As he rode, the forest slowly disappeared behind them. No one spoke. The knights moved in perfect formation, silent, like they were trained for this. Sylas stayed quiet too—but something felt off.
They hadn't asked about the others. The people who entered the forest with him. Not a single question.
"Do you know the people who went in there with me?"
The knights turned to look at him. Their faces shifted—not with recognition, but confusion. One of them frowned.
"Sir Arthur… you went in there alone."
He blinked. "What?"
They didn't answer. Just kept walking like nothing had happened.
He didn't know what to say. Maybe they were lying, but why would they lie to him?
"Forget it."
More questions filled his mind—like who were those people? Why did they kill the real Arthur? He would think about that later.
He looked around. Now he knew for sure he was in a different world. The air felt fresh. The sunlight was warm on his skin. They followed a trail, and on both sides, tall grass swayed in the wind. Flowers covered the fields, and birds flew above them.
Some people were working in the fields, while animals helped pull carts filled with crops. In the far distance was a wide river shining under the sun. The road was smooth, made of dirt, though some parts were muddy from water.
Then, up ahead, Sylas saw a massive city built on a hill. Stone walls surrounded it. Two giant gates stood in front.
As they got close, someone shouted, "Sir Arthur has returned!"
The doors started to open. As he entered through the gate, people stood on both sides, watching him. Some looked excited. Some were shocked. A few just stared in silence.
He walked forward with his back straight, trying to copy the same presence as his father. He didn't feel like a king… but they believed he was.
[Progress Updated: 2,000 / 25,000 Believers]
The guards guided him uphill. More people started to gather to see the new king. He kept walking, eyes ahead, but deep down, he was still trying to process everything.
Then, he saw a massive castle stood at the top of the mountain, like it was built to see everything from above. The closer he got, the clearer it became. The castle was built from smooth white stone—perfect, not a single crack or flaw anywhere. Tall towers stood at every corner. Each tower had a golden tip, with red flags waving in the wind.
The castle was surrounded by water, making it look like an island. In front of it stood another gate, and a bridge stretched across to it. When they got close, the bridge slowly lowered with a heavy creak. He hopped off the horse and walked forward.
As he stepped toward the castle, a woman stood waiting near the gate. He stopped.
He recognized that face.
He walked toward her slowly. For a moment, everything else faded—because the woman looked exactly like his mother. Her hair was silver-blonde, braided with gold threads. Her eyes were warm, like she had been waiting for him for years.
His heart started racing. He knew it wasn't her—but still, a part of him wanted it to be true.
He dropped his sword and ran toward her. His eyes filled with tears as he hugged her. She pulled him in, holding him tight.
"I missed you too, Arthur."
That snapped him out of it. She wasn't his mother. Even though she looked just like her.
He felt sick for even letting himself believe. He wiped his eyes quickly before anyone could see.
A soldier handed him his sword again. The queen smiled softly and turned toward the castle's balcony.
Below them, thousands of people were waiting.
A knight stepped forward and raised a horn. The sound echoed across the city.
Then a man in a red cloak—maybe a royal advisor—stepped up and spoke.
"By the will of the sword, and the legacy of the crown… the King has returned!"
He turned toward Sylas and motioned for him to step forward. As Sylas moved beside him, the man shouted, "All hail King Arthur—ruler of Camelot, chosen by the blade!"
At once, the people dropped to their knees. Then came the cheering.
"Long live the King!"
[Progress Updated: 25,000 / 25,000 Believers]
Sylas raised the sword high into the air. The cheering grew louder. He didn't smile. He just looked at all of them.
They believed in him. Every single one of them.
And that belief felt heavier than any sword he had ever carried.
A child in the front row whispered to his mother, "That's him. The new king."
An old man dropped to his knees, eyes filled with tears.
But when Sylas looked back, one person didn't kneel. A man stood silently, watching him too closely.
He stepped forward and knelt slowly.
"Hello, young king," he said.
His voice was calm, but something in it made Sylas's chest tighten.
He didn't know what to say. His mouth opened, then closed. That stare cut through him like the blade he couldn't draw.
Then someone called from behind.
"Merlin, let's go. We have work."
The old man smiled at Sylas before turning away.
Panic twisted in Sylas's gut. If that man—if Merlin—knew the truth, then maybe he didn't belong here after all.
Then a voice called out.
"Please take Arthur to his room."
"Yes, Queen Igraine," one of the guards said.
They guided him inside.
The room was large, but quiet. Not fancy. Just peaceful. Stone walls. A red carpet. A tall bed with gold and red blankets.
One wall held swords and shields. Another had a window, and through it, he could see the entire city below.
There was a small table in the corner, a few scrolls, and a single chair. No mirrors. No decorations. Just stone and steel.
He lay down and closed his eyes, trying to forget everything.
The sun went down. The moon rose. Its light hit his face.
When he opened his eyes again, someone was standing above him—with a dagger.
The blade came down.
Sylas rolled to the side, dodging it. He reached for the sword—but it wouldn't draw. He slammed the handle into the attacker instead.
They both hit the ground. Sylas climbed on top of him.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm Merlin. Now—who are you?"
His voice didn't shake. His eyes didn't blink.
Sylas felt like the lie he was carrying just got heavier.
He sat Merlin up and started talking. He told him everything. How the real Arthur had been killed. How he looked just like him.
Merlin didn't interrupt. He just watched.
"I didn't kill him," Sylas said.
"So… what are you going to do?" Merlin asked.
Sylas stayed quiet for a moment, then answered.
"I don't know."
Merlin leaned in close.
"Once people find out you can't draw the sword… they'll know you're a fake."
Sylas said nothing.
Merlin climbed out the window, gave one last look, and vanished into the night.
He didn't sleep. Not even for a second. He stared at the ceiling and thought about the sword, the people, and the lie.
They believed in him now. But belief was fragile.
And once it broke, so would everything else.
The next morning, he had breakfast with the queen and his half-sister. He tried not to look at the queen too long, but it was hard. She looked just like his mother. After five years, it felt like she was really sitting there.
He tried to keep it in, but the tears came anyway. He cried as he ate.
She stood up, walked over, and gently wiped his face. Then she hugged him.
And he let her.
For that moment, he let himself pretend.
A small part of him wanted to stay. He had no one back home. But here—he had a mother. A sister, even if she kept giving him evil glares.
He could live here. He could let the belief win.
Then Merlin walked in.
"Let's go, Arthur. We have a plan."
His mother gave him a soft nod.
So he followed.
On the way out, he looked at Merlin.
"Why are you helping me? Are you going to expose me?"
He smiled.
"I don't need to. When you fail to protect them… they'll know."
Sylas frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see," Merlin said. "False king."
They rode through the city on horseback. People praised him. They called him their king. Their protector.
And for the first time…
Sylas felt the weight of it.