Chapter 15: One Thousand Five Hundred Years of Waiting
At the moment he was struck down by the Knight of the Lake, Bedivere struggled to stand, but ultimately could not resist the encroaching sense of unconsciousness, and he finally fainted.
His body felt as if it were sinking into the deep sea, and scenes from the past appeared before his eyes.
—Just how long ago did that happen?
Although he had already experienced so much and forgotten many things, among those numerous events of the past, the one that could still remain in his heart was precisely this memory.
This fragment of recollection was more precious than anything else.
That day, the King appeared beside Bedivere, who was standing in a watchtower gazing at the sunset. Without even bringing the accompanying guards, the King came strolling along, all alone.
"Ah, even though we finally managed to drive out the northern barbarians, only bad news has followed one after another, Bedivere."
That's right—having become King at such an age, leading the foreign tribes while being British himself, crusading against the Vile King Vortigern who had turned the land into a wasteland, purging the lords who were often involved in civil strife, blocking the invasion of the northern Picts, completely repelling the foreigners who flowed in from the continent like an endless sea of clouds, and restoring 'Londinium,' the largest city on the island of Britain, into the prosperous city of Camelot—the King of the Knights.
This was Arthur, the King whom all knights worshipped.
"As long as the King remains, Britain will not perish, and suffering will not spread," Bedivere had replied.
However, the King only answered calmly.
"That is not the case. The land is still in ruins; the only fertile places are Camelot and some surrounding areas. Although people who have lost their villages will be sheltered by Camelot, for them, that cannot be considered a life worth living. There is no future in simply being sheltered by others; only by tilling the earth with one's own hands is the best way to survive."
Unlike the Knights of the Round Table, who seemed elated due to the continuous days of victory and glory, the King's face rarely showed a joyful smile, and rarely had an expression of sorrow. The King only calmly examined the people and contemplated the future of Britain.
Bedivere remembered that Kay once said that when the King was traveling across Britain hiding his identity, he often smiled.
Yet, upon pulling that sword and becoming King, it was as if those emotions had been suppressed; the King would often furrow his brows and frown, preoccupied with the affairs of the kingdom.
Recalling it now, it seems it was influenced by the homesickness that surged at dusk; at the time, Bedivere had asked the King an improper question.
It was a doubt and anxiety he had harbored ever since he was permitted to sit at the Round Table.
"King... why did you choose a knight like me, who has no merits, to be a Knight of the Round Table?"
However, upon hearing this, the King said with some anger: "You say you are unsuitable for this position because you cannot compare to the other knights? Fool, that applies to me as well. Whether it is physique, which I cannot match all of you in, or swordsmanship, there are several who are superior to me. Bonds between people cannot be calculated simply by strength, enemy or friend, good or evil, gain or loss—just as these are all different things, the Knights of the Round Table also each have their own work."
Hearing the King's words, Bedivere couldn't help but mutter to himself.
"Enemy and friend, good and evil... are they not friend equals good, and enemy equals evil?"
However, the King only shook his head lightly.
"As long as there are humans, there will be disputes. That has nothing to do with whether they are enemies or friends; it is influenced by gain and loss. We are now living in such an extreme era, an era of biting winter, where one side cannot survive unless the other perishes. In such an era, I never once thought about forming the Round Table simply to be strong. That would lead to evil; we did not gather together to defeat enemies. We hold our swords for the future of our compatriots; therefore, division of labor is necessary, Bedivere."
Saying this, the King smiled: "This is a place where the dreams of countless people are realized. Someday, humanity will be able to achieve such an ideal land with their own hands. Camelot was born under such a prayer; that is why a knight like you is necessary. Unlike Sir Gawain and myself, who cannot blend into people's lives, you are a knight who feels people's thoughts with a delicate heart."
"King..." Bedivere couldn't help but have tears in his eyes.
In the sunset, the King's golden hair fluttered in the wind, and at that moment, Bedivere realized that he had finally felt the truth of the King.
The knights had been worried because they hadn't seen the King's smile for a long time, but Bedivere understood everything now.
The King would not smile for his own sake; he would only show a peaceful smile when he saw the happiness of others.
—Precisely because of that, I feel the sin is so heavy.
On the edge of Avalon, holding that Holy Sword, the knight's body turned to stone over the long passage of hundreds of years.
Although alive, he could not move; his body was dilapidated, his soul was but burnt-out dross, resembling a statue.
However, surprisingly, his spirit had not yet been exhausted. Relying on an astonishing obsession, he could not yet permit his own death.
When Merlin discovered the statue that Bedivere had become, he felt astonished.
"You are the one who appeared in Avalon due to the Singularity, from the end of another world—perhaps another possibility that could have happened—the nostalgic Sir Bedivere."
Merlin awakened Bedivere, who had come to Avalon, informed him of the formation of the Singularity, and asked him if he wanted to atone for his sins, and whether he would inherit the mission of returning the Holy Sword.
Living for 1,500 years in a human body relying on the protection of the Holy Sword—what kind of death awaited him after returning the sword was something even Merlin could not imagine.
Yet, the knight propped up his broken knees and extended an arm as withered as a tree branch toward the magician, calmly replying: "Of course. That is exactly why I arrived here."
Merlin used illusions to disguise Bedivere's magic circuits, making him look like a true Servant.
He also reforged the unreturned Holy Sword into a replica, the "Silver Arm," based on the concept of the artificial arm of the Celtic war god Nuada.
This was both a disguise to hide the Holy Sword and a powerful force that would allow Bedivere to contend with the Lion King's Round Table.
At the same time, it would also scrape away his last remaining life. The price of using the Holy Sword with a mortal human body was the excruciating pain accompanied by the burning of the soul; this was his final farewell.
Opening his eyes once more, before him was the barren, desolate land.
Taking a step onto the land of flying sand, the knight's silver hair swayed in the wind.
"This time, I must—by my own hand—kill my King."
With such resolve, Bedivere hadn't taken more than a few steps before he unluckily encountered Lancelot, the "Knight of the Lake," who possessed the greatest swordsmanship in the Knights of the Round Table.
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