Simulator in Type-moon, Starting with becoming Morgan husband!

Chapter 61. The Unacceptable Fraud of the Royal Selection Contest

"..."

"..."

It was now midday, and the sunlight of Britania was shining down on the skies of Camelot.

The white porcelain-colored ground of the city was bathed in the sunlight to the point of feeling slightly scorching, yet no one seemed to mind this.

Because——

All eyes were focused on the young man standing before them.

At his feet were shattered stones, broken veins silently declaring the former solidity of the ground.

In his hand, he held a sword, raised high.

The sunlight of Britania shone down on the blade, causing it to radiate with a brilliant glow.

Silence, then a clamor erupted.

"Did you see that? He has drawn the sword!"

"No way?! He clearly doesn't seem strong at all! How could he be the one to draw it?"

"No, this is wrong! This isn't right! There's cheating!"

The noise of the crowd.

The spectators were doing everything they could to express their doubts.

But there were also exceptions.

For example, Gawain.

His eyes were wide open as he stared at the young man before him, the one who had drawn the sword. His blue eyes, inherited from Morgan, were filled with disbelief.

Of course.

The emotion he felt was not the same doubt as the others around him, but rather an awe as a dream became reality.

Gawain was the one who had tried to draw this sword the most.

He knew well the difficulty of pulling the sword out—yet now, someone had actually done it.

Is this real?

Or is it just a dream?

Gawain held his head, in a moment where he could no longer distinguish the boundary between reality and fantasy.

He could only turn to Ian beside him and speak out his disbelief in this impossible event.

"Father, what should we do now?"

"..."

Ian's face was pale.

Because, unlike Gawain and the others present,

His mind was focused on something else, something that was logically clear.

It was certain that the royal heir, whose identity had previously been impossible to confirm, was most likely the very Artorius standing before them.

Fearing that Morgan would take unfavorable actions during Artorius's upbringing, King Uther had ordered Merlin to use magecraft to conceal her identity, then sent her away from the royal capital;

Because of her female nature, her self-awareness needed to be altered from a young age, and she was raised as a boy and trained as a knight.

Since she had almost never appeared in the royal city, a convincing plan for her return had to be prepared.

This was a scam.

A complete scam.

The so-called "royal selection contest" was, in fact, just a procedure of scammers!

"Father, he's here."

Gawain's words momentarily pulled Ian out of the feeling of being deceived.

[You look ahead.]

[You see Artorius approaching you.]

[She is still holding the sword she just drew from the stone.]

[Everyone's gaze follows her every step.]

[You realize that something unexpected might happen soon.]

In Ian's eyes, the figure of Artorius was reflected.

She continued to walk step by step, straight and determined.

Ian clearly felt that something about her had changed, but at the same time, she still retained certain other things.

Had Merlin's Magecraft achieved this?

Or was it something else?

Before Ian could fully think through this question, a sensation touched his side.

He saw that Artorius had buried her head into him chest.

Her arms wrapped around him, left and right, carrying the sword she had just drawn, and then closed behind him.

Yes.

This was a hug from Artorius.

After drawing the sword, the first thing she did was this.

"Sir Ian, thank you for coming."

"I... it seems like I really succeeded."

[The people around you don't hear these words.]

[You realize that this is a whisper meant only for you, from Artorius.]

[But for you, the one who has just realized everything, this is truly a great mockery.]

[Your hand slowly reaches up to the sword at your side.]

"Father."

Another call from Gawain interrupted Ian's anger.

"It seems like you——"

Gawain looked at Artorius, who was still holding his father.

"You and him seem to know each other?"

Before Ian could answer this question, Artorius quickly spoke up.

But unlike the gentle tone she had in Ian's embrace, her voice was noticeably colder when addressing Gawain.

If one had to describe it—

It was like gusts of wind blowing forward, never stopping for even a second, regardless of any branches they might touch in the forest.

In their hearts, there was only the ocean they sought to reach.

Perhaps this analogy is a bit complicated.

So, it's easier to understand if you simply think of it this way—Artorius only maintained her feminine feelings toward Ian.

Since she had no emotions for others, her way of speaking became somewhat distant.

"Yes, he is someone important to me." She said.

[Gawain was shaken.]

[He couldn't believe that the young man, who was physically far weaker than himself, could possess such an aura.]

[He seemed to vaguely touch upon something.]

[However, he knew this wasn't the moment for him to speak up.]

[He looked at you.]

"..."

Ian didn't show any change in his expression as he withdrew his hand from the hilt of his sword.

He realized he had acted rashly.

In this situation, there was absolutely no way to act against Artorius.

It wasn't because he feared the consequences for himself, but because he didn't want Morgan to be implicated because of him.

He couldn't reveal her feminine identity either.

Merlin's Magecraft was still clearly in effect, and even Gawain hadn't noticed anything unusual.

So, the only path left was patience.

Ian struggled to suppress all his anger and forced a smile as he looked at Artorius in front of him.

He freed himself from her embrace and said with a smile:

"This has nothing to do with me; it's all thanks to your own efforts."

"Artorius, congratulations."

"You are the only knight to draw the sword."

As King Lot, Ian's recognition had a clear and motivating effect.

The atmosphere, which had been filled with whispers, suddenly erupted into something else.

Artorius became the center of everyone's attention — the people of Camelot's streets were all looking toward the young man who had drawn the sword.

They didn't realize that the fate of Britania had begun to turn with a storm of uncertainty.

Nor did anyone notice Ian's hand clenching tightly.

[You silently leave the scene full of attention.]

[You head toward the royal palace.]

[You reach the workshop established by Morgan, where she conducts her Magecraft research.]

[Only you know how to enter here.]

"Princess."

"Mm?"

Morgan turned around. Upon seeing Ian, the frown that had been on her face softened slightly.

"Foolish knight, you'd better hold tight to the 'spear' you're so proud of."

"If something unexpected happens one day—"

Morgan lightly traced a line across Ian's chest with her finger.

"That would be a loss for us."

"Princess, I am deeply grateful for your concern."

"But—"

"But?"

Morgan noticed that her tone was off, and she looked up at Ian.

"Ian, you should know that I don't like slow people."

Ian's expression grew more serious.

He struggled to find words that would make the news he was about to deliver less blunt, but quickly realized that wasn't possible.

There was no choice but to be honest.

"Princess."

"Artorius... has drawn the sword from the stone."

"..."

Morgan stood frozen for a moment.

Her mysterious blue eyes, always filled with an air of grace, lost their usual depth, replaced instead with profound doubt.

"Ian, what did you say?!"

"I command you to say it again!"

Once it had begun, Ian knew there was no stopping now.

"Princess."

"Artorius... has drawn the sword from the stone."

"I witnessed everything."

Time seemed to freeze around Morgan.

Her porcelain skin remained unchanged, not even a hint of blush appeared, as if the blood had been drained from her body in an instant.

Silence enveloped the room, erasing any potential for communication.

After a long while, Morgan spoke, her voice trembling:

"Why her?"

"What right does she have to draw that sword?"

"This doesn't make sense!"

"Princess." Ian gazed at Morgan, who was shaking with rage, feeling a deep pain in his heart.

"Artorius, perhaps, is the heir we couldn't find all those years ago."

"..."

Morgan once again stood still.

Her eyes became hollow, her blue gaze sinking into darkness.

"Ian, then why didn't you kill her when she was on the wall?!" she screamed.

"Yes, Princess, you're right."

Ian lowered his head, kneeling before Morgan.

"This is my fault."

"Please, punish me."

[You decide to take full responsibility, hoping that it might allow Morgan to vent her anger.]

[But she is not easily swayed by you.]

[She quickly realizes that something is wrong.]

"No, Ian."

Morgan's hand trembled.

"Merlin would never allow you to do this!"

"You cannot kill her."

Paper cannot hold fire forever.

"..."

Faced with Morgan's question, Ian could only remain silent.

But that was enough to answer everything.

"Why... why is this happening? Why? Why?!"

Morgan clutched her forehead, muttering that same line over and over.

The stubbornness in her soul made her dizzy.

She collapsed.

[Morgan fell ill once more.]

[As her nominal husband, you never leave her side, not even for a moment.]

[Every night, you hear her crying in the dead of night.]

[You feel as though your heart might shatter.]

[But you know that right now, all you can do is silently stay by her side.]

[Because you are her most loyal knight.]

[A knight harbors no resentment toward the princess.]

"Good night, Princess."

Ian tucked the blanket around Morgan and then lay down beside her.

This was the routine he had maintained these past days — as soon as Morgan needed anything, he would immediately respond.

However, it must be acknowledged that…

Ian felt himself growing weary.

His soul had always followed Morgan's wishes, like a journey with no end in sight.

Things could never return to what they once were.

But he had no regrets.

Ian's eyelids slowly began to close, signaling that he was about to fall asleep.

And at that moment—

"Ian."

Morgan's voice echoed through the darkness.

"I'm here, Princess."

"I want to hear you say that you love me."

After hearing his response, Morgan asked earnestly.

"I love you, Princess."

Ian replied without hesitation.

"Why aren't you even the slightest bit hesitant?"

"Because every second, every moment, I think about how to express my love for you, Princess."

"Ian, your answer makes your love sound cheap."

"You are right, those unnecessary things are always cheap."

"Can you stop answering so perfectly?"

"That's because your question is so good, Princess."

"..."

Morgan sat up and leaned against Ian's shoulder.

Her long silver hair cascaded down onto the muscular arm of the man beside her.

She draped her arm over his, then softly spoke.

"Ian, these past few days, you must be very tired, right?"

"Am I making you hurt?"

"Princess, I am indeed a bit tired."

Ian took Morgan's hand, trying to make it warmer.

"But I've never felt uncomfortable — your body is like a labyrinth that I haven't fully explored."

"You dare say that, don't you fear making me angry?"

"I do fear."

"But I can wait until you're no longer angry."

"What if I stay angry forever?"

"Then I will keep waiting."

Hearing this, Morgan pinched Ian's hand — a small act of anger she often displayed when she couldn't win against him.

But such a gesture didn't last long.

Morgan opened her mouth again.

"Ian, if I say..."

Before Morgan could finish, Ian immediately answered the next part.

"You want to say you haven't given up yet?"

"You understand well." Morgan turned her face away.

"I naturally understand."

"Because I don't want to give up either."

Ian's gaze revealed an unprecedented determination.

"I absolutely refuse to acknowledge any king but you."

"Especially a usurper who rose to the throne through such deceitful means."

"I will spread rumors around the city, stir up trouble, create chaos — I will do everything I can to stop her."

Morgan looked up at the man beside her.

"Ian, that sounds quite petty."

"Yes, indeed, it is very petty." Ian nodded. "That's why I will do it."

"Princess, you don't need to involve yourself in such petty matters."

"..."

A transparent tear rolled down the corner of Morgan's eye, then quickly vanished into the darkness.

She slowly pulled the blanket up, parting her legs slightly and then sitting on top of him.

She draped her arms around his neck and spoke softly:

"Ian, tonight be a good horse and rest."

"I am—"

"Suddenly wanting to try riding the horse myself."