Khan's POV
"You don't need to go to such lengths, Prelati. I can bathe myself. Besides, isn't there a bathroom in this place?" I asked, my voice tinged with embarrassment as my upper body—still exposed—was gently wiped down by the nun before me.
She squeezed the towel to wring out the water before dipping it back in, then slowly, deliberately, wiped my skin again with soft, careful strokes.
"We cannot afford such luxuries, Your Highness," Francesca Prelati sighed, replacing the damp towel with a fresh one and continuing to wipe away the remaining moisture from my skin.
Once satisfied, she began helping me dress.
I stood as she assisted me into my modern attire.
The ensemble was a formal white suit adorned with striking blue and gold accents. The outer coat featured a long tailcoat design, with the inside lined in a distinctive blue checkerboard pattern. Gold and black trimmings framed the edges, providing an elegant contrast. The inner vest, also white, was fastened with blue buttons and had a sharp, formal appearance.
The trousers were tailored to match the pristine white of the suit and fitted neatly. Beneath the vest, I wore a blue and white striped shirt, adding a layer of stylish refinement to the overall look. A deep blue necktie, adorned with a small gold cross-like accessory, completed the attire. The cuffs of the suit bore intricate blue and gold detailing, consistent with the accents throughout the outfit. Even the pockets of the jacket were lined with blue trim.
With the sword Caliburn now firmly in my grip, I finally looked the like a proper king.
I couldn't help but notice the envious glint in Francesca Prelati's eyes as she observed me. Her simple attire, by contrast, lacked the grandeur and luxury of mine.
Noticing this, I gently patted her on the shoulder and spoke with warmth.
"You will wear the same dress as I do, Prelati. Follow me, and I will let you experience the conquest of Britannia by my side. I will unite this nation, and perhaps, in time, everyone will wear such a dress in the future."
"Do you truly intend to conquer Britannia, King Arthur?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered with a resolute nod.
"Then I shall look forward to witnessing your journey, Your Highness," she said with a respectful bow.
I nodded in return and prepared to depart.
As I opened the heavy doors of the church, I was met by the concerned faces of Bedivere and the knights.
They quickly gathered around, their expressions filled with worry as they inquired about my condition.
"My king, are you feeling well?" Bedivere asked, his tone laced with a noticeable hint of concern.
"I'm fine, Sir Bedivere," I responded, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, hoping to ease his worry.
"My king, we deeply apologize. We had no idea that the horse would cause such an issue." The knights, in unison, knelt down before me, bowing their heads in genuine remorse as they offered their heartfelt apology.
Soon after, they began to blame themselves for their supposed negligence, their self-reproach seemingly endless.
The scene dragged on to the point where I could no longer bear this repetitive charade.
"That's enough, everyone. I appreciate your concern, truly, but there's no need for you to blame yourselves or to apologize any further," I declared, clapping my hands to signal that this matter should no longer be a source of fuss.
"Did you hear that, everyone? The king has spoken. We must respect his wishes." Bedivere's voice rang out with firm authority, and the knights instantly fell silent, their mouths closing in perfect unison as they heeded his command.
Bedivere then stepped forward, his expression becoming more serious as he addressed me directly. "Your Highness, what are your orders now?"
The knights stood before me, one by one, their faces filled with anticipation as they waited for my next command.
I couldn't help but chuckle, a carefree smile spreading across my face as I observed their loyalty and eagerness.
"We shall return home, Bedivere," I said, my voice warm with the promise of respite. "I believe there is not a single one among you who doesn't miss the comfort of home, am I right?"
"All hail, King Arthur!" they shouted in unison.
"All hail, King Arthur!" their voices grew louder, echoing through the air.
"All hail, King Arthur!" They unsheathed their swords, raising them triumphantly to the sky, their joyous cries filling the atmosphere as the realization dawned on them—they were finally going home.
After many long and grueling weeks spent searching for me or to be precise, Artoria, they could now return to the embrace of their families, leaving behind the hardships of their long boring journey.
.
.
.
Riding atop my horse, I skillfully reigned them in, a skill honed through the grueling and relentless training sessions administered by Merlin—though only within the realm of dreams whenever I slept.
From an outside perspective, it would appear that I was merely resting in the church, in the nun's bedroom.
But in truth, my consciousness was repeatedly pulled into Merlin's dream realm, where I was subjected to intensive lessons in basic swordsmanship and horseback riding.
It was through these arduous trials that I no longer floundered as I once did, no longer the novice who would fall from his horse at the slightest provocation.
"My king, I offer my deepest apologies," Bedivere spoke with a voice heavy with guilt, his tone filled with remorse as he rode his horse alongside me. "I had no idea that the horse would run wild and become uncontrollable at that moment. It was a grievous negligence on my part as a knight."
"Ah, Sir Bedivere, there is no need for such an apology. The matter was less a fault of yours and more a simple issue of my lack of skill," I responded with a grin, adopting a casual, nonchalant expression.
"No, Your Highness, I cannot accept that. It was my duty as a knight to protect you, and I failed miserably. Not only did I betray your trust, but I also caused you great embarrassment. I should have thoroughly inspected the horse before offering it to you." Bedivere, ever insistent, kept blaming himself for the incident, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.
His persistence left me speechless.
The more I spoke, the more I became convinced that there was something amiss in Bedivere's thought process—perhaps a faulty circuit in his brain, for he simply refused to acknowledge that it was my lack of skill, not his negligence.
I had already made it clear that it wasn't his fault but rather a matter of my inexperience, yet he continued to berate himself.
At this point, I was at a loss for words.
We rode in silence, accompanied by our entourage. Merlin rode just behind us, followed by Francesca Prelati and a retinue of knights who maintained a tight guard around our group.
Our path took us along the outskirts of Camelot as we approached the city gates.
The grandeur of Camelot's fortress revealed itself in the distance—its towering white walls and majestic spires stretching toward the heavens, a beacon of hope and glory.
The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the land, illuminating the intricate carvings and vibrant stained glass windows that adorned the castle's facade.
Massive stone structures spanned the landscape, connected by gracefully arching bridges, while the central fortress, with its grand halls and ancient banners, emanated an aura of both sanctity and might.
Honestly, I was taken aback by the magnificence of such an ancient city. Camelot, with all its grandeur, surpassed any architectural marvel I had ever witnessed in my modern life.
Is this truly Camelot?
The legendary realm where King Arthur's tale began?
It undoubtedly lived up to its name.
From the fortress alone, it was clear that Camelot was an impregnetable bastion, its solid walls and intricate defensive structures making it a fortress that seemed impossible to breach.
However, when we ventured into the city, I was completely taken aback by the state of the people living in Camelot.
Why are they so painfully thin? Why are the clothes they wear so ragged and riddled with holes, resembling those of refugees rather than proper citizens?
How could this have ever happened?
Isn't Camelot supposed to be the most prosperous capital and kingdom of the Arthurian era, as all the tales tell us?
If that were truly the case, why are the people here gripped by such overwhelming hunger and poverty?
When I looked down at the fine, luxurious clothing I wore—and saw the same on my knights, even on Merlin—I began to feel a growing sense of guilt.
I spurred my horse to move faster, followed closely by my knights, hoping to escape the pitiful sight.
No one showed any enthusiasm in greeting us or even bothered to look in our direction.
The prophecy of a savior was nothing more than a cruel joke in their eyes.
Their lives had not improved in the slightest, so how could I possibly hope to earn their respect through mere prophecy alone, a prophecy spun by Merlin like some clever scam?
The more I observed the dire state of the civilians, the more resolute I became.
Camelot must change.