[Third Person's PoV]
"Merlin… What exactly am I looking at?" Arthur asked in astonishment.
"Are you pretending not to know?" Merlin replied with an amused smile as she walked over and stood beside him, both of them staring at the stone before them.
"That, Arthur, is Caliburn. The Sword in the Stone. The very same sword King Uther plunged into the rock with his dying breath, declaring that only the rightful King of Camelot would be able to draw it. And the sword that the original Arthur pulled free, proving himself and becoming king," Merlin said mystically.
"But in the legend… wasn't it said that the sword broke? That's why King Arthur went to the Lady of the Lake and was given Excalibur," Arthur asked, confused.
"You have to understand something important, Art" Merlin said, glancing at him. "The story from your old world might not match the events of this one. In your tale, yes—Caliburn shattered during a battle against the Black Knight, King Pellinore, Percival's father."
"And something similar happened here. Arthur was soundly defeated, and if I hadn't intervened, he likely would have died." Her eyes drifted as if replaying the memory. "He knew then that he needed a new weapon—one stronger, more fitting for what lay ahead. But that didn't mean he simply discarded the broken sword. No… that Arthur was a sentimental fool. He kept the shattered blade with him to the very end.
"After his passing, I took what remained and spent years slowly restoring it with my magic. Once it was whole again, I saw no reason to keep it for myself. So, I returned it to where it rightfully belonged—with the remaining members of the Pendragon line."
Arthur turned toward her, blinking in surprise when he noticed the mischievous grin spreading across her face.
"Hehehe, you should've seen their faces when I brought the sword back," she laughed, pointing at the stone. "It looked exactly like this."
"Wait… you brought the sword embedded in the stone? Like in the legend?" Arthur asked, incredulous.
"Yep~" Merlin said, chuckling. "I showed up on their doorstep with the rock in hand, handed it over, and told them, 'Enjoy!'"
Arthur rubbed his face and laughed, shaking his head as he pictured it.
"Anyway," Merlin continued, "after that, they tried to pull the sword from the stone. Some succeeded, others didn't. Those who managed became the next Pendragon Patriarch or Matriarch. When their time ended, they'd return the sword to the stone for the next generation. But over time, fewer and fewer succeeded. Eventually, it became a rare feat—something that happened once every few generations. The last time the sword was pulled was five generations ago."
She paused to let Arthur process everything, then added, "It became a rite of passage. When a Pendragon child turned eleven, they'd try to pull the sword. Some succeeded, most didn't."
"I see…" Arthur muttered. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing. "If I try, it's just going to slide right out, isn't it?"
"You're not interested in trying?" Merlin asked.
"Are you kidding me?" Arthur shot her a look, then turned back to the stone. "Of course I am. It's Caliburn! One of the greatest, most legendary holy swords. But before I give it a shot, I have to ask—were there any other traditions the Pendragons followed? This coming-of-age ceremony is the first I've heard of."
Merlin smiled. "You might not know this, but the Pendragons were famous for a lot of things. One of the biggest was being THE House of Magical Swordsman. As you know, when a witch or wizard turns eleven, they get a wand suited to them. But for Pendragons, it wasn't just a wand. They also received a weapon—a sword or something else—that matched their magic and fighting spirit."
She pointed behind them, back the way they came. "You saw all those weapons in the vault, right? Each one belonged to a prominent Pendragon."
"Did the LeFays have a similar tradition?" Arthur asked.
"Yes," Merlin nodded. "But they leaned more toward pure magic. Instead of weapons, they crafted or inherited grimoires—spellbooks and tomes filled with magic."
Arthur placed a hand over his mouth, deep in thought as he stared at the golden floor beneath him.
"You've already half-completed the LeFay tradition," Merlin said gently. "All that's left is to fulfill the Pendragon one—and claim your weapon."
"Wait—what?" Arthur looked up at her in confusion.
Merlin rolled her eyes. "That book you carry around—the one filled with your spell designs and completed magic circles? That's basically a grimoire. Not official, but it functions the same. A grimoire isn't just a record of spells; it's a magical medium, like a wand."
"Would I really even need a wand at this point?" Arthur asked curiously.
"No, not really," Merlin replied, shaking her head. "But it helps keep up appearances."
"Speaking of wands... if Caliburn is here, does that mean the original wand of King Arthur is as well?" he asked, glancing around in interest.
Merlin chuckled. "Quite the greedy one, aren't you? But unfortunately, no. His wand was destroyed during his final duel with Mordred."
"Bummer..." Arthur muttered.
Merlin's expression turned thoughtful. "The Pendragons had one more tradition, though it was even more challenging than the coming-of-age ceremony. It was eventually discontinued. In the early days, children of age were given dragon eggs to care for. It was their duty to ensure the egg hatched and a bond was formed—a bond only possible due to the Pendragon bloodline.
"However, as generations passed and the bloodline became diluted, they could no longer form proper bonds. In some cases, the dragons even turned on them. So, the tradition was ultimately abandoned."
Arthur's eyes lit up with excitement. "Does that mean I might be able to bond with a dragon someday?"
Merlin gave him a mysterious grin. "Eventually," she said vaguely. "Anyway, what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to pull the sword from the stone?"
Arthur took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell as he exhaled, grounding himself. "It just feels like an important moment... I'm getting a little jittery."
But when he opened his blue eyes, they were calm—still as a tranquil lake. His gaze was fixed on one thing: the golden and blue hilt of the legendary sword.
He stepped forward, his coat swaying with each movement. Every step was deliberate, filled with quiet determination.
Circling the stone, Arthur examined it closely. The hilt of the sword was royal blue, adorned with a polished sapphire embedded at the top. Golden regal patterns flowed down to the handguard, where an inscription read:
"Whosoe'er pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king of all Britannia."
He studied the inscription for a moment, then moved to stand directly behind the stone. The hilt gleamed, the red ruby where the handguard met the hilt pulsing gently in the light.
Arthur stretched out his white-gloved hand, curling his fingers around the hilt. He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, feeling his magic begin to flow into the sword—then back into him. A connection was forming.
The sapphire and ruby glowed with ethereal light as Arthur began to pull.
The sword slid out smoothly, effortlessly. As it rose, the silver blade shimmered with brilliance, and a golden light erupted from the stone, illuminating the area like the first rays of dawn breaking through darkness.
Raising the hilt above his head, Arthur then swept his arm to the side, unleashing a sudden, powerful gust of wind.
His golden hair whipped around him as his coat flared dramatically behind him, nearly slipping off his shoulders.
Bringing the edge of the blade to his face, Arthur gripped the hilt with both hands and turned it so the flat side reflected his image. The silver gleam of the blade shifted into a holy golden glow. His hair shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, and when he opened his eyes, they shone a radiant blue, glowing with power.
Caliburn, the Sword of Selection, had deemed Arthur worthy.
Arthur Pendragon was now a wielder of a Holy Sword.
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