevolence were the sources of his downfall.

He, even his wife, was cruelly sent to the guillotine and painted as villains simply because he thought granting them chance was the right choice.

Looking at his situation now, he showed them kindness, yet what did they do to him?

Not only did they humiliate him, but they also killed his wife along with his children.

Was this kindness worth it?

Are traitors like them even deserving of kindness?

No, they are not.

They deserve to die.

Yet in contrast, the ruthless ones, like Augustus, were the victors in the end.

Augustus survived because he never allowed a single opponent to slip away unpunished.

He seized every opportunity, relentlessly undermining and striking down his foes when the moment was ripe and he didn't become the first emperor of Rome by playing nice.

Just like Augustus.

He was indifferent to how much blood was spilled along the way. In fact, he found joy in watching those who had wronged him suffer.

Even if the world had to burn to satisfy his wrath, he would not care.

His only concern was that all who opposed him lay dead at his feet, and in the end, it was he who stood victorious.

At that moment, Merlin offered no rebuttal.

He merely sighed, his silence speaking volumes.

Did he truly regret the path he had chosen?

Perhaps.

Yet, deep down, he understood one thing: there was no turning back now.

No one else could shoulder this burden better than Uther—the grim task of ensuring their survival in the face of overwhelming odds, standing against the very Counter Force that demanded their destruction.

If Merlin were to retreat now, allowing his revulsion for Uther's senseless massacres to guide him, the Counter Forces would not let him escape.

Nor would Morgan, who's always hated him.

Even the man before him—Uther—would not hesitate to silence him, should he waver.

To throw his support behind Artoria now?

It was far too late.

She had already lost her will to claim the throne and had instead given her loyalty to Uther.

Even if Merlin were to present her with undeniable evidence of Uther's atrocities, she would never believe him.

Since meeting Uther, her loyalty to him had eclipsed even her love for Britannia, a reality that left a bitter taste in Merlin's mouth.

There were no more alternatives left.

The only path remaining was to continue supporting Uther's relentless cause, no matter how distasteful it had become.

Without realizing it, Merlin found himself ensnared, hopelessly bound to obey Uther's will, a pawn in a game he had once believed he controlled.

The one who used to play others, now being played by the one that he played previously.

Is this fate?