The Forgotten Orphan Stepped Up To The Sword After The Mightiest Knight Failed

With a sound like singing crystal, the Empyrean Blade slid effortlessly from the cracked boulder. A brilliant golden light erupted from the steel, cutting through the thick mountain mist and illuminating the shocked faces of the assembled nobility. Arthur held the blade aloft, its weight light as a feather in his hands.

A Dangerous Revelation

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the magical energy humming through the air. Borin’s jaw dropped, his massive broadsword slipping slightly in his grip. The mightiest warrior in the land stared at the ragged kitchen boy in utter disbelief.

"This is impossible!" Borin roared, his shock rapidly twisting into fury. "This is witchcraft! A common gutter rat cannot be the chosen king!"

Before Arthur could speak, Lord Alistair, the ruthless regent who had ruled the kingdom with an iron fist, pushed his way through the crowd of knights. His eyes were wide, fixed not on the glowing sword, but on Arthur’s face. In the brilliant golden light of the blade, Arthur’s eyes shone with a distinct, striking violet hue—a trait known to belong to only one bloodline.

Alistair’s face grew pale, his voice trembling as he pointed a finger at the boy.

"Look at his eyes," Alistair hissed to his guards. "He is no commoner. He carries the violet gaze of the exiled prince. He is the son of the king's late brother—the child we were ordered to eliminate eighteen years ago!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The truth was out: Arthur was not an orphan of the streets, but the rightful heir to the throne, hidden away in the kitchens to keep him safe from the regent’s assassins.

Realizing his hold on power was slipping, Alistair’s expression hardened.

"Seize him!" the regent screamed. "He is a traitor and an impostor! Strip him of the blade and execute him!"

Borin and a dozen heavily armored guards closed in, their weapons drawn.