The moment she came to, the darkness surrounding Bea had disappeared. Once again, the hallway of battle welcomed the young princess. The human fence encircled the two combatants, who would still rather have their swords doing the talking. In the end, nothing had changed – she was still an outsider, observing the situation with little voice to speak of.

But she wasn’t like the girl she was before anymore. With her conviction settled, Bea no longer wavered. No longer would she be the one to only weep on the sidelines; the princess would fight, or rather, stop the fighting with everything she could. And she alone held the key to it.

Taking a deep breath, her hand clutched the supposed ornamental sword’s hilt. For her to gain the power she needed, Bea had to draw out Galatine like the way Peter did with Excalibur. Only with an equal standing up to humanity’s strongest sword would both sides listen to her ideals.

Bea slowly grabbed the scabbard and pulled the sword. Or at least, that was her intention.

It wouldn’t budge.

She wasn’t being scared. She wasn’t doubting herself. And yet, after all of the courage, all of the physical strength that the girl had mustered for herself, when it came down to what was thought to be the simplest task of all, she still failed. Galatine wouldn’t be drawn out of its sheath, refusing to awaken its mighty power.

Why? Bea gritted her teeth as she pulled the sword with all her might. Why can’t I do it? What’s the secret?

The words of the woman she met in her dreams, the creator of the sacred sword echoed in her mind.

Galatine is the sun that supports the king…

She didn’t know what it meant, no matter how hard Bea racked her brain for an answer. If taken the sentence literally, it could only mean that Galatine would show its power when it was used to support Excalibur. In other words, she had to take Peter’s side in this fight.

But that wouldn’t change anything! The internal scream echoed in her head.

The implication of a royal following a heretic was tantamount to organizing a coup d'etat. Not only would she be branded public enemy number one, but it would only fuel the fire of grudge between the two sides for generations to come. But the most important thing of all… was that Bea had had enough of being second fiddle.

Neither side was right – not the one that the royal family stood on, forcing their “peace” over the others by continuously killing off any and every threat they were faced with. Not the side of her friend, who was fixated on violence as he got his hands on power. If she were to be given that kind of unimaginable strength, she would have used it to stop, not start this bloodshed.

However, even if she could use this sword in her hand, she couldn’t subdue him. Her ideal was a world without conflict, a world without bloodshed. If she were to subjugate the boy with Galatine, she would only be doing the same thing as her family had been doing for ages. Bea knew this, and she knew that it wasn’t the sword’s power that she needed.

It was its authority.

With Excalibur not in their possession anymore, Galatine was the only proof left of kingship. Whoever was accepted by the sacred sword would be the undoubted ruler of Britain. This was what Bea needed, and it was her reason for pulling the sword once more.

O’ Sword of the Sun, listen to me, thoughts flowed inside her mind. If you were to have a will of your own, then heed my call. I yearn for a world of peace, a world free of hatred! Answer my prayers, and lend me your strength!

The young princess put her all into pulling out the sword once more. However, it was still all for naught. No matter how much she tried, it remained sealed shut.

… Fine. So be it. There is another way.

“Cumhachd!”[1]

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Along with her magical chant, energy rushed into Bea’s palms. Steam started erupting from her body, twisting the air around the princess like a desert mirage. Her eyes and mouth were dyed in a familiar red, while her hands slowly but surely began to slip from the trickling crimson.

It was only a simple enhancement spell, but its intensity was greater than even the teleportation attempt Bea had done before. With each passing second, the girl knew that it wasn’t nearly enough, and it wasn’t all that she could do either.

Slowly but surely, she put more of her mana to work. Veins started to pop under her skin. Her eyes were seeing red. But within that veiled look, a spark of hope had shown itself – ever so slightly, there was a gleam of metal. The sword was being pulled out, even if it was nowhere near a tenth of an inch.

“Come on!” In her frustration and anger, Bea shouted out her lungs, accidentally voicing her thoughts out loud. “Just a little bit more! A little more, and I can do it!

“Even if it kills me, I will pry it open!”

The girl scourged her mind once more, focusing every ounce of her mental strength to regulate her magical power. She could feel it in her hands. It could be done.

“Just you wait, you damned ghosts of the past! I shall take that hatred of yours… and smash it all to pieces!”

Her back burned with a flaming heat. Her muscles cried out in pain and agony. But for the girl right now, all of it was just to fuel her desire even more.

“Get… out!”

With her final shout, sparks flew in the air. It was as if time had stopped altogether.

Galatine had been drawn. The holy sword, its blade shining a golden light, illuminating the hallway with a warm and gentle touch like a soothing morning sun. Though the hilt had been stained red, the effort was well worth it.

However, even the current symbol of Britain, the sword that chose its ruler, wasn’t the one that captivated everyone in the hallway as much as they were enamored right now. Instead of the gleaming sword in her hands, all eyes were glued to the princess herself, mesmerized by the beauty that they were witnessing with their mortal eyes.

The legends of Sir Bedivere of the Round were something that the royal family revered. After stopping the evil reign of King Arthur, he ascended to the throne, and by the end of his reign, the man was blessed by God himself, forgoing his mortal body and making his way to Heaven, gaining the title of Archangel. It was why the current royals had such a high aptitude for magic, as they were all blessed by their forefather. To be this blessed, however, was a first.

On Bea’s back was a sensation like no other. As if she had grown another pair of arms that stretched out to no end, the girl lightly closed her eyes, touching the gentle breeze behind her, reveling in her new sense of freedom so much that it brought out a chuckle from the young girl’s mouth. The knights, meanwhile, stood in agape. They had all lowered their weapons unconditionally as if all of their will to fight had long perished. Pedro, as soon as he had caught wind of the scene, was already down on his knees, crying and sobbing as if he had seen his salvation.

In the end, only a voice could be uttered. Peter, his armor and sword shining brighter than ever, spoke in pure shock:

“Bea… your back…”

The girl turned around. A pair of white, avian wings had sprouted behind her.

“Ah… I see. So that’s why I felt something ruffle behind me.”

She tried flapping her wings. True enough, they moved as if a part of her body from the start, kicking up a small gust of feathers along the way.

“This… does feel interesting,” with a light smile, Bea exclaimed, raising her arms sideways this time.

As the girl expected, once she had gotten used to moving her new body, the wings on her back flapped in rhythm, slowly but surely bringing herself into the air.

Turning to the now unsheathed sword in her hand, Bea closed her eyes to feel its magical flow. There was a small jolt coming at her, but the impact was meager at best. A smile formed on her face as she realized the truth of the matter – Galatine hadn’t chosen her as its owner after all; she merely forced it to give her its power.

But it also meant that she had grown stronger than anyone else here.

“Peter, Pedro,” Glancing at the two boys, she finally spoke. “Stop all of this. It’s meaningless.”

“But…”

Before the former could retort, the princess raised her new sword to the sky. “This is enough proof, right? To be chosen by Galatine, the proof of Britain’s new ruler, I’m more than qualified to impose and revoke any rules regarding today’s incident. As a matter of fact, any incident, even.”

Lowering Galatine and instead raising her other hand, she continued towards the latter.

“To break this cycle of hatred, we must first accept each other. I’m willing to cast aside mine; will you?”

“… Are you trying to be a Saint?” With a bewildered laugh, the boy asked.

“If that’s what is needed to end our feud, then so be it.” She answered with conviction. “No more shall suffer. No more shall die. If I’m supposed to be a Saint, then I’ll be a Saint. If I’m supposed to be God himself, then I shall succeed it as well.”

On Peter’s face was a mix of emotions – disbelief, confusion, but most importantly, relief. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile.

“I knew it. No matter what happened, I knew you’d be the one who I could count on and follow.”

The boy raised his hand. His non-sword hand.

“If you’re so sure of smashing this chain of hatred between us…” he continued. “No, between them, even, then I have no right to refuse. Count me in, Princess; I’ll share this idiotic dream with you.”

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[1] Power