I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

Her thoughts seemed to have changed somewhat.

……

P.S.: I've been putting it off for so many days. I originally wanted to write more, but I kept feeling stuck, so I'll just post this now~ Goodnight everyone!

Chapter Eight: Changes (Part 2)

A cold wind swept across the face, seemingly foreshadowing the approaching dreadful winter. Magicians often jokingly refer to British winters as "a mother's embrace," implying their helplessness during this season, like infants in swaddling clothes.

This is obviously an exaggeration, but once the snowflakes fall, the lives of everyone, from superhumans to ordinary soldiers and even countless civilians, will be greatly affected. At that point, even knights who pride themselves on their bravery will no longer be able to wield their swords smoothly, and the battle will be impossible to fight.

"...The king summoned us here most likely to discuss the war."

Tristan, his dark green cloak billowing in the wind, strode forward, speaking to his friend beside him as he carried his harp.

He was once a knight of Cornwall, but was banished from the land for falling in love with the same woman as his lord. By chance, he joined King Arthur's side. However, he is better known for his outstanding musical talent and his lingering melancholy than for his identity.

Because of his relatively melancholic temperament, Carlyon didn't have many close friends with Tristan at the moment. His closest friend was probably Bedivere, who was also from Cornwall. Although young and one-armed, Bedivere possessed extraordinary skills and a gentle nature. He had almost never quarreled with anyone since childhood, and was an invaluable talent in domestic affairs under King Arthur. Many compared him to Kayle and he was highly regarded.

The young knight, now fully cloaked, wore a gentle smile, but his expression turned serious when the topic of war came up: "Yes. If we don't fight soon, it'll snow heavily... Lord Tristan, who do you think will win this battle?"

"Hard to say."

Most other people with a bit of shrewdness would have given a vague answer to this question, or taken the opportunity to show their loyalty. But Tristan just shook his head: "Whether we win or lose, there will always be a lot of casualties and bloodshed. You and I may fall on the battlefield. The thought of those lives that will be lost soon makes me feel only...sadness."

"That's why we must make every drop of blood and every life lost meaningful."

Bedivere replied.

Death was not a distant topic for him. His elder brother Lucan and Sir Royal, who was like a half-teacher to him and was once the most powerful chief knight in Connor, had both died in the war over the past year. He himself had lost an arm in his youth because of a demon boar. However, how many people living in this era had not experienced the so-called separation of life and death?

From roaming bandits to knights and tax collectors who line their own pockets, and the frequent natural disasters and rampages by ferocious beasts like demonic boars, things are somewhat better if there are responsible and powerful local leaders in charge. However, if you encounter lords who are either unwilling or powerless, it is common for a village to vanish in just a few days.

South Wales is now almost entirely under King Arthur's control. While fighting against external enemies, this aspect has not been neglected. Bedivere and Tristan gradually became acquainted during several missions to eliminate bandits.

In battle, there will be death and bloodshed, which is common. Even Tristan is ruthless when it comes to killing. However, battlefield confrontation is one thing, but it does not affect their compassionate attitude towards life and death.

"If Merlin could persuade Orkney not to join the war, perhaps fewer people could die. Otherwise..."

"I wonder how many lives would be needed to stop that holy sword..."

That night, similar sighs echoed throughout the palace. Legend has it that Gawain once cleaved through an impregnable castle with a single sword stroke, single-handedly defeated thousands of well-equipped soldiers, and so on; his fame had already spread far and wide many years ago.

Although their strength is far inferior to that of their brother—in fact, there are few in the world who can rival Gawain—the siblings Gahoris and Gareth are also exceptionally skilled. Their father, King Lothar, is a master swordsman, and their mother, Morgan le Fay, is one of the most outstanding magicians of the time. Their army, like that of other northern lords, is a battle-hardened force honed through years of fighting against the Picts.

Therefore, although Orkney is a small country, it possesses a formidable strength that no one in Britain dares to underestimate.

But now, this behemoth stands opposite them.

"Okni has decided to join the war, and we don't have much time left."

The old, rough voice echoed loudly in the military council hall.

The torchlight illuminated the entire hall with perfect clarity, leaving no room for concealment. When Tristan and his companion arrived in haste, the large table was already nearly full of people. Some familiar knights nodded to them, and Bedivere responded with a smile before composed himself and taking his seat.

Looking up, the petite king sat firmly in the main seat, his expression serious but not cold. His physique was not particularly robust, and he even appeared somewhat thin for a man. However, everyone gathered here understood that if this young king were to fight, he could easily defeat anyone present, even without using the Holy Lance and the Sword of Choice.

In a sense, this is precisely the source of their confidence at this moment.

In the past, the numerous battles against North Wales had all ended in victory against overwhelming odds. This result had subtly instilled a rudimentary trust in the hearts of these knights—as long as King Arthur was still alive, no matter the difficulties, victory would ultimately belong to them.

“When they come over, I’ll deal with Lotte and his kids.”

The speaker was an old man with disheveled hair and a full beard. His neat formal attire was almost bursting at the seams by his muscles, giving him the appearance of a rough hunter who roamed the mountains and fields.

Bedivere only heard someone muttering beside him, "King Perinoa is still the same as ever..." before being pulled by the person next to him and quickly shutting up.

“Even for you, facing the Lots alone would be too much of a stretch,” said Kai, who was sitting near King Arthur. “Besides, the enemy is powerful, and we need to carefully consider our options. In particular, besides Orkney, the Lyons and Nero brothers, the King of the Hundred Knights, and others are all renowned warriors. To be honest, the situation is quite serious.”

"I'm not used to Kaiqing being so polite..." the talkative person muttered again. This time, the person next to him didn't pull him away, but whispered, "When you get beaten up a few times for speaking without thinking, you'll definitely be more polite than him when you speak."

"Ah."

"You can decide the complicated details of who to send to fight whom. Even if we really have to face that brat Gawain, I'm sure I can bring his head back to Arthur." Perinoa said confidently, then sat down with his arms crossed. Another calm and composed knight then stood up and offered his suggestions and questions about the upcoming battle. With this, the emergency military meeting began.

For several hours, King Arthur remained silent, listening quietly to the others speak. This was as was customary; everyone knew the king was taciturn and rarely spoke unless certain.

Normally, if Merlin is present, the responsibility of leading the meeting would mostly fall on her shoulders. But since the female magician is unable to attend for some reason, it is mainly up to Kai to arrange the order of everyone's speeches, and to try to stop them from escalating into arguments or even physical fights—which is quite normal for hot-blooded warriors—or simply to throw them into the lake in the outer courtyard to calm them down.

But as the meeting drew to a close after several hours, most of the attendees had been assigned their tasks. However, seeing that King Arthur was still hesitant to address the matter, someone finally couldn't hold back and asked, "Your Majesty, what should we do about Orkney?"

"Are we going to rely on French reinforcements?"

"Sir Lancelot is strong, but he may not be able to defeat Gawain. Besides, France itself is also embroiled in internal strife, otherwise Lancelot would not have been delayed in returning... Can they really defeat the enemy in time and arrive?"

They argued back and forth for a while longer, Bedivere...

Keenly noticing that even Kay, who should have been fully aware of the matter, cast a questioning look at King Arthur, he had some doubts in his heart. At this moment, the king finally spoke: "If the French allies can arrive in time, that would be best, but I am not placing my hopes on them and Lord Lancelot."

"As for Orkney... Gawain and his sister, you need not worry." With that, King Arthur stood up, a faint smile on his face: "Merlin has made other arrangements."

As these words were spoken, for a fleeting moment, a vague, illusory figure seemed to appear beside King Arthur, only to vanish just as quickly.

Only a handful of people noticed this scene.

……

P.S.: This was a rather bumpy and difficult piece of writing. Plus, I've been trying to switch gears and write drafts for another book, so I'm trying to adjust my mindset. Hope you can forgive me~ That's all for now, goodnight.

Back from my training, Peko update tomorrow!

○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3○|￣|_ =3

Chapter Nine: Changes (Part Two)

got windy.

The winds of the North were even more biting after nightfall, sometimes as fierce as a razor blade, as if they were tearing flesh and blood off a person. Even though her cloak was protected by three or four different types of insulation and cold-resistant magic, Morgan le Fay couldn't help but shiver when she entered the courtyard. She watched as her breath, like melting frost, slowly dissipated in her vision.

In comparison, she had to admire Lotte, who had no magical talent but remained unfazed even when standing in the limelight.

He truly deserves to be her husband.

Morgan thought to himself, still grumbling as he walked over, "I really don't understand, why can't we say things in the bedroom instead of coming out here to freeze..."

"A moderate amount of cold can make the mind clearer."

"But excessive cold will only turn you into a runny-nosed idiot."

After a brief exchange, the king, dressed only in thin clothes, laughed and turned around: "Are Gareth and the others asleep?"

“She and Gahoris went to bed early, but Gawain’s room light is still on; he’s probably thinking about something.” Morgan casually plucked a withered yellow leaf from the tree next to her, and in the blink of an eye, a dark yellow cloak appeared in her hand.

She went over and draped the cloak over the man. Lott shifted his shoulders, but then heard Morgan say softly, "We're leading the army out to war tomorrow, don't be reckless." Then he fell silent. The wind howled, and he tried to smooth Morgan's hair with his calloused and scarred hands, but it only made it more tangled.

"I originally thought Gao Wen would come directly to ask me."

Lotte smiled faintly. He knew his children very well. Gareth was upright and gentle, but somewhat indecisive and unable to make decisions in crucial moments. Gahoris was calm enough, but lacked that captivating charisma.

Gawain, his proudest eldest son, is hailed as the knight among knights. He possesses exceptional strength, the blessing of the sun, and a holy sword given to him by a fairy. In recent years, after King Arthur's fame has soared, many people have compared him to Gawain. One is in the south, the other in the north. Which is stronger, the holy spear or the holy sword, is a hot topic that will never get old.

But Lotte understood that a mighty holy sword could easily flatten a mountain, but it couldn't support a nation.

“I also thought you would agree to Merlin’s proposal,” Morgan said. “Lynes is your friend, but his brother has always harbored inappropriate feelings for Orkney… and even for me. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t matter, but is North Wales really worth risking your life for?”

This was a question that Gawain and many others might have, but only Morgan asked it here. Lott shook his head: "I'm not doing this for Ryan."

"What is it for?" Morgan asked, but there was no sign of confusion on his face. It was as if he was guiding him toward an expected answer.

Lotte remained silent for a few seconds.

"...Although I am not like those mystical wizards who can see the so-called future, I can also feel that something is constantly disappearing from this land—the alliance that Uther once created is falling apart, the arrival of the Saxons, the increasingly severe crop failures year after year, and not long ago, even those strange and stubborn Picts disappeared."

“People say this is good news, but to me it’s more like a… omen. As Merlin said, we don’t have much time left, someone has to stop this, and the first thing to do is to defeat Vortigern.”

“Laines can’t do it, neither can that young Scottish prince, and considering that even the mighty Uther was defeated by him, even I probably wouldn’t be able to win.” The king, who prided himself on his military might, said this without any sense of resentment. Instead, he showed a faint, relieved smile: “And Merlin says that the young fellow in the south can do things that even we can’t do. It’s really hard to believe.”

"So you're going to go and see for yourself?" Morgan's brows furrowed slowly. "With your sword... with your life."

"The best way to understand a person is to risk your life and have a life-or-death struggle. If Merlin's prophecy is true, I will probably die on the battlefield. After I die, Orkney will unconditionally surrender to King Arthur and make Gawain and the others—make everyone put down their hatred. No matter who killed me, they are not allowed to hold any grudges or seek revenge."

"And if Merlin is wrong, and Lines wins this battle... I will personally kill Nero and lead the entire army to fight Vortigern." His voice wasn't loud, but his words were filled with unrestrained pride: "If things come to that, Morgan, will you be by my side?"

Morgan didn't reply, but just stared back at him quietly. After a moment, Lott suddenly laughed and said, "It's getting late. Go back and rest. Starting tomorrow, Gawain and I won't be in Oakney. A lot of things will be on your shoulders here."

"It sounds like nothing's different from usual."

"Ah, that's exactly right."

In the night breeze, the two figures brushed past each other. The cloak draped over the man turned back into a withered leaf, fluttering into the sky. The Milky Way was dazzling, and in the moonlight, only the sound of footsteps could be heard fading away. Morgan tightened his cloak and suddenly felt a little cold.

"Well then, it's time to welcome our guests..."

She muttered to herself in a voice only she could hear, and a phantom flame suddenly ignited deep within her golden pupils, which were the same as Artoria's.

The moment the red color appeared, magic suddenly swirled and gathered within the courtyard, instantly forming a door of light in a place where there was nothing. From the inside out, the door of light slowly opened, and a crystal staff stretched out from thin air and was placed forward.

Morgan le Fay also raised her hand at that moment, her slender, white fingers grasping a suddenly burning flame out of thin air. With a twist of her wrist, the flame transformed into a long whip that roared through the air. The gray crystal on the staff suddenly flashed, and magical lines intertwined and changed. In an instant, everything around the portal of light—the falling leaves, the dust motes in the air, the flaming whip still in mid-air, and so on—all stopped in their tracks.

As if a gray ripple swept out from the crystal ball, everything in its path came to a standstill. The illusory flames in Morgan's eyes grew more intense. She released the whip that was turning gray section by section, and then clenched her fist. One by one, the things that were fixed in place by the ripple burst into flames without warning!

The bright red light shattered the gray illusion, and the wind fanned the flames, engulfing almost half of the courtyard in raging fire. Incredibly, neither the tall blonde witch, nor the large tree beside her, nor the flower field further away, were harmed in the slightest, despite being surrounded by flames.

These flames seemed to have their own consciousness, surging relentlessly towards the gate of light, instantly forming a fire tornado five or six meters high, revealing its form under the night sky and emitting an astonishing roar!

next moment.

A worn-out wide-brimmed hat suddenly floated out of the sea of ​​fire. In mid-air, it suddenly multiplied into two, then four, then eight, almost as the fire spread further, fluttering and dancing in the flames. Dozens or even hundreds of hats were flying around in the sky, most of them burned to ashes, with only one wobbling and flying towards a corner.

Morgan's figure vanished into the surrounding flames in an instant, reappearing several meters away. He raised his left hand and grasped a short gun formed from flying fire. He thrust it forward, and the hat was slowly falling. A small figure quickly took shape, and he blocked behind him with his cane, causing the tip of the gun to touch the middle of the cane.

when--

With a crisp sound, the short gun in Morgan's hand scattered into a burst of fiery light, about to cling to her cane and burn her opponent. But just as the flames coalesced into a snake-like shape, a rune that had been drawn at some unknown time suddenly lit up at her feet...

Chapter Ten: The Lost Sword

In the blink of an eye, this brief exchange had come to an end. The runes that suddenly erupted were like an unbreakable cage descending from the sky, firmly imprisoning the raging torrent of magic within the courtyard. Morgan loosened her fingers, watching the last spark fly past her fingertips and vanish silently. She then looked at the petite woman shrouded in a cloak before her, but before she could speak...

Pop, pop, pop.

Suddenly, applause erupted from a corner.

Guinevere looked over there and saw the woman who called herself "the princess imprisoned in the tower and deprived of her freedom" standing there with a smile, wearing her snow-white robe as always, her long staff resting in her arm, and holding a fluffy little beast in her arms—if it weren't for the fact that the woman was angrily slapping Merlin's cheek with her little paws, it would have been a very pleasing and picturesque scene.

This troublemaker.

She secretly pursed her lips: "Al was right after all."

After relaying the news that Merlin was trapped in Orkney, Artoria showed no sign of worry. Instead, she anxiously warned, "Merlin is definitely up to some prank again, Fenna, be careful!"

As expected of two people who have known each other for many years and are both mentors and friends, their understanding of Merlin is profound.

"Oh dear, don't look so disgusted." Although she didn't say it directly, the female magician could roughly tell what Guinevere was thinking from her expression. While the little beast was slapping her face repeatedly with its claws, she walked over nonchalantly: "I'm not lying this time. If you hadn't come over, I probably wouldn't have been able to get back to Carrion anytime soon."

Because of it?

The girl's gaze shifted to the small beast in Merlin's arms.

She had once encountered this strange cat named Cathy Palug in that great forest. Now that the dream had vanished, its lingering influence remained, to varying degrees, in the memories of certain people and things. Why it was with Merlin, and how Cathy and its demonic pig mother fared in this real world…

Whether it was noticing her gaze or not, Cathy paused in slapping Merlin's little paw, shook her head, blinked her watery eyes twice, and then suddenly flicked her tail, leaping out of the female magician's arms and disappearing into the nearby bushes in the blink of an eye.

"The situation is a bit complicated, and that strange cat is one of the reasons. But more importantly..." Merlin smiled, "Mrs. Morgan wants to speak with you."

"Oh?"

After the initial probing, Morgan stood quietly to the side watching the two talk. Only then did she step forward, her clothes swaying in the night breeze, clinging tightly to her body and outlining her curvaceous figure. She didn't look like a mother who had given birth to several children at all. A charming smile appeared on her face: "It's been a long time, my lovely little princess."

With facial features similar to Artoria's and the same emerald green pupils, yet deep within, it seemed as if two illusory crimson flames were burning fiercely.

Guinevere was slightly taken aback, yet also had a sense of anticipation.

"So you still remember."

Morgan Lefebvre nodded, neither confirming nor denying: "Ever since I discovered that Scotland was missing a princess, I've been quite worried about you... It's just a pity that neither Lotte nor Gawain, Gahoris, nor Gareth remember you."

"...In a way, I should be glad they don't remember me."

Guinevere sighed.

Being forgotten by friends is certainly not a pleasant thing, but it's one thing for Gawain and Gareth to forget her, but given Gareth's personality, if he still retained the memory of the dream, I don't know how worried he would be. Thinking about it this way, Guinevere felt that it was better for them to forget her completely.

There's plenty of time in the future; if she's willing, there will be opportunities to rebuild this friendship.