Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

Chapter 47: Chapter 47: I am Arthur

Arthur's eyes narrowed, disbelief flickering across his face. Was she serious? Pulling me aside under the pretense of a private conversation, only to throw accusations and point a fireball at me—was she truly that reckless? That foolish?

His first instinct was suspicion. Was this an assassination attempt? But he dismissed the thought almost immediately. If Alice truly wanted him dead, she wouldn't be this blatant.

He studied her, searching for an answer in her expression. There was no malice, no bloodlust—just sharp, unrelenting scrutiny. She was testing him. Pushing him. Looking for something.

But what?

Before he could piece it together, her voice cut through the air, cold and demanding.

"I'll ask you again." Her fiery gaze bore into him. "Who are you? And what happened to the real Arthur?"

Arthur exhaled slowly, schooling his expression into unreadability.

"What exactly do you think you're doing, Alice?" His voice was calm, almost bored. "Are you trying to assassinate a king?"

The fireball in her palm flared, heat rolling off it in waves. "You're not in a position to ask questions," she snapped. "I'm the one asking. So answer me—who are you?"

Arthur's patience shattered.

What the hell is this brat thinking?

He had been eagerly anticipating the chance to craft and test a small batch of gunpowder, itching to witness its effects firsthand. But now—thanks to her—his plans were delay. Not only had she delayed his plan, but she had the audacity to threaten him? Over some absurd suspicion?

His jaw tightened, frustration simmering into something sharper. @@novelbin@@

Fine. If she wants a game, I'll play even harder.

Without sparing her another glance, he turned away, walking toward his desk with slow, deliberate steps. He didn't flinch at the heat licking at his back, didn't acknowledge the fireball hovering inches from him. Instead, he lowered himself into his chair.

She won't kill me. She can't.

And even if she tries, that magic wouldn't do a damn thing to me.

Alice's eyes widened slightly at his lack of reaction, but she masked it quickly. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "Do you really want to die?"

Arthur ignored her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small vial of sulfur he got earlier and, with deliberate ease, placed it into a drawer. The casualness of the action was an insult in itself—like she wasn't even worth taking seriously.

"Go on, then." He finally met her gaze. "Kill me."

Alice stiffened as she heard those words.

"You and I both know that if I die, you won't be far behind." Arthur's voice remained calm, measured, as if he wasn't staring down a fireball meant to threaten him. "And let's be honest—you never intended to kill me in the first place."

He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together as he observed her with an unreadable expression. His gaze was steady, unshaken, almost amused.

"So why don't you be a good little sister and cancel your magic before you do something you'll regret?"

For a moment, Alice faltered. The fireball flickered, its heat wavering. But she gritted her teeth and held firm.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped. "Do you think I would listen to someone who has no talent in magic? Someone who thought he could protect everyone, but in reality, was nothing more than trash?"

She watched him closely, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of the Arthur she remembered—or the one she despised. She needed to confirm it for herself. Was this really her brother? The same Arthur who had once been kind, who had once been someone she had admired? Or was he still the pathetic, self-loathing failure she had come to hate?

But Arthur, completely unaware of her true intent, took her words differently.

Why does she always talk about talent? he thought, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Why is she so obsessed with magic? And more importantly, why the hell is this brat insulting me?

His fingers twitched against the desk as another thought surfaced—memories of Arthur's past before he had turned ten. The younger Alice, the younger Aaron. The days when he was still the golden child, the brother they had both looked up to.

Wait a minute... His eyes narrowed slightly. Is she testing me? Trying to see if I've somehow gone back to being the big brother she once admired?

He scoffed internally. No way. I have no interest in deceiving her into thinking I've turned back into that naive fool.

If this really was her test, then he would make it clear—he wasn't that Arthur anymore.

After a moment of consideration, he finally spoke.

"Alice, you've gone too far." His tone was firm. "Cancel your magic." He exhaled, his gaze locking onto hers. "I know you're not going to hurt me. This is just your way of testing me, isn't it? You want to see if I've somehow turned back into the brother you admired before the world found out I was talentless."

Alice's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His voice dropped slightly, steady and unyielding.

"Well, let me save you the trouble." He gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Sit down. I'll give you the answer you're looking for."

Alice hesitated.

The fireball still hovered above her palm, flickering like her own uncertain thoughts. Arthur's words had struck a nerve, cutting through the years of resentment she had built against him. She had expected deflection, maybe even anger, but instead, he had seen right through her.

So he knows.

That should have made things easier, but instead, it only made her more frustrated. If he knew, then why had he changed so much? Why had he thrown away everything and become the failure she despised?

Her fingers twitched. The fireball flared—then fizzled out, vanishing into the air.

Arthur smirked slightly, though his expression held no real amusement. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Alice clenched her fists. "Just answer me already." She stepped forward, her eyes burning with frustration. "Who are you?"

Arthur leaned back in his chair again, watching her carefully. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No, it isn't," she snapped. "You're not the same person I knew growing up. You're not the useless, pathetic failure who drowned himself in alcohol either. So tell me, which Arthur are you?"

Arthur was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping against the wooden desk.

Then, he chuckled.

"You really are impatient, aren't you?" His gaze met hers, sharp and unwavering. "Fine. I'll tell you."

He stood up slowly, walking toward the window.

"The Arthur you hated—the one who gave up, who wasted his life just because he had no talent for magic—that Arthur is dead," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "He was stabbed by an ice shard into his chest"

Alice's breath hitched. Was that a metaphor? Or had he truly been stabbed? She couldn't tell. But she didn't speak and continue listening.

"But the Arthur you once admired?" He turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze catching hers. "He's gone too."

Silence stretched between them. Alice felt something heavy settle in her chest.

"Then what are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur turned fully to face her, a smirk ghosting his lips.

"I'm just Arthur," he repeated, his voice calm, firm. "No more, no less."

That answer—it wasn't enough. It didn't explain anything. It didn't justify the drastic shift in his behavior, nor did it give her the clarity she so desperately sought.

Her fists clenched at her sides. "That's not an answer."

Arthur exhaled slowly. He had no intention of revealing the truth that his soul did not belong to this world, that he had awoken in Arthur's body after his death and the death of the real Arthur. But he also had no desire to lie, to pretend he had miraculously become the doting older brother she once adored.

So instead, he met her frustration with a measured tone. "Think of it as a third phase," he said. "The Arthur you admired—the one full of dreams and ambition—he was the first. Then came the second—the worthless drunk who wasted himself in gambling and self-pity. And now?" He leaned forward slightly. "Now, you see the third. A man who understands his past mistakes and is determined to make something of himself—to rebuild what was lost, to strengthen this kingdom and its people."

His expression turned unreadable as he studied her reaction. "Does that answer satisfy your curiosity?"

Alice remained silent, her expression unreadable.

She wanted to deny his words, to dismiss the idea that this "third phase" Arthur could be real. But she had seen too much—heard too much. The way the servants spoke about him, the changes in the castle, the discipline in his actions... it all pointed to something undeniable.

And that unsettled her more than anything.

Arthur watched her carefully before speaking, his voice calm yet firm. "Alice, I know this isn't easy for you to believe. But let me ask you—would you prefer me to continue living like the Arthur who drowned himself in alcohol, abused his power, and brought nothing but ruin to this kingdom?"

Alice's lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Arthur leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Keldoria was already in decline long before I took the throne. Even when our father ruled, the kingdom was slowing rotting from the inside. And I only made it worse." His fingers tapped against the desk, measured and deliberate. "But I refuse to let it crumble any further. I refuse to remain that failure of a man."

He took a breath, his next words slower, more deliberate.

"I won't ask for your trust. Not yet. But I do hope that, in time, you'll accept this change—and maybe even stand by my side."

Alice remained silent, her fingers twitching as if grasping for something—an argument, a reason to reject his words. But she found none.

The brother she had hated, the one who had drowned in his own despair, wouldn't have spoken like this. Wouldn't have looked her in the eyes with such conviction.

And yet... the brother she had once admired wouldn't have either.

"You talk as if change is that simple," she muttered, crossing her arms. "You expect me to just believe you because you said a few noble-sounding words?"

Arthur chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "No, I expect you to watch. To see for yourself."

Alice narrowed her eyes. "And if I don't like what I see?"

"Then that's your choice," Arthur said easily. "But at least make your judgment based on what I do—not who I used to be."

Alice hated how reasonable that sounded. Hated how, deep down, she had already started to believe him.

"Fine," she said, stepping back. "I'll watch. But don't think for a second that means I trust you."

Arthur smirked. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Alice turned on her heel, ready to leave, but Arthur's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You're just going to walk away?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression guarded. "What now?"

Arthur leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. "Do you really think I'd let you off so easily after threatening me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "And what exactly do you plan to do about it?"

Arthur's smirk deepened, his voice laced with amusement. "Oh, nothing too severe. Just a little punishment." He leaned forward slightly. "You'll be cleaning every bathroom in the palace—top to bottom. And while you're at it, you must carry all the manure and dispose of it in the river and some to where it is needed."

Alice stared at him, deadpan. "You can't be serious."

Arthur shrugged. "Completely serious. You threatened the king—actions have consequences." His smirk widened. "Unless, of course, you'd rather I come up with something worse?"

Alice scowled before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

Arthur let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. Now back to what I was going to do.