The Paradox Corridor

Chapter 50: Occam's Razor

Occam's Razor: the simplest solution is usually the correct one. 

Most people lived under the impression that King Arthur was never a real person, that he was simply a myth, a storybook character. But ever since James had, you know, met him, his whole view on the situation had changed. There really had been a King Arthur, and he did have a sword called Excalibur, and a wizard friend named Merlin. But now Arthur was dead, and his impact on the world would fade away, changing the world as we know it. It was sad really, because most people wouldn't even notice the lack of his impact because they didn't even believe that he had existed in the first place. But...therin lay the key. The simple solution to their problem.

Occam's Razor.

The presence used a tiny fraction of its remaining power to make a pit stop in 1130.

Geoffrey was having a pretty sour day. The Welsh cleric had had to sit through a lot of meetings and depressing conversations with the other clerics, which had only intensified when the end of the world came.

He had been praying fervently for over an hour when he heard the noise. He heard it over the howling wind and roaring thunder, yet it was little more than a hiss, like a spark off of the hearth. He stood up and turned around, and saw the strangest sight.

A young man stood before him, covered head to toe with dinged up armor that at one point may have been silver. Even stranger, he was holding a young woman in his arms. If Geoffrey had been allowed to swear, he would have sworn that she was dead. Suddenly, the young man spoke, in a accent he had never heard before and in a language that, although he did not know it, he could understand.

"Geoffrey of Monmouth!" Geoffrey began to shake when he heard his name. And yet, he still answered:

"Yes...it is I." he said, voice shaking the whole time.

"There is something that I need you to do for me. Something that can save the whole Earth from this...disaster. Will you do it for me?"

"Yes, L-Lord. Whatever you wish." he said, taking a chance. The figure laughed an emotionless laugh.

"I am not God, Geoffrey. Merely someone with a hunch." the figure said, not unkindly.

"W-what is it that you wish for me to do, s-sir?" Geoffrey asked, not sure how to address the strange figure.

"Geoffrey...I want, no, I need for you to write something. It will be called...The History of the Kings of Britain. In it, you will tell the stories of many kings, but of one in particular. His name shall be King Arthur, a valiant son of a tyrant who, at a young age...pulls the legendary sword Excalibur out of a stone, befriends the mighty wizard Merlin, and marries the beautiful Guinevere. THIS...this is what I want you to write about. His battles. His pain. His love. His conquest. Geoffrey of Monmouth...will you do this for me?" Geoffrey, suddenly filled with what felt like divine inspiration, replied:

"Yes..." And, in that instant, the clouds above them fizzled away, the sunlight savagely tearing through, furious about its confinement. The lightning faded, and the Earth stopped shaking.

The world...was safe.

As Geoffrey looked around at the sky in wonder, James stepped back into the portal, and watched the darkness fade away as they flew "up" the time vortex, back to their own time.

Occam's Razor: the simplest solution is usually the correct one. Since most people assume that Arthur wasn't a real person, it didn't matter if the real Arthur was real or not. All that matters is that the story of King Arthur remained. As long as their was that name, and the story was still around, the loss of King Arthur, though tragic, affected no one, except for the few lucky people who knew him.

And...as for our heroes. They have a tough future ahead of them, full of trials and tribulations beyond anything they have faced before. They have already lost one of their own, and another is severely injured. And yet, despite these losses they pushed on, completely destroying their persistent foe.

They have cancelled the first major paradox.

Only two paradoxes remain.