A Villainess pulled out the Sword instead of the Hero.

 “Wa— wait!” 

She turned to follow, but Raon blocked her path, tilting his head awkwardly.

 

Covering his mouth with one hand, he spoke carefully, as if the invisible Arthur could hear him.

 “He’s the most popular boy in our mercenary group. He’s a good swordsman and a good fighter, so he gets paid a lot of money for his services in the monster extermination squads.” “Ah… Can’t I pay him as much as the Monsters Extermination Corps?” “He’s not interested in escorting or anything. Even if we’re a mercenary group, we can’t force someone who doesn’t want to go with us, and you wouldn’t like it either, right?” 

Even as he said it, though, she smirked a little.

 

Staring at the stairs where Arthur had disappeared, Morgana couldn’t help but nod.

 “So we just have to make him want to do it?” “Not quite… exactly. Lady, it’s not that easy…” “Mister Raon, you said?” 

Morgana squinted at him, clasping her hands together. Turning to him, she nodded grimly, as if telling herself.

 “I’ll be right back, just be patient.” “Oh, my dear. This is hard.” “No, it’s not, but in the meantime, just look for a maid, and I’ll be back, I promise!” 

Morgana told him to call her before she left the tavern. Indeed, if she wanted to blackmail him, she could.

 

Just mention the word

‘Pendragons’,

and I’m sure he’d be instantly triggered…

 

But instead of Excalibur, Arthur’s ordinary sword would decapitate her.

 

He was the last of the bloodline of the Pendragon family, which disappeared from Britain during the revolt.

 

His father was the Duke of Pendragon.

 

Vortigern, then king of Britain, was in the process of expanding his kingdom.

 

Frustrated by the crumbling walls, he dreamed that two dragons, one black and one red, were fighting each other, destroying the royal palace of Britain and eventually trampling King Vortigern to death.

 

After being plagued by nightmares for days, he told the story to the temple.

 

Merlin, the high priest who heard him, interpreted it to mean that the black dragon was the symbol of Avalon, and the red dragon was Pendragon.

 

This made sense, since the Pendragons’ seal was a red dragon, and their family name implied that they were the lords of dragons.

 

Morgana was simply caught between two huge groups, but King Vortigern felt differently.

 

Every day, assassins from Avalon and other smaller nations targeted the royal family.

 

They risked their lives in the name of protecting his country, and cursed him with each death sentence.

 

He believed that the Avalonians and the Pendragons would threaten his kingship, so he targeted Arthur’s family first, as they were the easiest.

 

‘They say you can’t dust a man without getting dirt on you…’

 

For no reason. They were literally the specimens of what would come out.

 

Hearing that was very strange. Why did the family have to be doomed like that, when it was just a dream?

 

‘Come to think of it, the interpretation didn’t say anything about killing the King.’

 

The oracle was still powerful across the continent.

 

Merlin, the High Priest who carried it, was unrivaled. Indeed, all of Merlin’s oracles had become true.

 

King Vortigern may have been exaggerating, but history was written by the victor, after all.

 

The Pendragon family, which was named Merlin’s Interpretation of Dreams and disappeared under false pretenses, was still a rebellious family in Britain.

 

So Arthur took his chances, pretending to be a commoner with a sword and a bit of skill with the name Arthur, until he drew Excalibur.

 

‘Mentioning the Pendragon family at a time like this is more likely to provoke a backlash.’

 

Some might think I was blackmailing him.

 

It wasn’t easy for Morgana to convince the sensitive knight, who asked how she knew.

 

‘A confrontation wasn’t a good idea when I’m trying to win his favor.’

 

As Morgana walked through the market, she tried to recall the original story.

 

‘There must be something Arthur needs…’

she thought.

 

I couldn’t go up to him and ask him what he likes to eat.

 

There was no point in giving him a bouquet of flowers if he thought I liked him.

 

‘I don’t want to be thought of as a stalker when I run into him as Guinevere’s maid…’

 

Fighting wasn’t Morgana’s cup of tea.

 

Worse, she might lose Guinevere’s trust.

 

Thinking of Guinevere, Morgana recalled an incident in the original Arthurian legend in which Arthur behaved differently.

 

He attends a nobleman’s wedding and sees an ornament there.

 

‘A dagger, I think it was a dagger.’

 

The description was strange.  It’s old, but it looks valuable, and it’s got some jewelry on it.

 

It appears to be of little use as a dagger, but the markings of a deceased craftsman make it quite expensive.

 

I remember a nobleman bragging about winning a bid at an auction one day, and I remember his words as bad luck.

 

This happened to coincide with the present.

 

After Arthur saw the dagger, he realized that there was no tree he wouldn’t cut through a hundred times.

 

Eventually, he went to Guinevere, and the nobleman gave him the dagger.

 

‘They never depicted him using it in the original story.’

 

Anyway, it was one of the things he really wanted. Arthur had never coveted anything so much before or since.

 

‘So, where is that dagger now?’

 

The exact words of the extra’s line were lost to memory. Even its appearance was unclear from the written description.

 

The only hint was the auction house.

 

‘Let’s find it!’

 

The famous craftsman made the dagger, so the arms dealer would know its whereabouts.

 

Morgana immediately bought a piece of paper and tried to recreate the original description.

 

From memory, I tried to recreate the description as it was written.

 “Done!” 

Morgana proudly held up the paper. The dagger was complete, with a curving, wavy blade and a large ruby in the center.

 

Well, it looks a bit like a dragon lolling its tongue, but it’s a pretty good description.

 

Morgana wandered around the weapons shop, remembering her time in Britain.

 “Excuse me, have you ever seen a dagger that looks like this before?” “Is this… a knife?” “Excuse me, do you know of any daggers that look like this?” “There’s an old man in the market who sells snakes, and it looks like yours.” 

But eighty percent of them didn’t recognize it.

 

Morgana couldn’t help but sob as she continued to be rejected.

 

‘If only I could draw better, or if only I had a better memory, or if only I could remember the extra’s line about tossing up…’

 

After wandering around for a while, I walked into an all-too-familiar weapons shop, only to be greeted by an even more familiar-looking man, whose eyes widened in surprise.

 “Mo, Mo, Morgana!” 

He must have known Morgana from her days in Britain.

 

As soon as he saw Morgana’s face, he began clearing the weapons off the shelves at breakneck speed.

 

When he was standing in front of a rack of weapons on the wall, he shouted.

 “I told you I haven’t seen you lately, and now you’re trying to threaten me again! Not this time! I’m not giving it to you!” 

Yikes. I knew from my time in Britain that Morgana wasn’t the gentlest of characters, but I never thought he’d freak out like that.

 

As I recall, Morgana had once threatened him with a scythe to buy an apparatus to measure herbs.

 

Wanting to get this over with, I held out a piece of paper with a dagger drawn on it.

 “I’ve had some business since my mother died, and if you’re not too busy, have you ever seen this dagger?” 

His eyes scanned Morgana’s hands.

 

Only when he was satisfied that there was no weapon of any kind did he creep closer, snatching the paper with a snap, and move away again.

 “Why are you so rough around the edges?” “It’s time to grow up.” “Your mother was worried about you, but I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” 

He stared nervously at the drawing.

 “You still have no talent for drawing.” 

As he turned the sketch in all directions, checking it over.

 

With a click, the door to the weapons shop opened, and a man came through.

 “Father, I went in, and they said they’re out of liquid… Morgana?” 

The common-looking man called my name in surprise. Soon, he came stomping over, his face lighting up with delight.

 “Are you really Morgana? Where have you been?” 

It wasn’t hard for Morgana to remember the familiarity of the man’s gaze.

 

It’s just that every time she sees him, it’s the guy who’s been kicked, punched, and sprayed with the scent of herbs that bees love so much that he’s been chased by bees all day.

 

‘He had a name…’

 

Morgana pulled out a familiar name.

 “Bastard…?”