Chapter 125: Medusa’s voice
It was supposedly hidden somewhere beyond ordinary reach until a worthy successor might someday prove capable of wielding it in Arthur’s place.
Leon’s grip on the book tightened slightly. That detail, more than anything else so far, hit closest to home. He was, apparently, supposed to be exactly that successor, the one the sword’s spirit was still waiting to fully accept.
Except Arthur himself, cold and judgmental, hadn’t accepted him. Not yet, anyway.
"What’s wrong?" Iris asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
Leon hesitated, quickly schooling his features back into something more neutral. "Nothing," he said. "Just surprised how detailed this is."
Iris studied him a moment longer, clearly not entirely convinced, though she let the comment slide without pushing further.
Leon returned his attention to the book, flipping forward another page.
The next section shifted focus slightly, moving away from Arthur’s personal history and toward a broader explanation of Excalibur’s abilities and limitations.
According to the text, the sword had different forms, and among them was one which made it invisible.
Being able to fight enemies with an invisible blade was another thing that made King Arthur so terrifying during his reign.
Leon’s mind flashed immediately to what he knew about the two modes of Excalibur, which were normal and phantom.
Everything matched, detail for detail, exactly what he’d already experienced. It left him with an unsettling, almost dizzying sense of validation.
Whatever this book actually was, wherever it had originally come from, it wasn’t simply an old collection of fairy tales invented for entertainment.
He kept reading, moving further into the section discussing the sword’s judgment of worthiness.
According to the text, Excalibur evaluated potential wielders not through strength or achievement alone, but through something the ancient authors referred to only as purity of intent.
The passage explained that the sword measured not what a person had already accomplished, but why they sought power in the first place.
Those driven by vengeance, greed, or personal glory found the blade forever closed to them, no matter how strong they eventually became.
Only those whose deepest motivations aligned with protection, sacrifice, and genuine selflessness could ever hope to unlock its true potential.
Leon’s frown deepened slightly at that particular detail.
He thought back to everything that had driven him forward since the moment his own journey as a player began.
Revenge against Yeon and the people who’d betrayed him. The burning desire to prove himself worthy after Arthur’s initial rejection. The satisfaction he’d felt cutting down Teon, an act of retribution as much as necessity.
If the book was accurate, if Excalibur truly judged intent this strictly, it wasn’t hard to understand exactly why the sword still hadn’t fully accepted him.
Whatever pure, selfless motivation the blade demanded, Leon wasn’t entirely certain his own reasons for fighting qualified.
"You’ve gone quiet," Iris said, watching him carefully now.
Leon glanced up, realizing he’d been staring at the same page for longer than he’d intended. "Just thinking," he said.
"About what?"
He hesitated, weighing how much to actually share.
"Whether the standards in this story are realistic," he said finally, keeping his answer deliberately vague. "Seems like a hard bar for anyone to actually meet."
Iris studied him for a moment, something thoughtful crossing her expression.
"That’s kind of the point, I think," she said. "My grandmother always said heroes in these old stories weren’t meant to be relatable. They were meant to be something to strive toward. Impossible standards, on purpose."
Leon considered that quietly, turning her words over in his mind. Impossible standards, deliberately set that way. It was a frustrating thought, though not an entirely unreasonable one.
He returned his attention to the book, flipping through several more pages until the section on Arthur finally came to its natural end, giving way to a new heading further down the page.
His pulse quickened slightly as he read the next name printed clearly at the top.
Medusa: The Betrayed Guardian.
He glanced up at Iris, unable to fully hide the sudden spike of interest in his expression.
"You said you knew about her too," he said. "Right?"
Iris nodded slowly, watching him carefully now, her earlier suspicion clearly sharpening again behind her eyes.
"I did," she said. "Why does that name interest you so much?"
Leon hesitated, caught slightly off guard by how quickly she’d noticed.
He forced his expression back into something more neutral, though he suspected it was already too late to fully mask his reaction.
"Just curious," he said. "Since you already mentioned her earlier."
Iris studied him a moment longer, clearly not entirely satisfied with that answer, though she didn’t press the issue immediately.
Instead, she reached over and gently turned the book slightly, angling it so she could see the page herself.
"There’s a lot more to her story than most people realize," she said quietly. "It’s not a happy one."
Leon’s grip on the book tightened slightly, his attention fully locked onto the page now, eager despite himself to finally learn the fuller truth behind the woman who’d offered him an alliance in that strange, endless field only hours earlier.
’You can just ask me, you know. Instead of reading some dusty old book.’
Leon flinched hard, the book nearly slipping from his hands. His head snapped up instinctively, eyes darting around the small study as though expecting to find someone standing directly behind him.
There was nobody there. Just Iris, watching him with a startled expression of her own, clearly caught off guard by his sudden reaction.
"What’s wrong?" she asked, her voice sharp with concern.
Leon opened his mouth, then closed it again, his mind still catching up with what had just happened.
Medusa’s voice, unmistakably hers, warm and faintly teasing, had spoken directly inside his head, as clearly as if she’d been standing beside him in the room.
"Nothing," he said finally, forcing the word out as steadily as he could manage. "Just thought I heard something."
Iris studied him carefully, clearly not fully convinced. "You went pale," she said. "For a second there, you looked like you’d seen a ghost."