Caliburnus Awakens
[Tweet—tweet tweet! Tweet!] Native sparrows to all sorts of migratory birds. I could feel flocks of winged creatures from every corner gathering in the forests encircling the vast lake. I could just hear them. But were they the only ones? The dangerous beasts from southeastern Britannia—like wolves or bears—had all but vanished at the hands of the man sitting right before my eyes, Dominus Artorius, so we could count them out. Even so, from local dogs to deer, foxes, otters, badgers, and more otters besides. Wild animals that normally shied away from human presence, rarely spotted near roads or villages, had all converged, each staking out a corner of the forest to gaze at the lake's center.
East, west, south, north. Travelers pouring in along Britannia's well-paved roads all spoke with one excited voice about the bizarre phenomena they'd witnessed, so it had to be quite the spectacle. For the animals to forget their winter preparations and fixate so intently on something? What incredible event could be unfolding!?
The Britannians, filing in orderly under the legionaries' control amid the fuss, now stood with mouths agape, rubbing their eyes, clapping hands over mouths, or crouching to squint harder—expressing their astonishment in every way imaginable. Among them were surely spies from across the sea to the south, east, and west. And infiltrators from the north. But truthfully, that might have been partly Merlinus's intention.
The massive oaken club—a weapon Beduerus personally favored calling the "Empire's Final Fury"—that had accompanied Magister militum Artorius through his legends had shattered. Then our Dominus plunged his hand into the lake alongside the first drops of blood I'd ever seen from him. And all that followed—the unbelievable events. Yet so many had witnessed it, and countless now beheld the results. Merlinus meant to exploit this grand incident.
"Dignity and fear are as vital as raw power. Such intangible forces build a man's name through myriad events, and this is an unmatched chance to imbue the Magister militum's name with immense dignity. That sword is the lake's gift to him. Unless every soul here is blind or mad, you'll see the truth in my words. Thus, if the sword must be drawn, it should be done before as many eyes as possible."
The people, confronted with this miracle up close, all glanced warily at the Magister militum. The lake's radiant glow had vanished in unison, replaced by a massive sword on a rocky isle—like a mirage from the distant southern deserts. When Dominus Artorius's blood touched the water, the light had blazed then faded, summoning the isle and sword. The sequence was too perfect for coincidence.
And five days had passed since then. From his seat, he'd barely moved, accepting only food and wine fed to him by Domina Guinevere at his side, his gaze locked wordlessly on the greatsword. No one could fail to sense something profound in the Magister militum's demeanor.
Something had surely transpired when he immersed his hand in that glowing lake. Beduerus had cautiously asked everyone who'd witnessed it that day: Had they felt something akin to what I did? Without exception—even Prince Merowig of the Franks, who'd claimed urgent business post-wedding feast—they'd nodded gravely, humor fled from their faces.
"Not just me, then, Comes Beduerus. That sword. This lake. There's something to it. The chills on my skin weren't illusion, nor what I saw that day. Each realization terrifies me more. Comes Beduerus, the Magister militum..."
The words trailed off. But the unspoken emotions were clear: shock, awe, fear above all. Amusingly, from Beduerus himself to everyone lingering five days after the wedding—perhaps only three remained unscathed: Guinevere, Merlinus, and Brother Hector, whose face had paled strangely.
Caius sat slumped a short distance from Dominus Artorius, staring blankly at the isle, then the Dominus, then back—same as today. Galbaginus, amid the chaos, barked at and soothed dazed legionaries to maintain city order. But Merlinus seemed intent on amplifying the disorder, prompting Galbaginus to nearly raise his voice—only to stifle it under the weight of one man's overwhelming presence filling the space.
"What in blazes are you doing, Prefectus Merlinus? How much toil has Comes Uterius and others endured to weed out spies and secure the borders? You know better than anyone—what's this now?"
"Gather every eye that can see, every ear that can hear. If possible, I'd summon every spy in the world."
[...]
"Don't you see, Comes Galbaginus? This surpasses all you mentioned. It will reach all Britannia—Britain, Caledonia, Hibernia and beyond—to Gallia, and the Empire itself. No time to detail how past emperors built authority, but trust it holds that value."
[...What if that sword can't be drawn?]
"Naive in spots, Galbaginus. I believe our Magister militum will draw it without fail. But should heaven err otherwise? We'd chip away the rock a bit. Draw it then. See? The act matters little now. What counts is the lake glowing with his blood, the sword-embedded isle rising—that fact alone. Cooking such rare heavenly ingredients to perfection? That's my role. Stand down, Comes Galbaginus."
[...]
Madman. Beduerus easily inferred Galbaginus's muttered parting shot. The issue? Another wore a similar expression to the outwardly deranged Merlinus...
"...Gone."
Brother Hector. An outsider from eastern Rome beyond Gallia, much like Beduerus himself—and once a cleric, more accurately. Hector openly disavowed the title of brother. Whatever severed him from a lifetime of faith and study, I knew not. He'd long viewed not just the Church but all lingering native faiths in Britannia with skepticism. Whatever he did, the empire's churches across the sea wouldn't approve. Yet on the other hand, their gaze on Britannia no longer mattered here. Fake and true emperors alike had abandoned Romano-Britannia; the Church had done the same. Those remaining had their national and religious worldviews uprooted twice over. Any renewed outreach now would meet a changed response. Britannia had been excluded from empire and Lord's grand plans alike. Even the admirable clerics who'd stayed, facing death, were isolated—cloisters their only refuge. That was abandonment.
"I wouldn't know."
Where would all this lead? The Frankish prince's barbarian guards clutched pagan amulets, kneeling devoutly before the Magister militum. Strangers might mistake these fierce warriors for naked penitents before a god. And such "faithful" multiplied in real time amid the forests ringing the lake. Trees, beasts, men packed tight yet silent, harmonious in reverence—a piety alien and fearsome even to a battle-hardened veteran like Beduerus.
Those who'd climbed here chasing wild rumors for a peek at rising Avalonia, or to savor autumn's tail end with state-guided tours of the mystic lake, now wore grim faces. Clutching crosses or forbidden local talismans—sometimes both. Even among VIPs behind the Magister militum with Beduerus. Before this vast miracle, all confessed secrets. Murmured prayers, confessions, pleas for mercy flowed ceaselessly. Torches burned day and night, the once white-and-red space now steeped in added piety, akin to a holy site.
Lord, I have slain many. Some I could have saved. Beduerus too had confessed, dredging a long-buried horror, begging forgiveness. But truly—to whom?
"..."
That went unsaid. Beyond Beduerus's silent gaze, Merlinus—the architect—approached Dominus Artorius slowly. He'd raised the isle with blood, become stone himself. At last, the Dominus shattered his long silence. All—men, beasts, trees, wind—held breath to hear.
"Already five days passed?"
Artorius rose slowly; Merlinus bowed beside him, Guinevere standing with. Surveying calmly, bafflement touched the Dominus's eyes. His colossal frame made reading his face easy from afar. Seeing it, Beduerus sighed deep relief from his chest. Unchanged. The lord I'd known, served—and if permitted, would follow forever. Such comfort welled unbidden; Beduerus exhaled deeply.
"Huuuuh—"
Tension's release dizzied him, but Beduerus steeled his gaze. He couldn't miss a moment of what followed.
"All these people gathered just to see me pull one sword? Nothing better to do...?"
"---, ----! ---."
"No need for theatrics—just end it quick. Guinevere, wait a moment?"
Feigning exasperation at Merlinus's urgent whispers, the Dominus plunged into the lake, thrashing arms and legs powerfully. The waters parted like cleaved waves, white foam trailing—his shadow looming over the isle with one breath. No otter or fish could match that swim. Before awe could settle, his hands gripped the massive hilt firmly. Then—
[Rumble!]
Thunder—not from sky, but earth. The deeply embedded blade emerged immense, unlike any Beduerus had seen. Too vast and thick for a sword—more like the Dominus's old oaken club, but metal-bodied. Yes, a colossal metal club mimicking a Roman longsword.
"Caliburnus..."
The one-armed swordsman, who believed swords held anima, uttered the name unbidden. Its true origin: Caladbolg, the Cleaver or Destroyer. Sword-mad Beduerus collected tales of blades far and wide. Britannia's natives spoke of such a legendary sword once here. Now, it would be Artorius's.
"Artorius Invictus."
"Dominus Invictus."
Old Romans knelt little—even to gods. But the eastern Church's rise had knee-bending converts. In farthest Rome—Britannia—both mingled. Yet all before Beduerus knelt one way now. Uncoerced, naturally, clutching faith symbols—believing in Lord, old gods, or both—Britons dropped to both knees. Bows followed, heads low.
Beduerus eyed the lone figure on the isle, greatsword—nay, greatblade—raised in both hands, oblivious to the scene. Had he truly unchanged? The doubt bloomed; Beduerus yearned to watch longer. The man lowered the blade slowly, finally surveying. Then, thunder-voiced, he bellowed:
"What is this—all of you!? You're not even soaked! Heads up! On your feet! Now!"
Aaah, just as ever. Truly unchanged. A soul as iron as his flesh. Unyielding conviction—he'd fall before bending. Amid the hesitant risings, Beduerus smiled faintly, kneeling belatedly. Head bowed in prayer.
Lord, shield our hero. Safeguard the king.
"Get up already, I said!"
From Beduerus's sealed lids, one tear fell toward that radiant smile.