It was frigid out, but most of the people from the tournament had stuck around to watch the most heroic knights make an attempt at inscribing their names in the books of legend. Then, to a great deal of laughter, a young boy had strutted forward toward the great sword and the stone it was deeply pierced into.

Blocking out the laughter and the jeers was difficult, yet the boy somehow managed. With a determined look he spit on his hands, narrowed his eyes, stepped forward and grasped the hilt of the sword firmly with both hands. What muscles he had surged as he yanked at the sword with all his might, a hush fell over the crowd as the sword slid swiftly from the place where it had rested for nearly a hundred years.

The boy, however, had pulled too hard. As the sword came out his hands slid from the grip, sending it flying into the air. It spun end over end before finally cleaving down, taking the stunned boys head clean off.

And that is how young Arthur gained a kingdom and then lost it, all in a few seconds.