bdsm-fiction Chapter 48 Qualitative Change in Ability
Chapter 48 Qualitative Change in Ability
Three months after the island's curse was sealed, spring finally arrived in Camelot.
Arthur stood on the city wall, looking at the green of the first wheat seedlings in the fields outside the city.
The Longli Riverbed unfolds automatically, sensing the moisture in the soil, the depth of the wheat seedlings' roots, and the pulsating awakening of the oak trees in the distant forest.
Everything is normal, perfectly normal.
The only abnormal thing is his Star Trail.
On the day Voodoo was sealed, the moment eleven rays of recognized light were injected into the holy sword, the trajectory of the stars underwent a qualitative change within him.
If before he was "passively receiving" the debris, in the future, with the fragments flooding in like a tide, he can only stand there.
Wait for it to be submerged, then piece together useful information from the fragments.
So now he "can make a choice," just like a door that could only be pushed open from the outside, but can now be pulled open from the inside.
Arthur closed his eyes and sank his consciousness into the depths of the Dragon Power River.
Then he saw it.
Countless rays of light extend out from beneath my feet, reaching in all directions, towards all "possibilities".
Every ray of light is a world line, and every point of light on that ray is the "moment" of that world line.
He tried to touch one of them, and just as the light came on, a hand pressed down on the back of his head.
"What are you looking at?"
Arthur opened his eyes. Meryl stood behind him, her long silver hair being tossed by the wind blowing across the city wall, her amethyst eyes filled with a rare seriousness.
Her hand was still on the back of his head, her palm was warm.
"You almost completely lost consciousness just now," she said.
"That's not how you use the Star Trail. You're like someone standing by a river, thinking the water is beautiful, and then plunging in."
By the time you realize you can't swim back, your body will be nothing but an empty shell.
Arthur looked at her. "How did you know I was watching?"
"Anchor point." Meryl's finger slid from the back of his head to his shoulder and tapped it.
"You forgot? I poured the essence of Lake Avalon into your Dragon Power River, which was your first anchor point."
Every time you touch the star's trajectory, the anchor point vibrates. A slight vibration means you've only gotten a little wet, a heavy vibration...
She pressed her finger against his chest. "That means you're about to jump right in."
Arthur paused for a moment. "You've been watching this anchor point the whole time?"
"Of course." Mary withdrew her hand and put it behind her back, her tone returning to its usual lightness.
"I gave you my five hundred years. If you die in any timeline, who will I ask for my five hundred years back?"
She tilted her head, her lips curved, but there was no smile in her amethyst-like eyes, which Arthur could see clearly.
"I will not die."
"Everyone dies," Meryl said.
"The Vortigern Society, the Euthyser Society, the Knights of the Round Table, the Morgan Society, I will, and so will you."
Her voice was soft, "I just don't want...too fast."
The wind on the city wall suddenly picked up, blowing up Meryl's long, silvery-white hair and obscuring her profile.
Arthur reached out and brushed the strand of hair aside. When his fingertips touched her earlobe, Mary's eyelashes trembled.
"You just asked me," Arthur said, "What are you looking at? I'm looking at..." He paused, "...looking at you in other timelines."
Mary's fingers clenched tightly behind her back, but she didn't say anything.
"I see a timeline where Camelot is not present."
You stand alone by Lake Avalon, your silvery-white hair cascading down to the water's surface. What are you looking at? I don't know, but you're waiting.
Arthur's voice was flat, "I've waited many years."
Mary's breath caught in her throat for a moment.
"There is another timeline where you are summoned by a magician in a place called Fuyuki City."
"You stood there, staff in your hand, with an expression I'd never seen before on your face." Arthur looked at her.
"You are looking at the person who is calling you, with the eyes of someone you have known for a long time but have never seen again."
Mary turned her face away. "...That's not 'me,' just someone else who looks like me."
"I know," Arthur said.
"But she is also 'Merry,' just like Merry of Avalon, just like you, she will wait, she will wait a long time."
Meili remained silent for a long time. In the fields below the city walls, the wheat seedlings rustled softly in the wind.
"Look at those world lines," she finally spoke, her voice much softer than before.
"Is it to find a 'better version,' a version I don't have to wait for, a version where Morgan doesn't have to stand in ruins?"
Find a version where Guinevere doesn't write letters but only says "I'm here," find a version where... you don't have to go through so much hardship.
She turned her head, her amethyst-like eyes staring straight at him.
"Did you find it?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately; he looked into her eyes.
Deep within the amethyst, there is the color of Lake Avalon, and also the color of the countless nights she stood on the city wall, waiting for his return.
"No," he said, "because I'm not in any of those versions."
Mary's eyelashes trembled suddenly.
"When I say 'without me,' I don't mean 'Arthur doesn't exist,' I mean 'Arthur Pendragon' doesn't exist."
There was a golden-haired king who pulled the sword from the stone, founded Camelot, and fought alongside the Knights of the Round Table, but he was not "I".
His Dragon Force River had no anchor point, his Star Trail wasn't touched by you, and when he crossed world lines, no one stood on the city wall waiting for his return.
Arthur reached out, his movements as gentle as when he had brushed her hair aside, but this time, his fingers didn't retract; instead, they rested on her shoulder.
"The Mary in those versions wasn't waiting for me, but the Mary in this version is waiting for me."
Meryl's eyes reddened, but she didn't cry; nightmares aren't good at crying, but she didn't laugh either.
She couldn't pull off the kind of mocking, cunning laugh that the nightmare demon was best at, the kind that hid all the truths...
She simply lowered her head, resting her forehead on the hand that was resting on her shoulder.
"...You..." Her voice was muffled.
"He used to be unable to even say 'protect everyone' properly, but now he says it without blushing."
"It's red," Arthur said.
Mary looked up, and the tips of his ears were indeed red. A very faint red tinge clung to the edges of his golden hair.
Mary stared at it for two seconds, then burst out laughing.
It wasn't the usual "the more the merrier" kind of laugh; it was a laugh she herself had never heard before, a laugh that made her nose sting a little.
"Okay." She straightened up and rubbed the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
"Since you've put it that way, I'll just continue being your 'user manual' for a while longer."
But it's a deal... if you dare to die in another world, I'll use my clairvoyance to find the line that led to your death.
"Drag your empty shell back and place it at the entrance to the Hall of the Round Table, so that every knight who comes in can take a look."
"You won't."
How did you know?
"Because you can't drag it."
Mary paused for a moment, then punched him hard in the shoulder.
Arthur stood there, the sensation of her fist still lingering on his shoulder.
It's not hard; Mary never hits people hard.
She only takes drastic measures against three types of people: those she truly dislikes, those who need to be woken up, and those she doesn't want to leave.
Arthur is the third type.
"Merry."
"what."
"You haven't taught me how to use anchor points yet."
Mary gathered her loose long hair behind her ears, the tips of her ears still red. She reached out and placed her index finger on the Dragon's Heart on Arthur's chest.
"The essence of anchor points is 'memory'; every time you go to a world, you leave a trace there."
The traces of battle, the words spoken, the soup cooked, the snacks handed out—those traces are the anchors.
You don't need to deliberately 'remember' how to get back; you just need to remember that someone is waiting for you here.
She pressed her fingertip against his chest.
"I am here, Morgan is here... Guinevere is here, Kay is here, everyone at the Round Table is here, and this 'being here' is the way back for you."
Arthur looked down at her fingers pressed against his chest. They were slender, white, and slightly cool at the tips, just like her body temperature after standing on the city wall for so long.
He reached out and took her fingers in his. Mary's fingers stiffened for a moment in his palm before slowly relaxing.
"How long do you wait for me on the city walls every time?" Arthur said.
"……soon."
"Soon" is a long time.
Mary didn't answer; her fingers curled slightly in his palm, as if something had been exposed.
Arthur didn't ask any further questions; he simply held her hand and stood on the city wall.
The spring breeze blew from the direction of the fields, carrying the fresh scent of wheat seedlings. Meryl's long, silvery-white hair was blown by the wind onto his shoulders, overlapping with his golden hair.
After a long while, Mary suddenly spoke.
"What did the 'me' in those world lines you just saw... Fuyuki, look like?"
"Exactly the same as you."
What to wear?
"The white magician's robe is different in style from yours, but the same color."
"Who is she waiting for?"
Arthur paused for a moment, then said, "A blond swordsman, not King Arthur, but someone from another world, wielding the holy sword."
Meryl's fingers twitched in his palm. "So, is he back?"
"I don't know," Arthur said.
"That fragment of the world line only went that far. She stood in the center of the summoning circle, looking at him, and he looked at her, and then the fragment broke."
Mary didn't ask any more questions. She pulled her hand out of Arthur's palm, walked to the crenellations of the city wall, leaned on the stone edge with both hands, and looked out at the distant fields.
Her silhouette against the spring sunshine, her long, silvery-white hair like a quiet ray of light.
"If you go to that timeline," her voice came from ahead without turning around, "tell her for me... she doesn't have to wait that long."
Arthur watched her retreating figure. "And you?"
Mary's shoulder twitched slightly.
"I don't need it," she said softly, "because my blond swordsman will come back."