My life sucks.
Seriously, it fucking sucks.
I thought having a face that practically matched the handsomeness of King Arthur from Fate/Prototype—except for my blue eyes—would make it easy to get girls. I mean, come on, just having a face like that should've been enough, right?
But reality decided to slap me in the face.
The moment I finally gathered the courage to confess to one of the most beautiful girls in my class, I got utterly, brutally, rejected. No hesitation. No sugarcoating. Just a straight-up no. Ever since that moment, my college life has been nothing but a downward spiral of frustration and disappointment. My confidence took a hit so bad that I started questioning my entire existence.
Was my face not handsome enough?
Did my so-called King Arthur-tier looks mean jack shit?
This was the question that haunted me for days, circling in my head like a goddamn vulture. And then, three days after my rejection, I saw something that made everything click into place.
That same girl—the one who so mercilessly shot me down—was laughing and chatting with the fat nerd from our class. And not just any fat nerd, but that fat nerd.
You see, this guy? His grandfather was basically the mayor of our city. He drove a flashy red sports car to college like he was some kind of rich young master straight out of a shitty Chinese novel. He was also famous for being a playboy despite his greasy hair, double chin, and thick-ass glasses that made him look like a bootleg otaku villain.
The moment I saw them together, everything just clicked.
It wasn't about me. It wasn't about my looks. It was never about my goddamn personality either. That girl? She was nothing but a gold-digging whore.
The realization hit me like a freight train.
I wasn't the problem. She was.
With that, my unhappiness evaporated, replaced by a twisted sense of relief. The illusion I had—the naive belief that love was about attraction or chemistry—was shattered beyond repair. The moment I understood that, I knew I'd never waste my time on girls like her ever again.
The class finally ended, and I was more than ready to get the hell out of there.
As I walked down the hallway, I reached into my bag, pulled out my Samsung Galaxy, and started scrolling through Webnovel.
And immediately, I let out a sigh.
Fanfiction these days was absolute dogshit.
Chinese translations. Stolen stories. The whole damn platform had turned into a wasteland.
Back in 2019, things were different. Sure, most of the stories had terrible grammar, cringe-worthy writing, and were prone to being dropped without warning. But despite all that, they had heart. They had originality.
Those stories didn't waste time with meaningless filler. They weren't masterpieces, but they were entertaining.
Now?
Now, all I saw were bloated chapters full of unnecessary shit.
The golden age of fanfiction was dead.
And nothing pissed me off more than seeing how nearly 99% of Fate fanfics—especially anything related to the Pendragons—were nothing but garbage Chinese stories.
It made my blood boil. I hated that shit with a passion.
So, I made a decision right then and there.
If Webnovel was going to be flooded with trash, then fuck it—I'd write my own fanfic. I'd flood the damn site with my stories instead. If nobody else was going to raise the quality, then I'd do it myself.
But first, I needed research.
I needed to dive deep into the Nasuverse, reread the original Pendragon stories, check out some decent fanfics, and even ask ChatGPT for information.
Before I knew it, I was completely sucked into Arthurian legends, drowning myself in lore, theories, and possibilities.
And as I read, a thought kept creeping into my mind.
What if I really was King Arthur?
What if... I had been born as the one true King of Britain?
When I finally snapped out of my delusion, a girl's voice rudely interrupted my thoughts.
"You… You… You are King Arthur!"
The moment I turned to see who was making such a fuss, my eyes landed on a nun, her face frozen in shock.
Her wide, disbelieving eyes were locked onto me as if she were witnessing something that should never have existed in this place.
I frowned slightly, staring at her in mild confusion.
Was this girl out of her damn mind? Calling me King Arthur out of nowhere—did she hit her head or something?
"Are you talking about me, girl?" I asked, jabbing a finger at my own chest before flashing her a teasing smirk. "And what about you, then? You look exactly like Francesca Prelati—the genderbent version of some shady magician dude from Fate/Strange Fake. Nice cosplay, I gotta say. Though, I was kinda hoping you'd be a femboy rather than a girl. That would've been more fun."
The nun—no, Francesca Prelati—blinked at me, her expression a mix of surprise and cautious curiosity.
"But, Your Majesty… I am a girl. And… how do you know my name?" she asked warily.
I scowled, my mood dampening in an instant. Dammit, she really wasn't a femboy. What a disappointment. But that wasn't even the biggest issue right now.
I finally took a proper look at my surroundings, and a cold sense of unease settled in my gut.
My scowl deepened as I scanned the place, my mind racing.
How the hell did I end up in this run-down church?
Why was this girl dressed like a nun while cosplaying as Francesca Prelati?
More importantly… when the fuck did night fall?
Had I really been so absorbed in reading e-books that I completely lost track of time and reality itself?
Something wasn't right.
I refocused on the nun, my voice firm as I asked, "Where am I?"
"You don't know?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, doubt flickering across her delicate features. "This is Camelot, Your Highness."
Camelot?
I let out a short, amused chuckle, unable to help myself.
Was this chick for real?
"So you're telling me I'm King Arthur, right? And since this is Camelot, that means this church belongs to me. Hell, every place in this kingdom should be mine, isn't that right?" I smirked, completely entertained by the sheer absurdity of this whole situation.
"That is correct, my king," she replied without hesitation, nodding as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
That made me stop.
The way she said it. That unwavering, absolute certainty in her tone—it sent an uncomfortable chill down my spine.
I stopped laughing.
Narrowing my eyes, I studied her face more carefully.
"If everything here belongs to me… then what about you?" I asked, my tone more challenging now.
Francesca didn't even hesitate.
"If that is what you wish," she murmured, her voice steady, her expression unreadable.
And then—to my absolute fucking shock—she started reaching for her robes, fingers moving to strip herself bare right then and there.
My body reacted before my mind could process the insanity unfolding before me. My hand shot out, gripping her wrist firmly just as she was about to pull off her clothes.
"Alright, that's enough, girl. Playtime's over." My voice was firm, no longer playing along with whatever weird-ass logic she was following. "I believe you, okay? You don't need to go that far. Save your chastity for your damn husband or something."
Francesca stared at me, clearly thrown off by my words. "But you said—"
I cut her off before she could finish, my gaze sharpening. "I don't know what kind of fucked-up logic you're working with, but let me make one thing clear. If you want something, you should truly want it—from your heart. Not just because someone told you to."
My grip on her wrist loosened slightly, but I didn't let go until I was sure she got the message.
For the first time since this ridiculous exchange started, her expression softened.
A genuine, almost wistful smile curved her lips as she looked at me in a way that made me uncomfortable for reasons I couldn't quite place.
"Now, I understand why so many people admire you, King Arthur," she murmured, voice gentle, almost affectionate. "You are… different from most knights and nobles."
I wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.
She took a step back, lowering her head in a deep, respectful bow. "For now, please allow me to take my leave. May you find happiness in the future."
And with that, she turned around and walked away, leaving me standing there, staring after her retreating form, lost in my own thoughts.
What the actual fuck had I just gotten myself into?
"I never would have thought I'd encounter such a surprise when I walked into this place," the voice echoed throughout the dilapidated church.
It was filled with amusement, as if the speaker was entertained by the scene before him. Yet, despite the voice's presence, I couldn't see anyone around.
The eerie emptiness of the space made me hyper-alert, fearing the voice belonged to a robber lying in ambush, waiting to pounce.
"Who are you? Show yourself!" I demanded, scanning the area for any signs of movement.
Suddenly, a flower bloomed right in front of me, and there, standing before me, was the owner of the voice.
"You... You... You're Dick Merlin!" I stammered in shock, recognizing the infamous figure. Merlin's expression immediately darkened.
"What?! Shouldn't you be praising me as the great Sage Merlin?" he retorted, clearly annoyed by my choice of words.
"Ahem... Forget about that," he waved his hand dismissively. "We don't have time for trivialities. I met you here because I want you to meet someone. Now, tell me, lad, do you wish to become king?"
"Nah," I shrugged.
"There are far better kings out there already, right, Merlin? Why would you want to pick me when you've got Artoria?" I refused outright. I had no interest in taking her place or even thinking about replacing her.
Merlin's eyes narrowed, clearly intrigued.
"How do you even know about Artoria?" he asked. But then, with a dismissive shake of his head, he muttered, "No matter. I don't have time for that question right now. Let's go meet her first. Once you see her, you can decide whether you accept or refuse my offer. Shall we go now?"
He extended his hand toward me. I hesitated, eyeing him cautiously, but eventually, I nodded. With a deep breath, I reached out and took his hand. As soon as I did, flowers bloomed around us, and we were teleported away in a flurry of petals.
When we arrived at our destination, I was stunned by the sight that awaited me. Artoria lay before me, her face pale and sickly, her body clearly in a weakened state, as if gravely injured.
Shouldn't she have Avalon?
I thought, my mind racing.
I remember she chose Excalibur over Avalon, but before the Battle of Camlann, it was suggested she already had Avalon.
So if that's true, why is she like this?
And if Avalon really exist, how was she so easily drugged by Morgan in the canon, leading to her being raped by Morgan and giving birth to Mordred?
None of it made sense.
This situation was confusing as hell.
"As you can see, lad, the king is in a dire state—grievously wounded and unfit to rule in her current condition," Merlin said, his hand resting heavily on my shoulder.
His sudden touch startled me, breaking my thoughts, and I found myself growing more irritated.
"Did you make this decision on your own? Or was it Artoria's?" I asked, not trusting Merlin's intentions.
"And honestly, I find it hard to believe that someone like you, with all your power, can't heal the king," I added with a roll of my eyes, refusing to swallow his bullshit.
"Things would be much simpler if that were the case," Merlin sighed, looking wearier than ever.
"You may not realize it, lad, but this world has a will of its own, and that will certainly doesn't favor the divergence we've created. As long as Artoria returns to her throne, she will no longer only face Britannia, but the entire world. That's why we need someone the world's will perceives as harmless and non-threatening. That someone, I've determined, is you. You appear to be just an ordinary human, and they will surely not take you seriously."
"Don't force him, Merlin. If he doesn't want this, we shouldn't push him," Artoria spoke softly, sitting down at the edge of her chamber with great difficulty, her body wracked by violent coughs.
"I can handle this myself," she insisted.
"You're as stubborn as ever, Artoria, but I won't heal you. Let's see how you make it back to your throne on your own," Merlin refused without a moment's hesitation, then added, "Hate me if you want, but I refuse to watch you die because you're too prideful to admit defeat, or because you believe you can defeat Alaya and Gaia on your own."
I stood by silently, watching the two of them exchange cold glances, neither willing to back down.
Finally, Artoria sighed, a reluctant compromise in her eyes, as she turned her attention toward me.
"Your name?" she asked.
"Khan," I introduced myself.
"I apologize for putting you in this position, Khan," she said, bowing slightly. "Merlin, please, let's not involve an outsider or endanger his life."
Just as Merlin was about to explain further, I interrupted with a firm tone.
"I'm fine with it. I'm willing to become king."
"Are you certain, Khan?" Artoria asked, her voice tinged with hesitation.
"I am."
"Let me help you, Artoria. Like Merlin, I don't want your legend to end here. I want to witness this beautiful era until its very end. I want to be part of it. I want to see your journey to the end, Merlin's as well, and that of everyone in the Knights of the Round Table, even Morgan le Fay. I don't want to merely read about them in books—I want to be one of them. Please, grant me this opportunity, King of Knights," I bowed deeply, my tone full of earnestness.
Artoria's gaze softened, and she nodded.
"Take this, Khan. With this sword, you will become King Arthur," Artoria said as she handed me her Caliburn.
My hands trembled as I took hold of it.
But then, my grip became steadier, and I declared, "I will conquer Britannia for you, Artoria. This is my promise as King Arthur."
Kneeling before her, I made my vow with the gesture of a knight sworn to his liege.
"There's no need to be so serious, Khan. All I ask is that you protect Camelot," Artoria blushed, her face flushing red at my determination.
Even in the canon of her story, she had never harbored ambitions to unite or conquer Britannia—only to protect it.
"I will," I vowed once more.
Her expression softened further, and with a grateful nod, she said.
"Thank you, Khan."