Caliburnus, the Arrogant Blade
"Everyone, get up already! Anyone still flat on their face by the time I climb down this rock and cross the lake again is getting tossed in personally!"
I couldn't fathom why they were all prostrating so slavishly—it sent chills down my spine. Sure, a massive rock suddenly appearing in the middle of the lake must've been shocking. And spotting that gigantic sword embedded in it? Yeah, that probably freaked them out too. But even if I'd yanked it free, it still felt wrong seeing them all bowed like churchgoers who only crammed in their prayers at the end of a sleepy weekend service.
So I barked at them to stand, gripped the greatsword, and leaped back into the lake. [Splash!]
Britain's weather this time of year was "refreshingly cool" at best, downright chilly at worst. If the air up top was cold, the water below naturally followed suit. The men born on this island loved bragging about their winter-hardy constitutions, claiming they were sons of the frost or some nonsense... but humans are fundamentally weak to cold everywhere. These folks were just more accustomed to Britain's winters. Familiarity didn't make it less frigid or prevent colds—it still claimed plenty of lives each year.
It'd been over a decade since I'd come to this land, yet I'd never fully adapted to the icy winter currents of its lakes, rivers, and seas. Not until now, anyway. [Splash—splash—]
"Whew—"
"My love...!"
Guinevere, looking a bit worn with worry creasing her fair brow, hurried over and handed me a cloth to dry off. Five days. She'd said I'd been sitting there dazed for five whole days? Come to think of it, I must've eaten and drunk something in that time—probably because she'd fed me herself. So she'd been suffering right by my side all along?
"...Thanks. You were worried, huh? Sorry."
"Don't say that."
Before I could even add I'm soaked, she pulled me into an embrace. With our height and build difference, it was more like she was clinging to me, but no one here would nitpick. I quickly wiped the water from my hair, arms, and shoulders, then held her gently. A wave of warmth trembled in my arms before she slowly pulled away. Cold air rushed into the gap, so I toweled off the rest haphazardly and draped the cloak a servant offered over my shoulders.
Even with all these eyes on me, changing here wasn't an option. I was the groom from a wedding just five days ago, and with women among the crowd—not just men—Guinevere's feelings mattered. As if sensing my thoughts, she gestured, and servants rushed in with a portable brazier, fanning the embers back to life.
"..."
Staring into those flames brought it all rushing back—the memories I'd mulled over while blankly fixated on the sword in the rock these past five days. They felt so ancient that my current life seemed trivial, everything pointless by comparison. It was akin to astronomers who'd spent lifetimes charting the stars suddenly grasping the universe's vanity and plunging into nihilistic despair.
To reclaim that lost warmth, I took Guinevere's hand. Did I look precarious? Her small, delicate hands wrapped firmly around mine, sharing her heat. Only then did the void fade, my mind settling back into reality.
"Dominus Artorius Invictus."
As I held her hand, lost in thoughts of the being who'd stroked my cheek in my dream, a familiar voice cut in from the side. It was Merlinus.
"...Never imagined the wedding ending like this. Did you foresee it?"
"How could anyone predict this? Believe it or not, I'm still trembling at the sight of that gleaming lake—and you drawing Caliburnus in one pull, Dominus Artorius."
"..."
The guy's hands aren't shaking a bit. Born with ice in his veins—an extreme, super-rational T-type intellect—he wore a satisfied smile, clearly thrilled by the intrigue. Perhaps his unflappable demeanor emboldened the others; the wedding's noble guests—mostly my subordinates and a few visitors—began approaching.
"Dominus."
"Dominus Invictus."
"Artorius Invictus."
Each clutched something in both hands, bowing deeply before glancing at my right side—everyone except Merlinus. My left held Guinevere's hand, my right gripped the greatsword upside-down like a staff against the ground. Caliburnus, huh?
"Everyone, thank you—and sorry. I had no idea this would happen..."
These were people who'd carved out precious time to honor my wedding; I felt genuinely apologetic. It wasn't my fault, but dragging busy folks into this weird mess sat poorly.
They recoiled in surprise, waving hands frantically, shaking heads vigorously, some even prostrating again.
"I said no prostrating... Anyway, Merlinus—is Caliburnus this sword's name?"
"Yes, Dominus Invictus. Fitting, isn't it? I overheard Comes Beduerus mention it."
"...!?"
Beduerus shot Merlinus a look like Why bring me into this?, then bowed at my glance.
"In the tongue of this land, it's called Caladbolg, Dominus. A legendary sword from ancient tales."
"Caladbolg. Caliburnus?"
In my past life, Western history wasn't my forte, but even I'd heard of King Arthur somewhere. Arthur and Excalibur—names that cropped up inevitably. Without knights in my old world, it hadn't clicked before. But when an old refugee beyond the wall called me "Arthur" last time, I'd wondered if I might be that king. Or just a similar name? If I was Arthur, this'd be Excalibur—but the sound was unfamiliar. Romans, as usual, probably appropriated and localized some foreign word.
"A fine name, Caliburnus..."
I didn't know its meaning, but that didn't matter. It was the feel. Saying it aloud again, it rolled perfectly off the tongue. Beduerus knew his blades.
"Thanks, Beduerus."
"An honor, Dominus."
"Now, you've all got questions, and I get wanting to ogle Caliburnus more. But we need to send the crowd home, and my wife and I—barely five days married—need some alone time. Rest today; we'll talk tomorrow. Those who must leave early due to delays, go now. I'm grateful you waited. Thanks again—and sorry."
I touched my sword-gripped fist to my chest and bowed slightly; they chorused denials, waving it off. Amid them stood out the Frankish envoys and our new Angle kin like Wolfmaer, dropping to their knees with gusto. I let them be—scolding now would make me a nag—and pulled Guinevere close.
To Caius, now at my side, I casually nudged the inverted greatsword.
"Caius."
"Yes, Magister Militum!"
"Take Caliburnus to my villa? No need to polish it—"
[Swoosh—]
"Hm? Uh... wh-what?!"
[Screeeech—Thud!!]
"Ack!"
"Caius!?"
Caius, arms outstretched to catch my toss, froze in confusion, face twisting as he toppled like a felled tree under a lumberjack's axe—sword and all. Shocked, I yelled; Beduerus, Galbaginus, Wolfmaer, and Prince Merowig of the Franks lunged first, grabbing the blade and heaving together.
"Nngh—"
"Urghhh—"
"Grrraaah!"
Incredibly, Britannia's finest warriors and a barbarian prince—all red-faced and grunting—couldn't budge it. Caius pushed desperately from below amid the clamor, to no avail. Caliburnus sat stubbornly atop him. At least it seemed unwilling to harm him?
"..."
"I'll help!"
"Pile on!"
More joined: Drustanus, Peredir, Cunedagius, Tor, Palamedes, Lancearius from Rotomagus with lavish gifts, and even slender Moderatus. Romano-Britain's top commanders and allies strained en masse—yet Caliburnus didn't twitch.
"Hnnngraaah!"
"Heave! Heave!"
"Nngh—! ...?? Moderatus! You pulling or pushing!?"
"P-Pulling, brother Galbaginus! Hnngh!"
"Your form's off! Dammit! Why's your ass wiggling!?"
"This won't do! Comes Caius, endure a moment! Everyone, on three! One, two... three!"
"Kyaaah!"
"Hnnnyah!"
"Hyah!"
"Raaargh!"
Chaos reigned, but Caius—realizing he was unharmed—grinned awkwardly at the straining mob. In the suddenly comedic scene, with all eyes curious, I communed with the sword.
'A will dwells within the blade...?'
It didn't intend to hurt Caius—that thought wasn't mine alone; it was a wavelength from outside my mind. The greatsword lounged atop him, shrugging off rough hands and muscle. My master is one alone. Pathetic humans. Arrogant disdain radiated toward all but me. If I wasn't mad, this was the sword's will.
I tapped sweating shoulders, urging them back, then asked Caius—flashing a sheepish smile.
"You okay down there?"
"Yes! Shockingly painless, no issues! Dominus! Though staying like this forever would be a problem..."
"Won't happen."
Enough tantrums. Get off my little brother.
"Caliburnus."
I bent, gripped it again. As when first drawn, it weighed nothing—a single feather, signaling its presence to me alone.
"You have every right to your arrogance, Caliburnus."
King—or emperor—among all swords in this world. It brimmed with qualifications for hubris. As if agreeing, it quivered faintly in my grasp.