King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

A few days passed.

After the defense of the city, the army of thirty thousand under Lamorak's command had lost nearly six thousand men.

The remaining twenty-four thousand were relocated to a nearby newly constructed city—one that might soon face another Saxon assault.

As for Lamorak himself, he returned to Camelot with only a few personal guards.

Now, standing once again in the resplendent hall of the royal palace, Lamorak faced the king on his throne—Arthur, who was issuing orders with calm precision. Unable to meet his sovereign's eyes, Lamorak lowered his head in shame.

I must have thoroughly disappointed my king…

"Sir Lamorak."

Arthur's voice was heavy, filled with a mix of sorrow and barely restrained fury.

What Lamorak didn't know was that, behind that gaze, Arthur's feelings were far more complicated than simple anger.

"I originally intended to offer you a seat at the Round Table after the matter with Vortigern was resolved," Arthur said coldly. "But now… do you think you still deserve that honor?"

The entire hall fell silent.

Arthur's words struck like thunder.

In truth, after Gareth's birth, Arthur had believed that the six existing seats of the Round Table would be final—no new knights would join. But Lamorak had distinguished himself in recent years. In character, in martial skill, in wisdom—he had come close to the ideal image of both knight and statesman.

More importantly, he had passed Arthur's most stringent test of loyalty.

While Gawain and Lancelot were unwaveringly loyal to Arthur as a man, Lamorak resembled Agravain in a different sense—his loyalty was to the British dynasty. For the sake of national order and the people's peace, he would willingly sacrifice fame, power, even his life.

Such loyalty, though more utilitarian, was no less valuable to a ruler.

Arthur had seriously considered breaking his vow and allowing a seventh seat at the Round Table.

But now—

"You were ordered to retreat immediately upon detecting any signs of abnormality among the Saxon soldiers, then burn the city. For Britain, the lives of its soldiers are paramount. Yet your arrogance robbed six thousand men of their chance to return home. Their bodies weren't even recovered. Tell me—how will you face their families?"

Lamorak bowed even lower, shame twisting in his chest.

Had I followed that order… Had I simply done as instructed…

The civilians had been evacuated. The city itself held no strategic value. The plan had been clear: retreat, leave behind false equipment to lure the enemy into complacency, and then destroy the city—eliminating the Saxon army without a single British casualty.

It had been a straightforward mission.

And yet, because of his own hubris, Lamorak had failed to execute it.

How could the king not be angry?

Still, Arthur's thoughts were calmer than Lamorak imagined.

Holding overwhelming power often leads to complacency. It was only a matter of time before such mistakes began to surface. If not Lamorak, it would have been another commander eventually.

But Arthur had not expected Lamorak to be the first.

Even so, because the proper precautions had been in place, they had ultimately wiped out the Saxon army. The damage had been mitigated. But six thousand British soldiers were dead—and that loss would become a lasting lesson for the others.

And for Lamorak himself, it would be a scar that might never fade.

"Why do you say nothing?" Arthur's voice rose. "Do you have no words? No excuses, no confessions? Are the souls of six thousand men not enough to stir your heart? Or do you intend for me to shoulder the blame for your failure?!"

The sharpness of his voice echoed through the hall.

A full six thousand soldiers. Gone.

How could a king not grieve?

"No!" Lamorak suddenly cried, stepping forward and falling to one knee, his voice choked. "It is not like that—never like that! All blame lies with me! Because I was too eager, too concerned with personal glory, I made a foolish decision and invited disaster! I beg… I beg for punishment!"

His voice shook with raw guilt.

The guards who had returned with him looked on silently. Though some pitied him, none stepped forward.

After all, everyone bore their own burdens. Everyone had reasons for ambition, grievances they could not voice.

Sympathy was not a luxury they could afford.

Still, among them, one knight stepped out.

"My king," the guard said solemnly. "Please punish me as well. I am Sir Lamorak's personal guard. It is not only my duty to protect his life—but also to keep him from losing his way. I failed in both."

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"…The law is the law," he replied. "Punishment is based on deeds, not on sentiment. It is not yours to demand."

He turned back to Lamorak.

"Three years ago, I gave you the Holy Shield—the first A-rank shield forged in Britain, based on my own Shield of Radiance. I gave it to you to protect the realm. One year ago, I gave you the Holy Sword, because I believed you carried the same burden as the Knights of the Round Table, and would wield it with courage.

"But you remembered only how to kill the enemy—and forgot what matters more: protection."

Arthur's voice was cold. Final.

"So now, I take back the Holy Sword. Do you have any objections?"

"…None," Lamorak said quietly. "It is as my king wills."

"In that case—"

Arthur's voice rang out.

"From this moment on, Sir Lamorak is stripped of all rank and honor. The Holy Sword shall be reclaimed. If you still wish to serve Britain—then report to Sir Kay. From now on, you are an ordinary member of the Royal Guards."

The decision was made.

Lamorak was removed from the battlefield.

And to be honest—Britain, as it stood today, did not need him.

But in this new age, such a punishment was already harsh.

Once, before the rise of the British Dynasty, the loss of six thousand troops might have been negligible—barely a blemish on a veteran's career. But now, the standards were higher. Public accountability mattered.

This was no longer the Britain of warlords and wandering kings.

This was Camelot.

Arthur had made an example of Lamorak—not out of cruelty, but to warn others.

Lamorak accepted his fate in silence.

Head bowed, shoulders heavy, he left the royal hall. Not a single word of protest passed his lips.

Only when he was gone did the coldness fade from Arthur's face—replaced by deep sorrow.

A kind-hearted army cannot be led. As a king, I must act with ruthless reason. But as a human being… it still hurts.

"…And this is only the beginning."

More losses would come. More mistakes. More deaths.

The only way to prevent tragedy was to eliminate its cause before it took root.

The Sword Emperor. Rome. The False King. The Saxons.

All must die.

And even now—new upheavals were rising on the northern front.

-End Chapter-

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