Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

"oh, I understand now."

Mordred opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing, nodded to accept the order, then drew his greatsword, rose from the ground, and waved towards the door.

Bagst, Melusin, Bavanshi, and others who were waiting filed in and carried gift boxes of various sizes into the main hall.

"Another thing is that the offerings from all over the country have already arrived for this year's Samhain. We don't have time to sort them out. If you want to keep something, you can choose it yourself."

Habertrot, who was holding the cat, blinked and spoke with a grin.

Before Morgan could react, the group quickly put down their gifts and turned to leave like thieves.

What are they doing...?

Somewhat bewildered, Morgan frowned as he looked at the few hundred or so gifts that had already filled a corner of the hall.

As several boxes near the table were opened, crystal shoes, cooked meat, a pure white wedding dress, and a slightly worn lion plush toy came into view one after another...

A gift?

The Queen shook her head and casually sorted out a few items. The heavy air in the hall seemed to gradually begin to move.

For a moment, the Queen was stunned.

Beneath several stacked gift boxes, a thin envelope came into view.

Meanwhile, on the porch far from the main hall, Bawanshi scratched her long hair and kicked the pillars, venting her frustration.

"Tch, so annoying! First the North caused trouble, then the South, and now it's the North's turn. When will this ever end?! And we're supposed to give them relief? Relief my ass!"

"You're always nagging and complaining, aren't you annoying?!"

Mordred rolled her eyes at Bavanshi and gave him a cold snort of reprimand.

"What I said is wrong? Those Saxons, whose brains are no bigger than walnuts, were able to easily bypass the Roman wall we repaired. Do you dare say they didn't collude with those lords in the North? And those idiots in the South, causing trouble all day long, and in the end, when trouble comes on both sides, we have to find a way to fix it. Who knows what they're cursing us behind our backs. In my opinion, they're still not behaving themselves. We should just kill them all!"

Bawanshi retorted angrily, clearly indicating that the past few years had not been as easy as they had described in the main hall.

"Just do what I tell you to do, stop talking nonsense!"

Habertlot jumped high and slapped Bavanshi on the head, stopping the girl's increasingly agitated cursing. He crossed his arms and leaned against the corner of the wall, asking her in an annoyed tone.

"Or do you want Morgan to hear this?"

Bawanshi was instantly speechless with anger, her belly full of grievances ultimately stuck in her throat.

If I tell my mother, she wouldn't dare.

What's more...

Bawanshi glanced back at the towering structure that resembled a prison, a ripple appearing in her eyes.

However, the vengeful cat witch then turned to look at Britain shrouded in winter fog, grinding her teeth and muttering something sinister.

"If I get the chance, I'll kill you all sooner or later!"

Chapter 129 Still Too Full (2/4)

In the village of Brakmoya, at dawn, the thick fog had not yet completely dissipated, and layers of white frost had frozen the smoked meat drying outside to a solid state.

Several early-rising villagers, waiting for breakfast, breathed out white puffs of air and stamped their feet in the cold wind. Bored, they couldn't help but gather together and chatter amongst themselves.

"This awful weather gets worse every year. Last night, two of Ron's sheep froze to death. They were top-quality sheep; they would have grown fat quickly if you fed them some grass. They were also very docile, so you didn't even have to herd them. It's such a pity."

"Tsk, you bet! His wife was raised for nothing for a year, and she cried her heart out."

"Not to mention the animals, the crops in the fields haven't shown any signs of life yet. The soil is rock hard. When I hit it with a hoe, I almost dislocated my hand. If I hadn't seen with my own eyes that it was soil, I would have thought I hit a rock! I don't even know how much grain we've harvested this season. If this continues, in a few years, my whole family will probably be starving again."

"Whether the grain can be harvested or not is another matter. You should try to get into the mountains and collect this year's mineral tax as soon as possible. Otherwise, when those royal knights come, you might not survive this year!"

His final words silenced everyone, leaving them feeling as if a heavy stone was pressing on their hearts, a sense of unease and frustration filling their chests.

One person complained a few times, looked at the gray sky, and when his gaze fell on the faint beam of light that stretched between heaven and earth, he couldn't help but lower his head and mutter to himself.

"Do you think what the lords are saying might be true?"

"say what?"

The other person scratched his head, looking somewhat confused.

"What else could it be? Britain was only a few days old when it turned into this mess again. How could this be a miracle brought by the Holy Grail? I think that guy in Camelot was clearly a follower of an evil god who harmed too many people and was cursed. Otherwise, why have all the Knights of the Round Table disappeared? Why are our lives even harder than before?"

The well-traveled young man glanced at the faintly bright clouds high above, crossed his arms, and snorted coldly.

"boom!"

However, before the young man could further denounce the evil deeds of the towering dictator, a gust of wind howled behind him, and a wooden stick supporting the door flew straight at him and hit him on the head.

"Ah! Who? Who attacked me!"

The young man screamed, clutched his head, and angrily turned back to look for the culprit.

"It's me! What's wrong?"

In front of an open door not far away, a sprightly old man walked over, glaring, and casually picked up a wooden stick to berate someone.

"Making such a racket so early in the morning, huh? Nothing better to do, huh?"

"Village...Village Chief..."

The older idlers shrank back, their voices dropping eight octaves.

"If someone is doing it, why can't I say anything!"

The young man covered his head, quite indignant.

Upon hearing this, the old man glanced at the young man in front of him and asked with a cold laugh.

"You mean, okay, what do you mean by 'even more painful than before'?"

"Isn't that what's happening now? The land is getting harder to cultivate every year, and the harvest is almost not enough to feed us!"

The young man stubbornly revealed the truth, his slightly immature face filled with resentment towards reality.

"Not enough to eat? You should be grateful that even in the worst times, you still have black bread mixed with sand and sawdust to stuff into your mouth, instead of having to eat dirt, tree bark, and grass roots to fill your stomach!"

The old man glanced at the young man indifferently and scoffed disdainfully.

"Eat...eat dirt?"

The young man was slightly taken aback and somewhat bewildered.

"Yes, you've never eaten soil before, have you? Let me tell you about a kind of soil that's all white and tastes a little sweet. It's very filling, but unfortunately, you can't eat too much of it. If you eat too much, you can't digest it, and your stomach will keep bloated until you die from overeating..."

"How can you eat this kind of thing?"

Hearing the old man's vivid explanation, the young man swallowed hard and subconsciously shook his head.

"What's so strange about that? If you don't believe me, just ask them. When people are starving, they'll dig up any kind of food, even corpses, and cook them to eat, let alone dirt or tree bark!"

The old man rolled his eyes at the person opposite him and spoke in an annoyed tone.

The elderly idlers in the neighborhood couldn't help but reminisce about the old days and nodded slightly.

Cannibalism! Corpses! Ugh...

The young man felt a churning in his stomach and an urge to vomit.

"You've only had this good life of eating black bread every day for about ten years, and you're already tired of it?"

The old man glanced at the gossiping idlers and made a sarcastic remark.

"I think you've eaten too much!"

The villagers who had gathered to gossip and chatter subconsciously rubbed their slightly protruding bellies, their faces flushed with embarrassment.

"Wait a minute, more than a dozen families here risked their lives to pay the ore tax! What do you mean by that?!"

The young man suppressed his disgust and continued his attack.

"Dead people? In this world, when don't people die?"

The old man looked at the still indignant young man, and a sneer crept onto his lips.

"Not to mention how many people died in the wars of previous years, you can't even count the number of lowly people who were beaten to death by those lords who just didn't like them!"

The old man paused for a moment, then spoke softly.

"Besides, the Holy City is forcing those lords, not us. They only pay the mineral tax, so they don't have to pay grain. If they don't have to pay grain, their families can eat their fill all year round and live peacefully until the next year. Such a good opportunity is something that people would fight tooth and nail for in the past. What's a few lives at stake?"

The young man, finding himself in a difficult position, racked his brains, relentlessly gathering evidence of Wang Ting's crimes over the years, and launched another rebuttal.

"But so what? Those heroes who founded Britain, Lancelot the Knight of the Lake, Gawain the Sun Knight, Tristan, Agravan, so many powerful Knights of the Round Table, all disappeared without a trace in search of the Holy Grail. Isn't that her fault?!"

And not long ago, many Cornish nobles, along with their families, were taken away by the royal knights! It's utterly unreasonable!

As they spoke, the young man's eyes shone with longing and anticipation as he looked at the names mentioned.

"What does that have to do with you?"

The old man impatiently interrupted the young man's incessant chatter, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes. He glanced at the young man with pity and sneered.

"I'm telling you, you're a lowly person, why don't you take care of yourself first? You're actually worrying about those knights who have no worries about food and drink every day and enjoy themselves all the time?"

The young man was speechless with anger, his face turning a deep purplish-red, and he was somewhat at a loss for words.

Upon hearing this, the idlers nearby burst into laughter, and the originally solemn atmosphere vanished.

After several exchanges, the young man, who had run out of arguments and become a laughing stock, blushed, muttered a few words, and fled, covering his face.

"You guys too! Are you all just bored and have nothing better to do? Why are you worrying about those old men? You should focus on living your own lives first!"

After saying this, the old man picked up a wooden stick and started beating the group of idlers, scattering them from the village entrance while cursing and swearing.

As the commotion in the village finally subsided, the old man threw down his cane, turned around and went back into the house. He bowed slightly to the graceful figure sitting quietly at the table drinking tea, his every move exuding a natural charm.

Besides his role as village chief, he was also a skilled druid.

Although the person before him had not yet revealed her true face, the power she displayed was that of a godmother-level being. In addition, the guidance she had given him had greatly benefited him, so she deserved his highest courtesy.

“I’ve chased away all those noisy fellows outside. Sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.”

"It's alright, how's the preparation going?"

The woman behind the black veil shook her head slightly, took a sip of tea with an air of nonchalance, and asked in a deep voice.

"I've tried what you left behind, but there's still no progress. I'm sorry..."

The old man replied with a helpless expression and apologetic bow.

"Don't blame yourself. This was a difficult task to complete, and I didn't have much hope anyway..."

The woman behind the black veil showed little emotion, nodding slightly.

Then, the graceful figure finished her cup of hot tea, stood up from her seat, placed an item from her sleeve on the table, left with a soft murmur, and drifted away.

"I'll try using the engraved spell on this Mystic Code when I have the chance. I have other things to do, so I'll leave this to you."

The old man composed himself and realized that it was a golden, curved short blade engraved with intricate Ogan script.

Chapter 130 The Faceless King (3/4)

Camelot, the Tower of the End.

A burst of light flashed, and the air rippled like the surface of a lake. A graceful figure draped in black gauze emerged from the vortex, accompanied by waves of light.

As the queen ascended the solitary tower, she walked step by step up the stairs. A magical, silver-white armor materialized and reappeared on her body, sealing her within once more.

However, Morgan walked very slowly on those few short steps.

Finally, the figure sat back on the throne, and the flickering pillar of light on the tower, like a torch that had been relit, radiated light.

The darkness in the main hall was gradually dispelled by the light, and the dark clouds that shrouded Camelot also gradually melted away under the band of light that connected heaven and earth.

Outside the porch, Mordred, who was guarding the solitary tower, heard the commotion in the main hall. He pushed open the door, looked up in surprise, scratched his head, and couldn't help but feel curious.

"Where have you been?"

"I went to do some things that needed to be done..."

Morgan was vague in his answer, paused for a moment, and then asked a question.

"By the way, a few days ago, you and Bavanshi brought back a group of people from Cornwall?"

"Hmph, these guys are bringing up Lancelot's disappearance again, always badmouthing us behind our backs. Bavanshi and I couldn't stand it, so we threw them all into the water dungeon!"