King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

The Saxons were poor.

Truly, desperately poor.

As outsiders, when they first landed on the British Isles, they had nothing—no land, no resources, no allies. They had to carve out a kingdom with their bare hands just to survive. But planting crops and settling down? Forget it. The northern lands of Britain were too harsh. Even with their best efforts, next year's harvest would still be meager.

Feeding the entire tribe through farming or hunting alone was a pipe dream.

So they started from scratch, turning their eyes toward the easiest target—the British.

And the truth was, when you're pushed into a corner with no other options, those desperate, forced decisions... sometimes turn out to be the right ones.

Because the British were easy to rob.

All you had to do was wait for them to have a good harvest. Then, gather your friends and pay them a "friendly" visit. Nine times out of ten, you could gather enough supplies to last the winter.

But everything changed when King Arthur rose to power.

The scattered, poorly defended villages vanished. Even noble-run towns were gradually abandoned. In their place rose fortified strongholds, surrounded by towering walls of stone.

The British no longer wandered freely outside. The massive swaths of land sealed off by their new defenses were outright insane—covering nearly half the kingdom's former territory.

It was ridiculous.

To survive, the Saxons were forced into a new way of life: trade.

Yes, the Saxons had no food. But the British had plenty.

So, these former invaders, these so-called conquerors, found themselves dependent on the very nation they sought to subdue.

Without Red Dragon Coins, they had to resort to barter—exchanging armor, weapons, and raw ore for food. But even that wasn't enough. Britain imposed strict yearly quotas on trade.

Those quotas forced the Saxons to send only a fraction of their people to battle each year, using war as a way to reduce internal consumption. They even offered slaves to Britain—only strengthening the very enemy they fought.

This way, they could never win.

But they had to fight anyway.

The more they fought, the more outdated their gear became. The poorer they grew. The hungrier they got. And the hungrier they got, the more they fought.

It was the perfect vicious cycle.

By now, Saxon warriors hardly had proper weapons. Iron-forged arms were a luxury. Most had downgraded to makeshift tools or stone weapons.

To the British, the Saxons weren't even a threat anymore. They were barbarians, barely better than beasts.

And yet, the only hope the Saxons clung to… was war.

Yes, you read that right. They wanted to be sent to the battlefield.

Why?

Because becoming a prisoner of Britain—a slave—was their only shot at a decent life.

British slaves were treated well. So long as they worked hard, they could fill their bellies. Some even earned citizenship. A future. Dignity.

Thinking of that, Lamorak couldn't help but curl his lip in contempt.

"My king, I trust your judgment. But you know the state of the Saxons as well as I do. They can't afford a long campaign. That would be suicide."

"True," Arthur nodded. "But don't underestimate the Humble King."

"The Humble King…"

At the mention of Vortigern, Lamorak's expression darkened.

Vortigern's strength was beyond question. He was a true dragon. Sure, the idea of a warrior slaying a dragon was a romantic notion celebrated in epic poems worldwide—but no epic would save you from reality.

And in reality, no single knight of the Round Table could hope to slay the white dragon King Arthur had seen with his own eyes.

If Vortigern entered the battlefield himself, everything could change in an instant.

One decisive win, and the Saxons could bounce back to become a real threat once more.

That was something they could never allow.

Arthur had spent years suppressing the Saxons through economic pressure. To see all of that undone by a single misstep—it would be infuriating for any loyal knight.

"Rest assured, Your Majesty. If the Humble King appears on the battlefield, even if we all die, we won't let the Saxons gain anything!" Lamorak said firmly.

But Arthur shook his head.

"That's not what I mean. Yes, the Humble King will definitely step onto the battlefield—and I hope he does. What I mean is, don't underestimate a Saxon army under Vortigern's command. An army with a master is a completely different beast from one without."

"Saxons…?"

"You think Vortigern's influence has faded these past few years because of my policies?" Arthur chuckled softly. "You underestimate him."

"...That—"

Lamorak paused, because that was what he'd thought.

Without food or weapons, dependent on British trade for survival—how could the Saxons still revere Vortigern? Pure brute force? Rule by fear? That only breeds rebellion. And Vortigern… was British by blood.

"In any system," Arthur said, "what makes a ruler truly respected is their ability to distribute benefits. The hearts of the people follow those who reward clearly and punish justly—not those who act on whim. Vortigern excels at this. He governs the Saxons not with fear, but by controlling the flow of resources."

Arthur's tone carried a faint note of regret. He genuinely admired Vortigern's skill as a ruler.

Yes, Vortigern was a king. A legitimate one, ruling with logic and efficiency. But his ideals had turned him into a weapon.

"In the end," Arthur continued, "the food Britain gives to the Saxons through trade—how that food is distributed is entirely Vortigern's call. With just a few small tricks, he can easily silence any dissent."

"But even so," Lamorak pressed, "he can't change the fact that the Saxons are weak."

He wasn't as strong as the top knights, but Lamorak was no ordinary man. The thought of losing to those ragged Saxon warriors felt laughable.

"My king, you needn't worry. I'll hold this city. No matter the enemy."

"I'm afraid… you won't be able to," Arthur replied, gaze steady. "You've heard the saying: 'Only when faced with death can one find the will to live.' Vortigern has already begun enforcing martial tyranny. The Saxons are being forced to the front lines. If they retreat, they die. If they advance, they die. There is no way out."

Arthur's voice lowered.

"He leaves them with only one choice: fight to the death. And because he's cruel, but never unjust, they obey."

"My king—"

"Enough. I'm not asking you to fear them. I'm telling you to stay sharp. At this point, it wouldn't be surprising if Vortigern appeared in person. And if that happens…"

Arthur leaned forward, voice firm.

"Follow the strategy I gave you."

-End Chapter-

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