Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 92: A Born King
Olin Rachel stood speechless for a long moment before finally announcing Merlin’s victory. Even for him—who had supervised many examinations—this was the first time he had ever witnessed such a spectacle in a first-year final exam. The sheer number of alchemical tools Merlin had pulled out bordered on the absurd. To make matters worse, the boy even had the gall to use a precious mana potion to replenish his magical energy mid-fight.
As the shimmering liquid of the potion slid down his throat, Merlin exhaled a slow breath. Hearing Rachel’s official declaration, he dismissed the howling Wind Blades conjured by his alchemical devices, the spell dissipating into harmless air currents. That was close… he thought, relief washing over him. His mana reserves had been cut in half; without that potion, the outcome might not have been so certain. “Can’t rely on empty mana in a fight like this,” he muttered under his breath, grateful for his foresight.
Meanwhile, Alpha was being carried off the field by the academy’s medical professor, a dark cloud of frustration hanging over him. His expression was a mix of humiliation and disbelief—the kind of defeat that left a bitter taste in one’s mouth. This battle, without a doubt, was the most stifling and one-sided of his life. He hadn’t been defeated by superior skill or talent… but by the overwhelming power of money.
How many gold coins had Merlin burned through for all those alchemical contraptions? And that mana potion at the end—just to rub salt in the wound!
Mana potions, after all, were no trivial item. Even the lowest-grade version was ranked Tier Three, suitable for mages of any elemental affinity. The ingredients weren’t especially rare, but the brewing process was infamous among alchemists—it demanded hours of concentration, enormous amounts of personal mana, and a steady hand to refine properly. Most potion-makers detested crafting them.
Yet ironically, those potions were always in the highest demand—and, naturally, the most expensive. A single bottle of Tier Three mana potion fetched no less than a hundred gold coins.
Alpha couldn’t help but think bitterly, If Merlin had just handed me a hundred gold before the match, I’d have gladly put on a show. I could’ve even customized my defeat pose… The thought drew a weak chuckle from him despite the pain.
Was Alpha strong? Of course he was. Every student labeled a “genius” at the academy had talent beyond measure. But against Merlin—the academy’s resident pay-to-win player—even genius wasn’t enough.
After all, the only thing that could counter a pay-to-win player… was a cheater with divine hacks. And Alpha, unfortunately, was not one.
Back in the stands, Merlin threw himself beside Fitt, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders with a triumphant grin.
“So? Did you see that? My dazzling form in battle! Tell me I wasn’t incredible! Come on, say it—wasn’t I amazing? Wasn’t I cool as hell?”
“Yeah… amazing… totally badass…” Fitt murmured in a daze.
Merlin blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he expected. Fitt’s face was blank, his eyes wide and unblinking, staring fixedly at the giant crystal sphere screen hanging overhead. He hadn’t even realized that Merlin had returned. His response was purely instinctive.
Curious, Merlin followed his friend’s gaze upward.
At the center of the arena, the enormous crystal screen glowed with resplendent light, projecting the final moments of another battle—Arthur Pendragon’s exam.
Arthur Pendragon: first-year student of the Sword and Magic Department, Third Prince of the Dawn Empire, and a youth universally hailed as a born king.
Even through the screen, his presence was arresting. He stood tall and proud, his frame both lithe and powerful, his broad shoulders radiating confidence and might. His body seemed sculpted by time itself—each movement balanced perfectly between grace and strength.
His features were strikingly handsome: sharply defined, noble, and composed. But it was his eyes—deep and commanding—that truly captured attention. In their depths shimmered wisdom, resolve, and a natural aura of authority that compelled belief and respect.
His hair, a cascade of golden silk, glimmered like sunlight woven into strands, flowing gently with every motion. When he swung his blade, that golden brilliance rippled like liquid light, making him appear almost ethereal.
The silver-white armor encasing him gleamed faintly under the sunlight streaming through the arena’s vaulted dome. It was as if the heavens themselves had anointed him, wrapping him in divine radiance. At that moment, Arthur looked less like a mere student and more like a celestial knight descending from the sky.
Across from him stood Mills, a second-year student and top of his class, his sword trembling faintly in his grasp. He stared at Arthur with a mixture of awe and helplessness. A lump formed in his throat as he tried to steady his breathing.
Arthur’s presence loomed like a mountain—majestic, immovable, and utterly unreachable. Though Mills had fought with every ounce of strength and skill he possessed, he found himself utterly crushed beneath that overwhelming aura.
The young prince was like a lion newly awakened, radiating the unshakable dignity of a king.
Every swing of his sword was elegant yet powerful. Every step he took carried confidence and poise. Even as he faced a senior student, Arthur’s composure never wavered—calm, assured, and almost prophetic, as if victory had been written in the stars long before the battle began.
“He truly is… a born king,” Mills thought, admiration flickering in his eyes.
Arthur’s power wasn’t just in his swordsmanship—it was in his presence, his integrity, his compassion. Even amid combat, he inspired those who faced him. His courage and determination were a light others longed to follow.
Mills’ chest tightened with conflicting emotions. He’s stronger than me—not just in magic, but in heart, he realized. Arthur never looked down on his opponents, no matter their rank or strength. He fought every battle with respect and sincerity—a trait that earned genuine reverence.
I’m not there yet, Mills admitted silently. But one day… I’ll catch up to him. I’ll walk beside him, not behind him. Determination burned anew in his heart, the despair of defeat transforming into a vow. Even if the road ahead was harsh, he would chase the light of that kingly figure.
When the duel ended, the cheers and murmurs in the arena slowly subsided. Arthur Pendragon walked gracefully toward Mills, his armor gleaming faintly in the lingering sunlight. A warm smile touched his lips as he extended a hand.
“Thank you for your guidance, Senior Mills.”
Mills blinked, caught off guard. Guidance? If anything, he had been the one guided—his every move predicted, his every strike parried. But the sincerity in Arthur’s expression left no room for cynicism.
Mills clasped Arthur’s hand firmly, feeling the solid strength of a true leader in that grip. “Thank you, Arthur. I still have much to learn, but fighting beside you today was an honor. I’ll train harder—so that one day, I can stand with you as an equal.”
Their conversation played out live on the crystal screen above, drawing murmurs of admiration from the audience. Merlin watched in silence, eyes narrowing slightly. The young prince on the screen—Arthur Pendragon—was only slightly less handsome than himself, Merlin decided with mock seriousness.
He’d heard of this “child of destiny.” When Arthur was born, it was said that countless gods had descended to bless him, each vying for the right to claim him as their divine envoy. The blessings of the gods flowed through his veins, granting him access to divine power itself.
He wasn’t a god’s messenger… yet he stood above them all.
Merlin tilted his head thoughtfully. So this is the protagonist of the world, he mused. A chosen one, a hero blessed by fate.
In the stands, Professor Rachel—who had served as both examiner and observer—exhaled slowly. He had known Arthur was strong, but not like this. Even Mills, his own personally trained top student, hadn’t stood a chance.
Arthur Pendragon had proven beyond doubt—he was not merely talented. He was born to rule.