King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

Under the bright moonlight, Merlin leaned against the railing atop Camelot's highest watchtower, his expression rare with peace and quiet.

As the dreamy and elegant Flower Magician, he often found himself in poetic scenes like this.

But that was exactly what made this moment so rare.

No matter how luminous the moon, how infinite the stars—once you've glimpsed the truth behind the curtain, such beauty loses its charm. To a magician who sees the world as systems of cause and effect, night skies are just predictable refractions of cosmic inertia. Appearances, nothing more.

But tonight—

"…It's getting interesting. More and more interesting."

Merlin chuckled softly.

His gaze wasn't fixed on the heavens, but on the delicate web of the now—the unseen forces threading through time, fate, and distortion.

"You really are the worst. No wonder our king can't stand you. You deserve it, Merlin."

A new voice shattered the calm.

Merlin didn't even flinch.

"Oh? And you're qualified to criticize me?" he replied, smirking. "You're just my leftover parts. Don't think being a different gender makes you a different person. Your bad taste is my bad taste. And if our king hates me, do you think he likes you any better?"

That was the one thing he refused to accept.

After all, Merlin and Merry were essentially the same—split from a single original, identical in memory, logic, and mischief. But for some absurd metaphysical reason—maybe sexual polarity or maybe just karma—they despised each other on sight.

Absolutely irreconcilable.

They had tried to kill each other more than once.

Unsuccessfully, of course.

"Hmph! Says the knockoff. I am the beautiful elder sister. I am closer to our king," Merry snapped back smugly. "Isn't that right, Cath Palug?"

"Fu~" The creature lazily waved its tail nearby.

Merlin's eye twitched.

He refused to argue with a dream beast. "If you've been kicked out of our king's bedroom again, must you haunt me?"

"Excuse you! My king finally decided to get some sleep, and as a considerate big sister, I respectfully let him rest~☆!"

She puffed up with self-importance.

In truth?

Arthur had personally kicked her out to avoid any unpredictable nighttime chaos.

Still, she wasn't lying.

She had let him sleep—just not voluntarily.

Ah, the art of rhetoric. There's always a way to twist the truth into something flattering.

Yes, Merry is very considerate.

Yes, Merry is not hated at all!

"I'm not going to dignify that shamelessness with a reply," Merlin muttered.

"Coward!" Merry huffed.

"Oh? Want to continue?"

"Disgusting man."

"Repulsive woman."

And so their daily bickering resumed, full of the usual petulance and flamboyance. After years of this cycle, even insults felt stale. What they really wanted wasn't argument—it was ammunition. A real weakness they could use to annihilate each other in one go.

Unfortunately, neither had found it yet.

After a brief silence, Merlin was the one to shift the topic.

"…Is our king still brooding about the restraints?"

His tone was casual, even amused.

"He really overreacted to the 'crisis' we saw in the future. Restraint sounds ominous, sure—but it's not nearly as serious as he thinks."

"Oh my, we finally agree on something." Merry's smile was genuinely sweet. "Isn't he adorable? The way he's trying so hard to counter a danger that barely exists?"

Now, to the average mage, the arrival of the two major restraining forces—Gaia and Alaya—would be a death sentence.

But were they really Arthur's enemies?

The restraining forces were, after all, automatic planetary defense systems. Alaya safeguarded human civilization; Gaia, the planet itself. Their function wasn't to attack for revenge—it was to correct errors.

And right now, Arthur's Britain was one massive deviation.

But… was it truly dangerous?

Not necessarily.

Distortion of history leads to two potential outcomes:

First: The Singularity.

A disruption in a key historical node. A break in the timeline caused by interference or some anomaly.

In most cases, this is correctable.

Not catastrophic.

And in Arthur's case, the world wasn't a deviation from history—it was history. It's unfolding now. Until it collapses completely, it's valid.

So long as a path to the future remains possible—even if improbable—Gaia and Alaya won't destroy it.

They'll test it, resist it, pressure it.

But not erase it.

Second: The Lostbelt.

Worlds where humanity took the wrong turn—where development halted or twisted into something unrecognizable.

Dead ends.

Discarded histories.

But even those aren't annihilated right away. They're simply ignored.

So what is Arthur doing?

He's extending the twilight of the Age of Gods.

Even reversing the course of human civilization—replacing modernity with the divine.

That's enough to trigger alarms.

It's enough to summon Servants to challenge him.

But not to destroy Britain.

This is not extermination—it's a test.

If Arthur's path proves sustainable, if he wins against the odds, then this timeline might not be a Lostbelt… or even a singularity.

It could become a new branch of pan-human history.

Or perhaps something even more radical:

A parallel world protected by its own future.

A timeline too stubborn to die.

"'Ignored' doesn't mean doomed," Merlin explained. "It means freedom. If the planet gives up on us, then we owe it nothing. And our king can find another world—another star—to carry his kingdom forward."

"With Arthur's vision? That's entirely possible," Merry said. "The only real threat is the Lord God. But unless He descends in person, He's just a Holy Grail."

"And a Holy Grail is easy," Merlin said with a smile. "Not even a challenge."

"…But."

"Yes. But—watching our brilliant king struggle with fear and overthink solutions that already exist? It's just too delicious."

"He once said that war was the best catalyst for innovation. That pressure creates progress. And look at him now—turning anxiety into action."

Merry spread her arms theatrically.

"I, Merry, Flower Magician of the Age of Dreams, will witness the moment our king surpasses the stars."

"And I," said Merlin, smiling coldly, "will record it."

The two mirages of humanity, embodiments of whimsy and cruelty, shared a moment of perfect mutual understanding.

They grinned.

Then, a second later—

Boom.

They launched into combat again.

Because one Flower Magician is already too much.

And two?

Two is a catastrophe.

-End Chapter-

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