CHAPTER 138: CHAPTER 138

Within that time, Arthur buried himself in parchment and ink, carefully sketching out models, drafting notes, and revising every line of strategy until no flaw remained. Each day, the study filled with the scratch of his quill and the scent of melted wax, his mind consumed with calculations of production, supply routes, and market influence.

At last, on the morning of the fifth day, Arthur set his quill down. The final page of his plan lay complete, its sharp lines and precise words capturing weeks of foresight compressed into one document.

Then, he reached for the small brass bell at the edge of his desk and rang it once. The clear chime echoed through the chamber. Moments later, the door creaked open and the valet entered, bowing with careful respect.

"Your Majesty."

Arthur’s gaze did not leave the sealed parchment. "Summon Klein," he instructed, his tone calm but carrying the weight of command.

The valet bowed lower. "At once, sire." With that, he turned and left, footsteps fading down the corridor.

Arthur’s eyes lingered on the parchment in front of him. Five days of careful thought, of calculations, of balancing opportunity against risk—and now it was ready to move from theory to practice. Execution would decide everything.

It wasn’t long before the door opened again. Klein entered, his boots striking the stone floor with crisp rhythm before he stopped and bowed low.

"You called for me, Your Majesty?"

Arthur picked up the paper and held it out across the desk. "I did. Here."

Klein stepped forward and accepted the document with both hands. His eyes flickered across the first lines, but he didn’t read further without permission.

Arthur leaned forward, his voice calm but edged with authority. "These are the tasks you will oversee. You can assign anyone to do it for you but, report directly to me once each stage is complete."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Klein’s reply was steady, his posture firm.

Arthur gestured with a faint motion of his hand toward the chair opposite his desk. "Sit. Read it here, in front of me. I want to be certain you understand every word. If there are questions, you will ask them now—not later."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Klein bowed once more before taking the seat. He unfolded the paper carefully, laying it on the desk between them. His eyes moved steadily across the lines, scanning with practiced discipline, his lips pressing into a thin line as the weight of the tasks revealed themselves.

Arthur watched him in silence, his chin resting lightly against steepled fingers. He hadn’t chosen Klein to oversee for this task because Klein was the only man capable of carrying it out. On the contrary—Klein was already overburdened, managing knights, mages, and the kingdom’s military defenses. There were others who could have handled the logistics.

But Arthur hadn’t assigned them to oversee it.

The truth was simple, though he rarely admitted it, even to himself: he didn’t know who else he could truly trust or assign to.

Yes, he had spoken to many people since his transmigration—nobles, officers, scholars, craftsmen. He knew their skills, their habits, even their flaws. He could list what each man or woman excelled at and predict how they might behave when standing before him. But that was all it was: a performance in front of the king

.

What he could never see, what he could never be certain of, was how they acted behind him. Was their loyalty genuine, or a mask worn for convenience? Were their words of respect honest, or simply a script they knew he wanted to hear? Arthur could not tell, and because he could not tell, he refused to lower his guard.

He had walls—thick, unyielding walls.

[Note: Just because Arthur couldn’t always tell whether someone’s loyalty or praise was genuine didn’t mean he was blind to ill intent. He could sense when someone meant harm. What he often missed were the nuances behind flattery — he didn’t process or value such words, assuming they were merely attempts to curry favor. This gave him an air of social detachment, yet it was not the same as being unable to read people or play strategic games. In truth, Arthur relied on logic to weigh others’ worth rather than on fleeting feelings. While this was an asset for a king, it also made it difficult for him to forge deep emotional bonds.]

Arthur was aware enough of himself to know what it was. In the language of his old world, it would be called a Dismissive-Avoidant Attachment Style. Emotional walls raised high. A tendency to keep every relationship practical, surface-level, defined by usefulness rather than trust. He did not allow himself to depend on others, nor did he allow others to lean too closely on him. That distance made him untouchable. It kept betrayal from cutting too deep.

But it also left him isolated.

His interactions were transactional, his relationships functional at best. Even when people smiled at him or praised him, part of him recoiled, dismissing their warmth as flattery or manipulation. He avoided entanglement not out of cruelty, but out of instinct—a shield that never lowered.

And so, when the time came to assign this task, Arthur defaulted to Klein. Not because Klein was the perfect choice, but because Klein was one of the few men Arthur had observed closely enough, tested thoroughly enough, and relied upon enough to entrust with something that truly mattered. Arthur also knew Klein’s habits well—if given a task, Klein would not hesitate to delegate it to someone better suited if it doesn’t necessarily required his attention, yet he would always ensure the work was done to standard.

That was the difference. Arthur didn’t need men who sought glory; he needed men who ensured results.

Arthur also understood that Klein would oversee the assignment with his own eyes. If the matter proved vital, Klein would handle it personally. If it was less critical, he would carefully select the most capable subordinate and monitor them from the shadows. Either way, the outcome would align with Arthur’s intent.

And Klein, for his part, had long since noticed the pattern. Months of serving under Arthur had taught him this much: if the king entrusted a matter directly to him, it meant one of two things. Either the task was of critical importance... or Arthur simply did not know who else he could trust, and so defaulted to Klein as the safest option.

The knowledge weighed on him, but it also steeled his resolve.

Because whether Arthur’s choice came from trust or necessity, Klein refused to let his king down.