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Chapter 110: The Pure White Knight Princess
🕑 Added 2025-07-31 13:19:57 +0000 UTCRussell arranged his own materials with methodical precision. The crown went to his left—past and authority. The dragon blood centered before him—present and power. The sword fragment to his right—future and victory. The arrangement felt right, clicking into place with an almost audible sense of correctness.
He pulled out a blank card, running his fingers along its edges. The potential thrummed against his skin, eager to be shaped. His pencil—a simple thing enchanted for precision—moved to the surface with practiced ease.
But he didn't draw a king.
The figure that took shape under his careful strokes was young—perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, secured with a black ribbon. Her face carried a serious expression tempered by traces of innocence not yet burned away by reality's cruelties. She wore armor, yes, but it was lighter than a king's full plate—silver and white, designed for mobility rather than pure protection. Beneath it, glimpses of a white dress spoke to the girl beneath the warrior.
In her hands, she held not Excalibur but Caliburn itself—the golden sword that marked her as Britain's chosen, not yet exchanged for its more famous successor.
This was not King Arthur. This was not even the Artoria who would become king. This was Artoria Pendragon in her youth, still on the journey to understanding what kingship truly meant. The Pure White Knight Princess—Saber Lily, as she was known in another world's story.
The card pulsed with acceptance as he finished the sketch. The materials resonated with his intent, practically singing their eagerness to become part of this narrative. Russell took a deep breath, tasting corruption and possibility in equal measure, and activated the card creation process.
The world fell away.
[Please begin compiling your story.]
The mysterious space welcomed him like an old friend, wrapping him in the familiar sensation of infinite possibility constrained by narrative law. Here, stories became truth and imagination birthed reality. Russell had always felt more comfortable here than in the real world—here, the rules made sense.
Time to weave a legend.
[In the fifth century AD, the British Isles were torn apart by war and strife. Saxon invaders pressed from the east, petty kings squabbled over scraps of territory, and the common people suffered under the weight of endless conflict. Britain was dying, bleeding out from a thousand self-inflicted wounds.]
The energy around him stirred, accepting this foundation. Historical accuracy mattered less than narrative weight—the mysterious space cared about truth of story, not truth of fact.
[Uther Pendragon, the last great king of the Britons, fell to the usurper Vortigern's treachery. But even in defeat, Uther refused to let hope die. Together with his court wizard Merlin—last student of the dream demon—they conceived a desperate plan. They would create not just an heir, but a perfect king. A ruler beyond mortal limitations, who could unite the fractured land and drive back the darkness.]
Russell felt the narrative threads strengthening, the materials beginning to resonate with his words. The crown pulsed with the weight of inherited authority, while the dragon blood stirred with ancient power.
[Through ritual and sacrifice, they achieved the impossible. The bloodline of British kings was fused with the very essence of the Red Dragon—the spiritual manifestation of Britain itself. The child born from this union would carry both human will and draconic might, capable of feats beyond mortal ken. But fate played its cruelest joke: the perfect king was born a girl.]
A ripple of tension ran through the space. Gender expectations in fifth-century Britain were not flexible, and the mysterious space recognized the inherent conflict. But that tension was precisely what Russell wanted—it would justify later story developments.
[Named Artoria, she was hidden away with the noble Sir Ector, officially his distant cousin's orphaned child. Only Ector, his son Kay, and Merlin knew the truth. From the moment she could walk, Artoria was trained for kingship—swordsmanship from the finest masters Merlin could secretly arrange, strategy and tactics from ancient texts, the arts of leadership hammered into her very bones. But always in secret, always preparing for a throne she could only claim by hiding her true self.]
The sword fragment resonated strongly now, singing of battles yet to come. Russell wove its essence into the narrative, establishing Caliburn's significance.
[When Artoria reached fifteen summers, King Uther finally succumbed to the poisoned wounds of his last battle. Britain teetered on the edge of complete collapse. It was then that Merlin enacted the second part of their plan. He proclaimed that whosoever could draw the sword from the stone in the churchyard would be recognized as Britain's rightful king. Many tried—great knights, petty lords, ambitious merchants. All failed. The sword judged them and found them wanting.]
Russell paused, feeling the narrative reaching its crucial moment. This was where his version would diverge from traditional tellings, where Saber Lily's unique nature would manifest.
[Artoria came to the sword on a winter morning, disguised as a young squire. She stood before Caliburn—the Golden Sword of the Victorious—and saw her future reflected in its gleaming blade. She knew that grasping that hilt meant abandoning any chance at a normal life. She would have to hide her true gender, sacrifice personal happiness for the good of the realm, become a symbol rather than a person.]
[She drew the sword without hesitation.]
[But the weight of that decision, the full understanding of what she'd sacrificed, had not yet settled upon her young shoulders. Looking at Caliburn in her hands, feeling the surge of power from her dragon blood responding to the holy sword, Artoria felt... unready. She had the power of a king but not the wisdom. The strength to rule but not the experience to rule well.]
This was the key—establishing why this version of Artoria was different, why she wasn't immediately crowned despite drawing the sword.
[So she made a choice that surprised even Merlin. She would journey across Britain, learning its ways and people firsthand. With Kay as her companion and Merlin as occasional guide, she set out to understand the land she was meant to rule. The sword marked her as the chosen king, but she would earn that title through deeds, not just destiny.]
[During these travels, Artoria's idealistic nature led her into the troubles of others. She couldn't pass by suffering without trying to help. Her dragon blood granted her strength far beyond her apparent age and size, while Caliburn's magic made her nearly invincible in battle. But it was her pure heart and unwavering sense of justice that truly marked her as special.]
[Tales spread of the Pure White Knight—a mysterious youth who appeared where help was needed most. She saved villages from bandit raids, mediated disputes between neighboring lords, and even drove off a lesser dragon that had been terrorizing the countryside. Always she refused rewards, asking only for stories of the land and its people. Those she saved took to calling her the Pure White Knight Princess, though they meant it as praise for her beauty and grace, not knowing how close to the truth they struck.]
Russell felt the narrative reaching its conclusion, the materials fully synchronized with his vision. Time to bring it home.
[As her journey neared its end, Artoria had grown in ways that went beyond simple combat experience. She understood now what it meant to be a king—not just to rule, but to serve. Not just to command, but to sacrifice. The weight of Caliburn felt right in her hands now, not because she had grown physically stronger, but because she had grown worthy of its burden.]
[But she remained, at heart, that idealistic girl who drew the sword. The battles that would forge her into the King of Knights lay in the future. For now, she was the Pure White Knight Princess—strong enough to change the world, still innocent enough to believe it was worth changing.]
The energy crescendoed around Russell, reality bending as story became truth. He opened his eyes to find the completed card floating before him, glowing with soft golden light. Artoria Pendragon stood depicted in all her youthful glory—not yet the Lion King, not yet even truly a king, but something perhaps more precious: a hero with hope still intact.
[Pure White Knight Princess · Artoria]
- Level: Silver
- Quality: Red
- Category: Creature
The full status window unfolded in his mind as he examined his creation:
Skills:
- [Mana Burst]: Enhances weapons and body through magical energy release. At Artoria's level, this can turn a simple wooden branch into a weapon capable of clashing with noble phantasms.
- [Caliburn - Golden Sword of the Victorious]: The symbol of kingship and the sword of selection. When its true name is released, it unleashes a devastating beam of golden light. (Warning: The sword cannot withstand Artoria's full magical output and will shatter after one use, entering a 24-hour cooldown period.)
Characteristics:
- [Intuition]: The ability to instantly grasp the most advantageous course of action in combat. This instinctive understanding borders on precognition.
- [Red Dragon's Bloodline]: Possessing the blood of Britain's guardian dragon grants physical capabilities far beyond human limits and magical reserves that dwarf most modern mages.
- [Charisma]: Trained from birth to be a king, she possesses natural leadership that inspires others. Allied cards receive a minor boost to all parameters, doubled for those with the [Knights of the Round Table] bond.
- [Journey of Flowers]: The blessed path of the future king. Those who fight alongside her gain immunity to negative emotional effects of silver level and below.
Introduction: A pure knight princess who has not yet experienced the baptism of blood and fire that will forge her into a king.
Advancement Path: Silver [Pure White Knight Princess · Artoria] → Emerald [King of Knights · Artoria] → Master [Lion King · Artoria]
Bonds:
- With [Lancelot] series: Activates [Knights of the Round Table]
- With [Morgan] series: Activates [Sisterly Love]
"Success," Russell breathed, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. The advancement potential to Master level was unexpected—technically, the Lion King was from an alternate timeline, but then again, so was Saber Lily. The mysterious space seemed to appreciate the narrative consistency more than strict canon adherence.
He examined the characteristics more closely, particularly pleased with [Charisma] and [Journey of Flowers]. In a team battle, those effects would be devastating. Even in single combat, completely negating emotional manipulation was huge—how many cards relied on fear, despair, or rage to weaken opponents?
The only real drawback was Caliburn's fragility, but that was canon-accurate. The golden sword was never meant to channel Artoria's full power—that's why it eventually broke and was replaced by Excalibur. But one full-power shot could end most fights instantly.
Russell carefully stored the card and looked across at Wade, who still had his eyes closed in deep concentration. The young man's brow was furrowed now, sweat beading on his forehead despite the dimension's chill. Whatever he was creating, it wasn't coming as easily as expected.
He prepared for days to counter an underworld card, Russell realized. Now he's having to adjust on the fly.
Minutes stretched by. The corrupted air grew thicker, and Russell became aware of eyes watching from the darkness beyond their small circle of safety. The dimension's monsters were growing bold, drawn by the concentration of power. Soon they'd have to deal with interruptions.
Finally, Wade's eyes snapped open. A card materialized before him, floating in a nimbus of sickly yellow light that complemented the dimension's corruption perfectly. He caught it with practiced ease, taking a moment to review his creation before storing it away.
"Finished already?" Wade's voice carried forced casualness, but Russell caught the slight strain underneath. "You work quickly for someone using unfamiliar materials."
"Quality over speed," Russell replied mildly. "Though I notice you took your time as well."
Wade stood, brushing imaginary dust from his designer clothes. "Perfection can't be rushed. Shall we begin? I'm quite curious to see what interpretation of King Arthur you've crafted."
They moved to establish proper dueling distance—ten meters apart on the corrupted ground, with clear space for summoned creatures to maneuver. Russell noted Wade's positioning carefully; the young man had subtly chosen a spot with better footing, where the fungal growth was thinner. Small advantages, but they added up.
"Standard rules?" Russell asked. "No permanent harm to the cardmaker, victory by submission or incapacitation of all cards?"
"So formal," Wade chuckled. "But yes, standard rules. Though I should warn you—I don't submit easily."
"Neither do I."
Wade's grin widened. "Excellent. Then let's see what Director Blake's disciple can really do. Try not to disappoint me, Russell."
The air between them crackled with tension.
Russell reached for Artoria's card, feeling her eagerness to manifest, to prove herself in battle. Across from him, Wade's hand moved to his own creation with equal confidence.
"On three?" Wade suggested, his casual tone at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes.
"One," Russell agreed, magical energy beginning to gather.
"Two," Wade continued, his own power rising to match.
"Three!"
Light exploded between them as both cards manifested simultaneously. Golden radiance met sickly yellow luminescence, and for a moment the corruption of [Night's End Banquet] was driven back by the sheer force of their summoning.
When the light faded, two figures stood revealed.
Artoria materialized in a defensive stance, Caliburn already in hand and glowing with inner fire. Her armor caught what little light existed in this place and amplified it, making her seem to shine from within. The black ribbon in her hair fluttered in a wind that touched nothing else, and her green eyes swept the battlefield with tactical precision.
Across from her stood an elderly woman in traditional Chinese garb, hunched but somehow imposing. She clutched a porcelain bowl in gnarled hands, and the air around her rippled with heat distortion. No—not heat. The distortion came from the blood-yellow water that had begun seeping from nowhere, pooling at her feet in defiance of natural law.
"Meng Po." Russell identified her immediately. Wade hadn't lied about using the underworld materials, but seeing the Grandmother of Forgetting manifest in this corrupted place sent chills down his spine. Even without knowing her specific abilities, the mythological weight of her presence was undeniable.
"King Arthur?" Wade's voice cracked with genuine disbelief. He stared at Artoria, taking in her youth, her gender, her obvious femininity despite the armor. "King Arthur is a WOMAN?! Are you mocking me, Russell?!"
The outrage in his voice was so genuine that Russell almost laughed. Of all the reactions he'd expected, this hadn't been one of them. Wade looked personally offended by Artoria's existence, as if Russell had deliberately crafted her just to upset his worldview.
"History is written by the victors," Russell said with a carefully straight face. "Who's to say what the truth really was?"
"But—but that's not—" Wade sputtered, actually at a loss for words. His Meng Po stood patiently, awaiting orders while her master processed this paradigm shift. "The Round Table! The knights! The entire legend is—"
"About to beat your card into submission," Russell interrupted. "Shall we begin?"
Wade's expression cycled through several interesting emotions before settling on determined annoyance. "Fine. If you want to fight with historical fanfiction, that's your choice. Meng Po will show you why traditions exist for a reason!"
The battle was about to begin in earnest.
Sometimes the best weapon was the one your enemy never saw coming.
And who would expect the Once and Future King to be a teenage girl with a holy sword and a dragon's heart?
(End of Chapter 110)
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Raphael Espinoza Angulo
She is the one who will watch over the end of the world. Art, absolute cinema.
