MM Racing Chapter 14 The Magic Archon
Chapter 14 The Magic Archon
"continue."
"What you want is to be seen," Arthur said.
"You don't want to be a queen, you want to be the 'acknowledged daughter'."
But Father is dead, and you no longer have a chance, so you transferred all your resentment onto me.
Morgan's smile vanished.
"You..." Her voice lowered, "You think you know me well?"
"I don't understand, but I want to." Arthur stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to her.
Britain needs your strength.
Your magic, your wisdom, your political skills.
If you wish, I can offer you a position as the Archon of Magic in Britain.
"On par with the Knights of the Round Table."
Morgan also stood up.
"You're insane," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
"The nobles won't agree, the knights won't agree, and your 'loyal subjects' will want to tear me to pieces."
"Then let them try." Arthur turned around, his emerald green eyes staring directly at her. "I didn't get this position by currying favor with nobles; I got it with this sword."
He patted the stone sword at his waist.
Morgan stared at the sword, a complex light flashing in his icy blue eyes.
"The sword in the stone..." she whispered.
"You pulled it out, so you're the king? Is that Father's reasoning?"
"No, Father had no reason; he simply made a choice." Arthur walked up to her, the two of them only a step apart.
"But I don't need my father's reasons; I have my own."
"What reason?"
"Because I see the future," Arthur said.
"Britain will burn, the round table will shatter, and my loved ones will die one by one."
And you... you will stand amidst the ruins, your eyes filled with utter desolation.
Morgan's pupils contracted slightly.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about a 'destined' tragedy." Arthur's voice deepened.
"But I won't let it happen, and I believe you won't either, because you don't hate Britain, you hate 'not being loved'."
Morgan remained silent for a long time.
Her long, silvery-white hair hung down beside her face, and something trembled slightly in her icy-blue eyes.
Her lips moved slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately she didn't.
"Are you done?" she finally spoke, her voice regaining its cold calm.
"That's all."
"Then I'm leaving." She turned and walked towards the door.
"Morgan," Arthur called to her.
She stopped walking, but didn't turn around.
"Three days later, at the roundtable meeting, I will formally propose the appointment of the 'Magic Archon'."
"If you're willing to come, sit to my right. If not, keep sending assassins."
Morgan turned her head to the side, revealing half of her pale profile and an icy blue eye.
"Aren't you afraid I'll kill you in the meeting?"
"You won't," Arthur said, "because you're my sister."
Morgan stared at him for two seconds, then turned and walked out of the study.
Her footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor and eventually disappeared.
Arthur stood by the window, watching her figure cross the courtyard, mount her black horse, and disappear beyond the city gates.
Mary emerged from behind the bookshelf, holding a stolen apple in her hand, and took a bite.
"When you said 'you are my sister' just now, her heart skipped a beat."
A hint of cunning shone in Merry's amethyst-like eyes.
Arthur glanced at her: "Didn't you say your clairvoyance only works for 'the present'?"
"You don't need eyes to hear your heartbeat; you can hear it with your ears." Mary took another bite of her apple.
"She loves you, no, that's not right... She 'hates' you, but her hatred is so deep that it's full of love."
Arthur did not answer; he simply sat down at the round table and picked up the next government report.
three days later.
The council hall was filled with knights and nobles.
The knights sat on the left, the nobles on the right, and all eyes were on the high-backed chair at the far end of the round table.
Arthur sat in a chair with the sword in the stone resting across his lap.
The seat to his right was empty.
"Today, I have an appointment to announce," Arthur began, his voice not loud, but clearly carrying throughout the hall.
"Britain will establish the position of 'Magic Archon,' responsible for all the nation's mystical affairs—magic, curses, dragon veins, and negotiations with other worlds."
The hall was silent.
"My proposed candidate is Morgan LeFee."
The moment the words were spoken, the nobles erupted in uproar.
"Morgan LeFee? That witch?!"
"She once sent someone to assassinate the king!"
"She is Britain's enemy!"
"Your Majesty, you've gone mad!"
Arthur didn't speak; he just listened quietly, his emerald green eyes sweeping over every angry face.
He only spoke after the noise gradually subsided.
"You say she is Britain's enemy."
But she is also King Uther's eldest daughter, and my sister.
Her veins flowed with the same blood as those of Britain.
A nobleman stood up: "Your Majesty, she once..."
"She once sent assassins to test me," Arthur interrupted him.
"But those assassins didn't hurt me, and it was just a 'test'; if she wanted to kill me, she would have come herself."
Another nobleman stood up: "Your Majesty, she's a witch! She can curse..."
"Britain needs a witch," Arthur said.
"We need someone to deal with the enemies that the knights can't handle—fairies, undead, and invaders from other worlds."
Morgan le Fay is one of the most powerful witches in the world.
If we treat her as an enemy, we will have one more formidable foe.
If we consider her a companion, we'll have gained our strongest ally.
A moment of silence fell over the hall.
"I agree." A voice came from the doorway.
All eyes turned to the doorway.
Morgan stood there, her long, silvery-white hair almost glowing in the sunlight, her icy blue eyes coldly sweeping over everyone in the hall.
She wore a black and ice-blue Gothic gown and a black crown of thorns.
She put it on herself before she came.
She walked to the round table and sat down in the empty seat to Arthur's right.
"Let me see who dares to object," she said, her voice as cold as if it came from an ice cellar.
No one dared to speak.
Arthur looked at Morgan, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Welcome, Archmage of Magic."
Morgan turned her head, her icy blue eyes meeting his gaze.
"Don't get cocky," she said softly. "I'm just here to 'take a look,' not to help you."
"I know," Arthur said, "but you will stay."
Morgan turned his face away and did not answer.
But her hands clenched slightly under the table.
Her long, silvery-white hair fell down her sides, obscuring the tips of her slightly reddened ears.
After the meeting, Arthur stood alone on the city wall.
Mary emerged from the shadows, holding an apple in her hand.
"Did you see that?" Mary said. "When she sat on your right, the air in the whole hall froze."
Arthur did not answer.
"Do you know why she wears that crown of thorns?" Mary asked.
Why?
"Because she was telling herself, 'I am the king, not your subject.'"
Mary took a bite of her apple: "That woman was very arrogant, but she still came."
Arthur turned his head and looked into the distance.
Beyond the walls of Camelot lies a green field.
At the end of the field was the direction Morgan had left in.
"She will stay," Arthur said.
"It's not because of the round table, it's not because of the throne, it's because she was finally 'seen'."
Mary stared at him for a few seconds, then shook her head.
"You really are..." She took a breath, her tone light, "Never mind, it's quite interesting anyway."
She turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Arthur stood on the city wall, the night wind blowing his cloak.
On the deep blue cloak, silver stars shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
Scáthach sewed it herself.
"Master," he said softly, "I've taken the first step."
No one answered.
But he knew that in the darkness of the Land of Shadows, someone would hear him.
No, it wasn't "hearing," it was "perceiving," with her heart that had been lonely for a thousand years.