The Arrogant Knight Mocked Me for Touching the Sacred Sword until It Glowed

The Spark of Rebellion

The moment Arthur’s fingers closed around the leather-wrapped hilt, a sudden silence fell over the canyon. The howling wind died instantly, and the swirling fog froze in mid-air. Borin watched with a mocking grin, expecting the boy to be crushed by the weight of his own foolishness. But the grin quickly faded.

With no apparent effort, Arthur pulled. The legendary sword slid from the cracked boulder as smoothly as if it were slipping from water. A blinding, golden light erupted from the blade, shattering the gloomy overcast darkness of the canyon. The sheer force of the magic sent a shockwave through the ground, forcing several knights to drop to their knees in reverence.

Borin’s face twisted in a mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated rage. He could not accept that a lowly stable boy had achieved what he, the greatest warlord of the realm, could not.

"Seize him!" Borin roared, his voice cracking with desperation. "He is a thief! He has used dark witchcraft to trick us!"

Before the knights could move, a figure draped in a tattered cloak stepped out from the rocky crevices. It was the high priest, who had been in hiding for a decade. He raised his wooden staff, his voice booming with authority.

"Hold your blades!" the priest commanded. "He is no thief. Look at his eyes, Borin. He is the lost son of King Uther, the rightful heir to the throne."

The revelation struck the assembly like a physical blow. The knights hesitated, looking between their commander and the boy holding the glowing sword. Borin, realizing his dream of the throne was slipping away, drew his massive broadsword. A murderous look filled his eyes. If the boy died here in the fog, the secret would die with him, and the throne would still be his for the taking.