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12.06% Incest Pendragon / Chapter 7: Return of the King

Chapter 7: Return of the King

"Is the king truly alive?"

"They say he has returned to the very pinnacle of his prime."

"It's hard to fathom such a thing."

"So, does this mean The Sword of Stone has lost its purpose?"

"Hush… The King has returned."

The soft whispers of nobles echoed throughout the grand throne room. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and awe as King Uther was escorted by his court mage, Merlin, and an elite group of knights, who surrounded him on all sides with an imposing aura.

The crowd parted before them with reverence and fear, allowing the king passage to his throne. As King Uther took his seat, Merlin stood loyally by his side, ever watchful and ready to serve.

The king's eyes swept over the gathered nobles, his gaze sharp and calculating. In response, they lowered their heads in unison, showing the utmost respect to their sovereign.

Regardless of their private doubts about the king's miraculous resurrection, one fact could not be denied: the king had indeed returned to his former glory.

His presence radiated a suffocating pressure, making it difficult for those in the room to breathe. It was as if they stood before the apex of a predator, a being who ruled by sheer force of will.

He was, in fact, the sole ruler who governed the kingdom through sheer force of will alone, while others relied purely on brute strength and the privileges handed down to them on a silver platter by their parents.

These advantages often took the form of unique bloodlines, such as those of dragons and other extraordinary beings.

Yet, despite all of this, here we stand—Uther, a mere human among them, and yet the most formidable apex predator on this island.

The rest could only be overshadowed by his brilliance.

King Uther subtly activated his Conqueror's Haki at its lowest intensity, yet even a mere fraction of this power was enough to overwhelm the nobles.

The oppressive force of his will alone was enough to strike fear into their hearts, solidifying his dominance over all who stood before him. The aura of a true conqueror filled the room, leaving no doubt as to who held supreme authority.

This isn't just a display of power; it's a declaration that Uther is not just back—he's in charge, and woe to anyone who dares think otherwise.

Even Merlin, ever the wise and composed mage, was momentarily taken aback by the sheer power emanating from his friend.

Yet, he said nothing, remaining steadfast by the king's side from the beginning to the end, awaiting King Uther's command to begin the court session.

No one dared to interrupt the king, nor did anyone speak out of turn, for it would have been seen as a direct challenge to his authority.

This was a fundamental rule of the court, a matter of common sense that no one in their right mind would dare to defy. Only a fool would risk starting a conversation before the king had spoken.

Observing the disciplined silence of his court, King Uther nodded in approval, then cleared his throat, signaling that the proceedings were about to begin.

"Lady and Gentleman, regrettable, I was deeply saddened by the fact that after my serious injury, Camelot became weak, the weakest force in Britannia! This is intolerable! In the past, those invaders, those Barbarians, would never land in this land, in my kingdom! Why is this lady and gentleman? Is my subjects so incompetent without their king leading them?" He roared, his voice filled with a mixture of fury and sadness, as no one in the room dared to meet their king's piercing gaze.

Since the moment of his affliction, Camelot has been heading down a most disastrous path.

Though their capital remain unconquered, rather than advancing and crushing the remnants of the Saxons that King Uther once vanquished, they have retreated into their homes, indulging in the luxuries of wine, women, and excess.

The nobles, lost in their decadence, care little for the suffering of the common folk, while the civilians themselves, cowardly and desperate, hide behind the safety of the Capital, helplessly watching as the world around them burns at the hands of the Saxons—the very barbarians they once derided.

The Celts, once strong and proud, have been reduced to a shadow of their former shell after the brutal invasions led by the combined forces of the barbarians and Vortigern. It is no wonder that Britannia is descending into a dark age during this perilous period.

The brutality of this era, and the near extinction of the Celtic people, foreshadows the tragic future when the Saxons will rise to dominate the island.

This brutality and savagery can only be compared to how the native peoples of America were nearly wiped out by the hands of colonists. The same fate now threatens the Celts, and not even a noble king like Artoria may be able to save them.

Their near-extinction, as recorded in history, seems inevitable.

Although near-extinction might seem exaggerated, given that the data only shows 50-70% of their population was either killed or driven out, that's nonetheless how he expressed the event that happened during this Dark Age.

It's similar to how Cameron's declaration of "I'm king of the world" at the Oscars in front of the masses.

As for whether Uther can save them or not, only time will tell. 

Watching their complete lack of backbone in refuting him and proved him that what he said was wrong, Uther honestly felt a profound sense of disappointment deep within.

It would have been far better if they had fought with every ounce of strength until their very last breath, even if it meant acting immorally, rather than succumbing to such pitiful cowardice!

He held admiration only for those who exhibited true strength and for those who survived through adversity, rather than for the pathetic worms cowering before him.

As he gazed at their luxurious attire and the scent of expensive perfume that hung heavily in the air, he observed their crumbling composure with disdain.

One thought dominated his mind.

They didn't deserve to live.

Perhaps noticing something was amiss in King Uther's eyes, Duke Redgrave cleared his throat, knelt before the monarch, and, without hesitation, swore his unwavering loyalty.

"Though it may be late, we are ready to fight alongside you until our very last breaths, my king! We are prepared to face the Saxons with you! Who stands with me?!" Duke Redgrave unsheathed his sword, rising to his feet and leading the assembled nobles in a defiant war cry.

"As Duke Redgrave declared, my king, I too am willing to fight by your side once again." Sir Ector unsheathed his sword alongside Duke Redgrave, raising it high in solidarity.

Even Duke Barthomeloi, who had remained silent throughout the proceedings, cleared his throat and finally expressed his stance.

"The Barthomeloi family and Clock Tower will stand with you until the bitter, bloody end, my king. Let us bash the skulls of those barbarians!" He roared, his voice filled with fervor.

More and more nobles began to declare their allegiance after witnessing the tide turning in favor of King Uther and his warlike stance against the Saxons.

"So be it, by the will of the god, here I stand, my lords, I will lead this kingdom once more, to the bright future!" King Uther proclaimed, his voice strong and resolute.

Rising from his throne, the king raised his sword high in a triumphant war cry.

"For now, let's retake all of our land and make those barbarians ever regret that they're born in this world!"

"The King of Camelot!"

"The King of Camelot!"

"The King of Camelot!" 

A thunderous roar of approval erupted from the assembled nobles as they raised their swords and echoed the battle cry.


Chapter 8: The Extermination Campaign

"Argh...!" The agonized scream of a Saxon warrior echoed through the village as a battle axe, hurled with deadly precision, embedded itself deep into his forehead.

The cavalry, charging forward with relentless momentum, showed no mercy. As they rode over his fallen form, the cavalry who had thrown the axe retrieved it, blood still spurting from the gaping wound in the Saxon's skull.

He calmly wiped the crimson off the blade before securing the weapon back at his waist, ready for further use.

The cavalry pressed on, their march into the heart of the village continuing unabated.

What followed was nothing short of a brutal massacre, an organized and ruthless slaughter of every Saxon in their path. Behind the leading cavalryman, many others followed closely, their horses' hooves thundering against the ground, creating a sound that struck fear into the hearts of the remaining Saxons, who frantically shut their doors in a vain attempt to escape the onslaught.

But the cavalry was relentless. Many dismounted from their horses, forcefully kicking in doors, and without hesitation, they slaughtered every Saxon they found inside. Mercy was a foreign concept to them.

After completing their grim task in each house, the soldiers would remount and continue their genocide journey from one village to the next. This was not an isolated act of violence; it was a coordinated campaign of extermination.

Multiple groups of King Uther's forces joined in this blitzkrieg, a swift and deadly onslaught against the Saxon villages.

They plundered the wealth of these settlements, leaving nothing but death in their wake. Entire populations were annihilated.

The deep-seated hatred between the Celts and the Saxons was a driving force, one that not even the sight of a beautiful Saxon woman could quell.

There was no desire to capture or enslave, no lust for rape or conquest in the traditional sense—only an overwhelming, all-consuming urge to kill.

The animosity that fueled this racial extermination was immense and deeply ingrained.

This land was supposed to belong to the Celts, yet it had been overrun by invaders, by barbarians who had slaughtered their people, violated their women, and brazenly taken their territory.

This profound sense of injustice and loss had festered into a hatred so deep that the Celts sought nothing less than the complete eradication of the Saxons, to the point where the very sight of them ignited a primal urge to kill.

The massacre swept across all the villages that had once belonged to Camelot, villages that had been forcibly taken by the Saxons. Not a single Celt remained in these villages; they had been driven out or killed by the Saxons.

The sight of their former homes now occupied by their enemies only fueled the fury of King Uther's forces, who exacted their revenge with a brutal, almost ritualistic, precision—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

The terror of that night spread like wildfire through the former Camelot territories, now under Saxon control. The cavalry bypassed the fortified castles and towns, focusing their wrath solely on the villages, where they could inflict the most pain and suffering.

King Uther, who personally led this grim operation, instructed Merlin to send a dire warning to the Saxon leaders who occupied Camelot's former lands: return what they had taken, or suffer the same fate as the massacred villagers.

The message was clear—their days were numbered if they did not relinquish the stolen land.

When the Saxon warlord, Osla Gyllellfawr, stationed at Asgorath—the once-thriving town that formerly belonged to Camelot, lying to the west of the capital of Camelot—received the dire news, his reaction was swift and ruthless.

Without a moment's hesitation, he struck down the unfortunate messenger who had delivered the message and let out a deafening roar that echoed through the camp.

"Since King Uther demands war, then war we shall give him!" he bellowed with fury.

"Osla! Osla! Osla!" The war cry resounded as his warriors raised their battleaxes high into the air, their voices united in anticipation of the bloodshed to come.

It might have been the wisest choice to wait, to let King Uther's forces exhaust themselves, especially given that they lacked the siege equipment necessary to breach Asgorath's defenses.

However, Osla was no fool—he knew all too well that many of his men were already thirsting for battle, eager to spill the blood of their enemies.

If he did not give them the answer they sought, they would surely mutiny in his camp without hesitation, replacing him with a leader who promised action.

Despite this, Osla felt confident in his decision. Although King Uther was considered a great leader, he had never been a renowned warrior. In terms of martial prowess, Uther was mediocre compared to other warlords. And as for Merlin, the so-called great mage, he was nothing more than a conjurer of spells—easily dealt with by a well-aimed axe.

Osla believed that if he could simply land a blow on the magician, Merlin would surely fall.

With confidence born from years of battle and skill honed to match the bravery of his troops, Osla saw no possible way that defeat could befall him.

With an air of invincibility, he confidently led his men out to meet King Uther on the battlefield.

Yet, it wasn't just Osla who responded in this way.

All the leaders and warlords of the Saxons were eager to crush this man called Uther Pendragon.

A massive coalition of Saxon forces had formed, driven by the desire to teach this arrogant king a lesson in humility and to show him his proper place.

...

Meanwhile, in the war camp of the Camelot Coalition Forces, the atmosphere was tense.

Within the council room, Merlin anxiously paced back and forth. His mind was clouded with concern as his clairvoyance revealed the grim fate of the messenger sent to parley with the Saxons.

Merlin grimaced at the sight of the man's death.

"It seems they have refused to surrender, my king," Merlin announced, his voice tinged with frustration.

He was all too aware of Uther's plan.

The king had intended to massacre the Saxon villages and burn their farmlands, starving them into submission.

Sooner or later, Merlin believed, the Saxon forces would be gripped by desperation and turn on each other in mutiny.

Under King Uther's siege and with his seemingly endless supply of provisions from Camelot, the Saxons, who had only meager rations, would be forced to surrender without a single battle.

Who could have foreseen that they would be so reckless as to kill the messengers and march out en masse for revenge?

When Merlin turned to observe King Uther's calm and composed demeanor, he was taken aback.

The king appeared completely unfazed by the news even if his carefully laid plans had not gone as expected.

"So, what is our next course of action, my king?" Merlin asked cautiously. "Shall we retreat and regroup with the rest of our coalition? I do not believe our small number of cavalry can overpower their vast ranks."

"Let them come," Uther replied with a cold snort. "I have already shown them a way out, granted them mercy, but they refused."

Uther's gaze hardened as he turned to Merlin. "Now, tell us everything about this Osla Gyllellfawr and the Saxon warlords who stand against us. I want to know not only their backgrounds but also the routes they are marching, their supply lines, and the exact number of men they bring."

As Uther spoke, the assembled nobles and knights leaned forward eagerly, their attention focused entirely on Merlin.

The pressure was palpable, but Merlin nodded resolutely and began to divulge every detail he had uncovered through his foresight.


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