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

Fina too, and this little kid too… Why do they like having their heads patted so much? This was a question that had puzzled Artoria for a long time, but now was not the time to think about it. She shook her head, looked at the middle-aged man opposite her, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: “You mean, that witch calls herself Gretel?”

“Yes. She said she was one of the Nine Witches, but I didn’t sense any mark on her… and she seemed hostile towards Terenas.” Guinevere said, glancing at the scabbard beside her. Artoria explained, “You suddenly disappeared, leaving only this sword on the ground.”

"Then you picked it up for me, thanks."

With a smile, Guinevere thanked her and tapped the scabbard with her fingertips: "I suspect... Gretel teleported me there using the scabbard..."

"It's possible."

The scabbard had suddenly emitted light, revealing a figure within it, undoubtedly indicating a connection between the scabbard and the witch named Gretel. Artoria nodded, but noticed the girl biting her lip slightly, as if deep in thought: "What's wrong?"

"No."

Guinevere snapped out of her reverie and smiled at the person beside her. After what had just happened, the scabbard that had glowed in the darkness gave her a strange sense of familiarity, as if she had seen this scabbard and this sword somewhere before... but she couldn't quite place where she had seen it.

With questions weighing on her mind, the girl then shifted her gaze to the person opposite her. Whether by coincidence or she had been waiting for the right moment to speak, she turned her head, and the middle-aged man also looked over: "Miss, did you just mention Gretel's name?"

"Yes."

Unexpectedly, the first question the other party asked was this. Guinevere was taken aback for a moment, then nodded and said, "Uncle, do you know Gretel?" Before confirming the other party's identity, she couldn't just call him "knight" casually. Otherwise, if the other party wasn't a formally knighted knight, it would be very embarrassing to call him by the wrong title. She went through all the other titles in her mind and finally chose the one that sounded the most natural.

“…Yes, that’s right, I know her.” The middle-aged man said vaguely, his expression suddenly becoming relaxed. “I really thank you for your help this time, otherwise I’m afraid I would have died at the hands of those people. Unfortunately, I don’t have any valuable gift to repay you with right now…” He sat there, straightened his back, and bowed his head deeply. “The only thing I can offer is my life. If I ever need any help in the future, Royal will go through fire and water for you, even at the cost of my life.”

Royal.

Guinevere felt the name sounded familiar, as if she had heard it from her father. Just as she was trying to recall, Artoria spoke first: "Royal... Could it be Sir Royal, who once single-handedly repelled more than five hundred men under King Livaran?"

Upon hearing this question, the middle-aged man froze, as if struck by lightning, staring wide-eyed at Artoria. After a long pause, he stammered, "You...how did you know I was...?"

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly slapped his forehead: "Ah, I accidentally let it slip!"

"This……"

Guinevere and the other woman exchanged a glance, their feelings a mix of emotions. After a few seconds, the middle-aged man bowed deeply once more: "Gentlemen, for reasons that cannot be explained in detail, if possible, could you please pretend you didn't hear what I just said? I am not Royal, nor do I have any relation to the king of this place."

Artoria was silent for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Guinevere, resting her chin on her hand, looked at him with interest: "Oh... then, uncle, if you're not Royal, what's your name?"

The middle-aged man glanced at them gratefully, took a deep breath, and exhaled, his mood calming down with the deep breath. He sat up straight and asked, "Have you two heard of the Sword of the Chosen King?"

She had not only heard of it, but that sword was still in her bag. Not knowing what the middle-aged man meant by this, Guinevere casually replied, "I've heard of it. It's quite a coincidence, we were in that town where the ceremony was held not long ago..." She was about to say that she had the good fortune to witness the king-selection ceremony, but was abruptly interrupted halfway through her sentence.

"That's good... but perhaps it was just a matter of time, I didn't meet you two then."

Seeing the middle-aged man speak so earnestly, Guinevere couldn't help but glance at Artoria, noticing that she was also trying to recall whether the middle-aged man had been present at that time. Logically speaking, someone with such a strikingly burly physique shouldn't be completely forgotten if he had truly been there...

Let me reintroduce myself here.

The middle-aged man looked back and forth between the two women, speaking slowly and deliberately in a serious tone: "I am Arthur, the one who drew the Sword of the King, the heir to the throne recognized by Merlin. I originally planned to raise an army at that time to expel the foreign tribes and punish the lowly King Vortigern, but after learning from Gretel about the tragedy that was about to happen in this land, I came here with some companions to save the people of Cornwall. However, the news leaked, and we were intercepted and killed by the king's men, thus unfortunately becoming separated from my companions..."

"..."

"..."

"What kind of looks are those two giving me?"

"No...nothing at all, please continue." Guinevere's eyes flickered as she raised her elbow and secretly nudged Artoria, while simultaneously putting on a serious expression and pressing, "Since you were attacked by the king, does that mean the tragedy you're about to witness is inextricably linked to the king of this place?"

"Exactly."

Guinevere's probing was so subtle that the middle-aged man didn't notice it. He paused for a moment before saying, "For some reason, King Marco has been deceived by a witch named Terena and intends to hold a certain ceremony on this land."

Some reason, some ritual... that's all too vague. But noticing the conversation was getting serious, Guinevere stopped complaining and listened quietly.

"If that ceremony succeeds..."

The middle-aged man was silent for a moment, then let out a long breath: "The mist spreads, the skeletons wander, and the whole world, the entire kingdom, the entire island, the entire land... will all become the kingdom of the dead."

"None were spared."

P.S.: Wow, today felt incredibly long, a full 72 hours! While you might think I took two days off, on Qingbai Planet, it's only been one day, so Qingbai's daily update record remains unbroken!

According to reliable sources, barring any unforeseen circumstances, it should be available for purchase next Friday. I'll try to finish this section before then, aiming to place it at a point where you'll feel compelled to subscribe. Stay tuned!

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Witch's Plot (Part Two)

A tragedy is about to unfold, and a fog is spreading... This may sound alarmist, but it's not the first time Guinevere and her companion have heard similar words.

Shortly after setting off, they heard a similar prophecy from the skeleton man who called himself Talisin. The reason they did not turn east as Talisin had suggested, but instead headed towards Cornwall, was partly because they felt that Talisin's words might not be true and that Terena might still be in Cornwall. On the other hand, they also wanted to be able to intervene and save people if something really happened.

Although the Sword of Kings broke for some unknown reason and Merlin has mysteriously disappeared to this day without proving his abilities, Artoria has had to temporarily conceal her identity. However, in fact, according to Merlin's original prophecy, she is now the true successor to King Uther and will eventually stand against Vortigern's King of Britain.

The so-called kingship is not a right, but an obligation and a responsibility.

The responsibility to protect all people.

If she didn't know, that would be one thing, but now that she knows something might happen, how could she turn a blind eye? Logically and emotionally, Artoria couldn't possibly ignore it.

As for Guinevere, she had a dream of being a chivalrous knight-errant who could drink and fight injustice with her sword since her previous life. In this life, she has learned swordsmanship, has the mark of wind by her side, and has a shining child of destiny by her side. She has no reason to back down.

Along the way, first defeating the Demon Boar, then slaying the Bone Bird, and recalling Talisin's prophecy, "As the fog spreads, birds of death will be born from the fog, spreading their wings and singing, traveling alongside the skeletons," both Artoria and Guinevere already had some guesses. Guesses are just guesses, but at this moment, comparing them with the middle-aged man's words, something seemed to gradually become clearer.

As her thoughts raced, the middle-aged man who introduced himself as Arthur, whose real name was probably Royal, continued speaking: "...I learned about this from Ms. Gretel. It seems you and this young man know each other; I shouldn't need to introduce you further, should I?"

"We know each other, but we're not very familiar with each other."

They'd only met once, a brief ten minutes or so, and weren't really that familiar. Guinevere thought to herself, it seemed Gretel was a reliable figure in the other's eyes, and their acquaintance was definitely a plus. Thinking of this, she deliberately spoke vaguely to lower Royal's guard—everyone knew the truth, so she didn't use the pseudonym Arthur—but glancing at Artoria, she added, "To be precise, of the two of us, only I know Gretel, because… she's one of the Nine Witches of the Lake."

After some deliberation, I decided to test the waters with a question.

Royal nodded in agreement: "That's right, Lady Gretel is indeed one of the nine Fairy Queens. And unlike the evil Terena, she saw through Terena's plot and worked tirelessly to save the people of Cornwall. She is a very admirable lady. Wait a minute..." He suddenly realized something and paused: "Miss, you know Lady Gretel? Could it be because... you are also related to the Fairy Queen of the Lake?"

He knew that Terenas was also one of the Nine Witches.

With a flick of her eye, Guinevere obtained the information she wanted. She smiled slightly, raised the back of her hand, and magic flowed, instantly revealing the Wind Mark. Unbeknownst to the two, on the other side, Artoria suddenly let out a soft "Eh!" and looked to the side. She saw that the usually well-behaved Nemia seemed to have been suddenly stimulated, her body shrinking slightly, and she was emitting low purring sounds from her throat, looking just like a kitten. But when she reached out and gently touched her head, the stiff body gradually relaxed and stopped being wary of its surroundings.

Only she could see Nemia, and therefore only Artoria noticed this scene. She looked at Nemia with a puzzled expression, then turned her head to glance at Guinevere. If she wasn't mistaken, the moment Nemia showed signs of something being wrong was precisely when Guinevere displayed the Wind Mark... Could there be some connection between the two?

I'll find an opportunity to mention it to Fina later.

On the other side, upon seeing the green leaf mark, Royal slapped his thigh, a look of sudden realization on his face: "So that's it! Lady Gretel also has a similar mark... I remember it was a flame pattern. I never imagined that you, Miss, at such a young age, would be one of the nine Lady of the Lakes!" He praised her sincerely. Guinevere offered a few words of modesty. If it were in the past, she would most likely have accepted such praise without hesitation, feigning humility while secretly feeling pleased. After all, as Terena had said when she gave her the Wind Mark, only those with exceptional talent, one in a million geniuses, could master this rare mark—a symbol of talent.

However, at this moment, she could not openly express her joy, nor did she explain that she was only a reserve member and had not yet officially become a member of the Queen of the Lake.

This mark, and the Terena behind it, and even the entire Cassiopeia group, seem not to be as simple as they originally thought.

Royal didn't notice the girl's inner thoughts. He sincerely praised her talent, then straightened himself and looked at the boy beside him. Even though he looked frail, he was probably no ordinary person to be able to travel with the Nine Witches. Moreover, the boy had just repelled several knights under King Marco not long ago, so his strength should not be underestimated.

If we could get the help of these two, we would have a better chance of stopping that damned plan... He paused for a moment, then said, "The whole thing is a bit complicated, so please allow me to tell you the whole story from the beginning."

Guinevere looked at Artoria. Seeing the latter nod, she smiled and said, "Alright, we should have enough time to hear a story before the rain stops."

“Thank you. Then I’ll start from the beginning.” Royal took a deep breath, as if what he was about to say was a heavy burden for him as well.

"That was three years ago..."

*******

In this era of relatively closed information flow, people often find it difficult to grasp the cause and effect of an event. Take the dramatic changes that have swept through Cornwall in recent years, for example. Ordinary people living through it all could only wonder why the king had suddenly changed his temperament, becoming so harsh, issuing one unreasonable policy after another, leading to widespread suffering and misery. Even among the high-ranking knights and nobles, almost no one could see the full picture of the changes and events that had unfolded.

Only later, by reasoning from the effect to the cause, could one vaguely see the initial cause that led to the series of changes that followed—the source of everything can be traced back to the winter three years ago.

The heavy snow had been falling for quite some time, turning the area outside the castle into a silvery white expanse. Even with the fire burning, the chill still seeped in through the hems of one's clothes, piercing every inch of skin like a knife. It was a winter colder than usual. The king had fought several major battles in his youth and suffered injuries, leaving him with poor health ever since, which became even more difficult to endure with the onset of winter. In those few days, his condition worsened, and he even refrained from receiving the knights who came to visit, sending them away as usual.

In the past, given Marco's personality, he would never have passed up such an opportunity to win people's hearts, and those who knew him well sensed something unusual. Certain rumors spread through word of mouth.

"The king's condition is dire..."

"My days are numbered..."

"perhaps……"

Once the news spread, various overt and covert actions ensued. Marco had married three wives in total, but all three had now passed away, leaving him without children. If he were to die, the only eligible heirs to the throne, besides a few highly respected knights, would be his only living relative, his nephew Tristan. During that period, the number of people visiting Tristan noticeably increased.

As the chief knight of Ronua, after the fall of his kingdom, he faced numerous attempts to persuade him, some with threats, others with bribes. Without exception, he angrily threw them, along with their gold and silver treasures, away. Some even physically assaulted him, beating them half to death, leaving them like dead dogs when he threw them out. Those around him knew Ronua's fiery temper and unwavering integrity, so they weren't surprised.

During this period of widespread anxiety, Royal received news that a plump middle-aged woman had suddenly come to visit the King. Marco, who had been refusing visitors recently, received the woman with great ceremony. The two dismissed all others and spoke privately for several hours; what they discussed remains unknown. However, from that day on, a witch named Terenas appeared in the court. Several days later, Marco reappeared before the people. Although still listless, he seemed much better than the rumors had suggested.

Maybe that witch did something.

At the time, Royal simply thought this way, but soon after, Marco, contrary to his usual behavior, issued a series of bizarre and unreasonable decrees, and appointed and promoted mediocre people on a large scale, turning a blind eye to their corruption and oppression of the people. Of course, there were upright people who couldn't stand by and watch, but once they raised their opinions, they were either banished from the court on some pretext or mysteriously disappeared one day. Over time, those who sensed the strangeness of the situation stopped offering advice and chose to leave quietly to serve other masters. The country clearly declined, but Marco remained indifferent.

It even seemed as if the king himself had intentionally created this situation… But what benefit would it bring him, allowing his country to decline and even perish? Unable to understand, and disheartened, Royal, after agreeing to and winning a duel against the Fisherman King's knights, voluntarily left the court. Later, however, he heard that Marco had sent people to spread rumors that he had reclaimed Royal's territory and expelled his people. This only deepened Royal's confusion; he no longer understood, nor bothered to try to guess, what the king was thinking.

After leaving Cornwall, he traveled around and once went north to Scotland. By chance, he had a conflict with the King of Scotland. The two fought several times and were evenly matched. They became friends after the fight. If there hadn't been no roosters around at the time, he would have wanted to cut off a rooster's head, burn yellow paper, and become sworn brothers. Of course, more importantly, there was probably no such custom here.

During his time in Scotland, he only met Pat, the eldest son of the King of Scotland. As for his daughter Guinevere, she was visiting friends in neighboring Orkney at the time, so he missed her. Because of Leod Ogland's invitation, Royal had considered staying in Scotland permanently. But before he could make a decision, a piece of news and a person changed his mind.

"...You can call me Grettor."

The emaciated witch told him news from the south: "Three days ago, Tristan was ordered by King Marco to go to a neighboring country to fetch the king's fourth wife, Isolde. But on his way back, he mistakenly took a magic potion and had relations with Isolde... This matter has already spread throughout Britain. But everyone says that the magic potion was a gift from Isolde's mother, intended for King Marco, but Tristan accidentally drank it. Almost no one knows the truth."

"the truth?"

"The whole affair of getting Tristan to drink the elixir was Marco's scheme from beginning to end. He intended to use Tristan's guilt to keep him by his side, because Tristan was an indispensable key to what Marco was about to do."

"He wanted... or rather, the person behind him wanted—"

*******

"The fog spreads, turning death into life."

Inside the cave, a campfire illuminated three people with varying expressions. Royal's gaze darkened slightly: "Marco should have died of illness three years ago. The reason he's still alive is thanks to Terena's evil magic. Through various oppressive policies and exploitation, she ensures that the imminent 'death' falls evenly on the people of her territory, thus delaying her own demise—"

"But this has finally reached its limit. The ritual being carried out in secret on this land is about to begin its next and final step. Marco's goal is to survive, but the one who told him this method, the one who truly brought the kingdom to this state, is the witch Terena. Her goal is to elevate herself to a god-like existence through a means similar to spirit possession."

“According to Ms. Grettor, there is only one way for Terenas to achieve this.” At this point, Royal paused, clenched his fists tightly, and stared at the two people opposite him.

Guinevere and Artoria exchanged a glance, their expressions grave.

"What is it?"

"Let this land called Cornwall be plunged into the abyss of death. Only in this way can Terenas, with the most mysterious and eerie of the Nine Witch Marks on her hand, rise from the dead and live on this land—"

“Build a Valhalla that belongs to her.”

P.S.: Remember to vote!

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Essence of Valhalla

Upon hearing the name Valhalla, Guinevere immediately thought of the existence outside the timeline in the original game, where countless heroes from the past, present, or future who had made great achievements and were widely known had made contracts with the will of the planet after their deaths, ascended to become heroic spirits, and lived there, occasionally sending a clone down to fight and vie for the Holy Grail, and so on... But after thinking about it carefully, she realized that the place should be called the Throne of Heroes.

So, the Hall of Heroes that Royale mentioned must be referring to...

Valhalla?

Royal replied, "It is indeed Valhalla, built by the great god Odin. Miss, you truly deserve to be one of the Nine Witches of the Lake. At such a young age, you are as knowledgeable as Lady Gretel."

"I just happened to have heard about it."

Guinevere shook her head. Noticing that Artoria seemed somewhat bewildered, she explained, "This is a myth from the Norse region—the other side of our sea. Legend has it that Odin, the chief of the Norse gods, foresaw the coming of Ragnarok, in which he and the other gods would perish... so he made various arrangements beforehand, and Valhalla was one of them."

"He commanded his daughters, the Valkyries, to go to the mortal realm and find the souls of brave warriors on the battlefield. They were to be brought to the realm of the gods and housed in magnificent palaces, where they would feast on meat and drink endless wine, then fight each other. No matter the injury, even if they died, they would immediately resurrect and become as good as new. In this environment, they would hone their skills until the prophesied Ragnarok arrived, at which point these warrior souls residing in Valhalla would rush to the battlefield to fight the enemy to the death."

"This legend also seems to be widely circulated among the Saxons. Of the seven kingdoms established by the Saxons in the east, Essex, Sussex, and Mercia all claim to be direct descendants of the great god Odin—they call Odin Wotan, and consider him the god of storms and war, and also have the title of 'Spear Lord'."

"I see."

Artoria nodded, her eyes filled with admiration as she looked at her: "This is the first time I've heard of these things. Fina, you know so much."

But Guinevere only muttered to herself: That's because you don't have internet access here...

This was just basic common sense in her eyes. In her previous life, anyone with even a slight interest in this subject could talk about it at length, it wasn't even a basic level. But in this era, knowledge was still in the hands of a small group of people, and cultural inheritance was almost monopolized. Let alone the customs and culture of the other side of the sea, even the Celtic mythology that originally existed on this land would leave most people clueless if you asked them about it.

Luckily, I was born into a good family. Otherwise, if I had been born into an ordinary family, without a reasonable excuse, if I talked like this, people might have suspected that I was possessed by a demon and had me tied to the stake and burned at the stake.

"Speaking of which, did you learn about Valhalla from Gretel, uncle?"

It's not surprising that she, with her past life's knowledge, knew these things. But this unshaven middle-aged man didn't look like a scholar buried in books at all. He might have killed many Saxons, but it was unlikely he'd have the leisure to study the legends and history of other peoples. It's often said that judging a book by its cover is wrong, but there's also the saying that appearance reflects character. Even disregarding his looks, his well-built physique clearly indicated he spent all his time in the gym, consuming protein powder three times a day…

The matter of someone's "narrow-minded prejudice" was dropped, and when the question was asked, Royal smiled and said, "Yes. But I only heard the gist of it; what you just said, Miss, is the first time I've heard of it either." The firelight flickered, the rain outside the cave gradually subsided, the wind and rain were about to stop, and a fresh breeze blew in. He took a deep breath: "Well then, since Miss has already explained it once, I don't need to waste my breath anymore. Let's get back to the point. According to Lady Gretel, Terenas instigated Marco to spread death and terror throughout Cornwall, her real purpose being to emulate the ancient god Odin and build her own Valhalla on this land."

“How is that possible?” Guinevere frowned slightly. “Valhalla is a divine undertaking… You could say it’s someone else, but I know Terena, and she shouldn’t have this ability.”

But Royal asked in a deep voice, "Miss, you've been misled by this name. Why not think carefully about Valhalla, what is its true nature?"

"Nature?"

Guinevere was taken aback.

What is the essence of Valhalla?

Suddenly, she remembered once again what Royal had said: the mist spread, skeletons wandered, and the whole world became a kingdom of the dead, from which none could escape. Valhalla was a place to collect the warriors who died on the battlefield, and it did seem to live up to the phrase "kingdom of the dead," but was that all? She felt that things were not so simple.

As she was deep in thought, Artoria, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up: "Fina, do you remember that demonic boar we encountered last time?"