Who Would Ever Want to be King

Morgan Le Fay

It was the middle of the night, deep in the British woods, inside one lonely hidden house, the sound of a blade cutting the air interrupted the silence. Inside, there was one empty room where a boy swung around a sword. One slash here, another slash there, and impaling another shadowy figure. The shadow wisped away. The boy stumbled. His arms ached and his body was slow due to exhaustion. Holding himself up with the sword, the boy panted heavily, wishing that he could just rest for at least a minute. He then heard her voice. "Again." With all the little strength he had left, the boy kept at it, fighting the shadow figures again for the however many times he has done it. Feeling his tired body about to collapse, a sudden pain stuck his side as he landed on the cold stone floor.

The shadow that struck him wisped away as the boy heard her footsteps walk up to him. "Mordred." her voice spoke, giving the boy chills. Mordred weakly looked up at her, his body refused to move. She then glared at him with a certain ice cold glare that could kill someone. "What even was that?" she spat, levitating him off the floor, "That was by far the worst performance you've ever given me." Mordred held a blank, deadpan expression.

"I'm sorry." he spoke flatly, "I was exhausted and-"

"Do you think there is time for exhaustion when the knight comes after you?!" she snapped, making Mordred flinch.

"N-No." he replied.

"Then you better pay attention, you hear me." In his mind, Mordred begged for all this to be over. He's literally been training all day and combined with training for weeks straight...he needed a bed.

"Sorry." Mordred whispered. She suddenly dropped the boy to the floor, turning away from him.

"Such an ignorant boy." she muttered under her breath, leaving the room, "We're done for tonight. You better improve on that because I want to see better results tomorrow." Mordred slowly got himself off the floor.

"Yes mother," he said.

*** *** ***

Those stupid saxons. They were really getting on Arthur's nerves. Thankfully Excalibur gave him a boosting success rate that he much appreciated, slashing enemies left and right. The battles were beginning to feel almost like a chore, just a quick inconvenience they needed to get over with. Though most of the time, they were successful, there were a couple times in which Arthur somehow fell into a trap. On a cold winter day in the middle of December, no less. He ended up in an incredibly tight net, hurried over to a nearby saxon base where one of them was talking to him.

"So you see, King Arthur Pendragon, all you have to do is agree with us and you can live in peace."

"Camelot ruled by the saxons," Arthur commented, "Nah, not buying it. Come to think of it, I gotta couple meetings with a few nobles in a couple days, so I just wanna get this done as quickly as possible."

"Oh, so you will you accept?" the saxon asked.

"No." Arthur scoffed, "Seriously, when will it get through your thick skull that I don't want you invading. Look, visiting is fine. Hell, you can even live here if you want, but outright bringing troops and invading because 'pretty land' is not only extremely petty, it's downright morally wrong. Imagine if I tried to invade your land, cause I don't. And also, I don't think the death of your perfectly good soldiers is worth it." The saxon gave Arthur a somewhat confused look, not knowing how to respond to that. "Let's just get this over with, alright."

"Y-Yes, but how? Look at you, you can't even get your sword."

"And that's why I won't get out myself." Arthur said confidently, "They will." Out of nowhere, Lancelot came into view attacking the base. Instantly, everybody in the camp ran towards him, but he took down most of them with ease. The saxon stepped back in fear.