Lancelot continued to travel the land, investigating every lead he was fed by the Veiled Hand, and sometimes, when there was nowhere special for him to go, he would just follow his intuition.
Which always seemed to lead him to someone in need of his help, or into the arms of a lovely lady.
He was glad that his disguise didn't fade easily, or he would have been exposed countless times over the past few weeks.
Modern women were truly far more open and brave than back in his time; never before had he been so openly desired and chased like he was now.
He had truly learned much from them all, seeing this new age in an entirely different way.
The last time he went undercover in France with his King, he had been so focused on taking care of tasks and serving his king that he hadn't fully taken in the new age.
Not in the way that Mordred had.
Yet now, as he lived within it, not as the Knight Sir Lancelot, but as a normal person, he truly got to experience everything.
This new experience was also what allowed him to pick up on many things he would have missed, like right now, as he was sitting and watching Sir Gareth on TV, holding a meet-and-greet with her fans.
Well, even if he had lacked the experience to notice it himself, the commentators would have quickly filled him in.
"Damn, I can't believe my eyes; that kid just confessed to our beloved Sir Gareth in front of countless eyes. That takes some courage," the male commentator said in disbelief.
"He is not the first; did you see the reaction from the girl earlier? She also confessed, not as directly, but she did. The same with others. Gareth is truly a national treasure. I honestly can't blame them; she is cute, strong, and kind, a perfect woman. If I were younger, I might have tried my luck myself," the female commentator said with a giggle.
"Haha, you can say that again. I just hope this doesn't cause a riot when they go home; after all, with so many people being rejected by her, they are bound to feel jealous of each other," the male one said. "Still, it's cute how she seems to be completely oblivious to it all."
The female commentator nodded. "She is, isn't she? That's part of her charm, I think. She's so pure, so innocent. It's like she's completely unaware of the effect she has on people."
Lancelot couldn't help but smile as he watched the screen, a warmth spreading through his chest. He was aware that the plan was for her to spread joy to the people, to distract them from the darkness lurking in the shadows and the absence of his fellow knights.
Yet even despite knowing what she was doing, he couldn't help but smile as he watched her there, shaking hands with one after another, exchanging stories and blessings.
If even he, who knew her personally, couldn't help but feel a warmth in his chest, then how could anyone else resist her charm?
Still, it was a risky plan.
After all, what would happen if, at a time like this, a demon were to attack? Even if Gareth was a Knight of the Round Table and very strong in her own right, he wasn't entirely confident she would be able to protect all those people.
But then again, he wasn't the one in charge, and he knew that Sir Agravain would have thought this through. He would have had Enforcement Knights hidden in the crowd, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.
He knew well enough that risk and reward went hand in hand at times, and while gathering this many people together made an obvious target, it also allowed Gareth's warmth to reach as many as possible.
-----
Weeks turned into a month.
One month since the King and the rest of the knights had marched into Hell.
And with it, the unease among the people grew. The absence of their champions, while hidden through lies and deceit, had not gone unnoticed.
The carefully managed social media accounts, the AI-generated content, the staged appearances, were starting to show their cracks. The people were getting restless.
Sir Agravain, buried under a mountain of paperwork, was feeling the strain. He was a man of logic and order, a man who thrived on structure and predictability. But this... this was a different kind of battle.
One fought with rumors and misinformation, with carefully crafted narratives and subtle manipulations.
A battle he was not entirely comfortable with, but one he was determined to win.
"Sir, a message from Sir Dagonet," Ria, his ever-faithful squire, said, her voice soft but firm.
He held out his hand, not looking up from the report he was reading. "Let me see."
Ria placed the tablet in his outstretched hand. "He's in Edinburgh. He says the people are getting anxious. There are whispers. Rumors. He's doing his best to quell them, but..."
Agravain's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "But what?"
"But he's a jester, not a spymaster," Ria said, her expression grim. "He can only do so much. The people trust him, but they're not fools. They know something is wrong."
Agravain leaned back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of weariness and frustration.
"I know," he admitted, his voice heavy. "I've seen the reports. The internet is a breeding ground for conspiracy theories. The longer we wait, the more difficult it becomes to control the narrative."
He stood up, his movements stiff and deliberate, and walked over to the large window that overlooked the castle grounds. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns, a beautiful, yet somber sight.
"We need a distraction," he said, more to himself than to Ria. "Something big. Something to capture their attention, to give them hope."
He turned back to her, a glint of something new in his eyes. "People were fairly interested in the aftermath of all those people confessing to Gareth, weren't they?" he asked.
Ria looked surprised. "Yes, Sir. The media had a field day with it. There were countless articles, opinion pieces, even a few think pieces on the modern culture of celebrity worship. It was... quite the spectacle."
A good spectacle would be a welcome distraction. He just needed to find some more. Not just with Gareth, but the others too. If nothing else, he could always rely on Mordred getting into a fight in some bar.
"Good," Agravain said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Then let's give them another one. A bigger one. One that will make them forget all about their worries."
He strode back to his desk, his energy renewed, his mind already racing with plans. He picked up a secure phone, his fingers flying across the keypad.
"Get me the Minister of Culture," he barked into the receiver. "And get me the head of the Royal Broadcasting Service. I have an idea."
Agravain, the pragmatist, the stoic, the man who believed in order and control, was about to embrace the chaos.
He was about to become a showman.
------
Eleanor Whitcombe was the Director-General of the Royal Broadcasting Service, a position she had gotten largely due to her background.
One could say many things about the new government of Albion, but one couldn't say it wasn't rigged.
Sure, ability mattered, but given that the King, Arthuria Pendragon, was someone who had grown up in a time where nobles handled all the administrative work, the noble class was still privileged today.
Far more so than it used to be, but money mattered far less compared to title.
Given that her family had been quick to adapt to the new system and bowed before the king quickly, they were doing pretty well, and since she had a high-level education in modern media, she was able to get the job.
Truly, even in Albion, birth still determined a lot, though at least the floor was raised for the masses, so Eleanor didn't feel too bad about her own privilege.
She understood that, in the end, it wasn't her name that got her the job; it was because she had the skills and the name. If she had lacked the first, they wouldn't even have looked at the latter.
She knew this because she herself had hired plenty of people since taking the job, and understood the rules for filling high-ranking positions; ability was everything.
It was only when two people had equal ability that class played a role.
No system was perfect, but she was hardly going to complain.
Well, not about that at least; what she had no problem complaining about was the meeting she had just had with Sir Agravain himself.
He was a frighteningly cold man.
His gaze was as sharp and unpleasant as a blade.
And the request, or rather the order he had given, was something that caused her to be unable to enjoy walking back through the breathtaking beauty of Camelot Castle.
Really, some kind of dating show? Featuring Gareth and Mordred?
Yes, it would be beyond popular; people loved the two, and their styles were also different, making a great contrast between the sweet, innocent Gareth and the wildfire rebel Mordred.
The problem was, she somehow had to try to make it interesting enough that Mordred would want to take part.
Had Agravain lost his mind?
Mordred was famous for her temper; in particular, she would beat up anyone who dared to treat her like a girl.
And people who treated her overly like a man.
Just thinking about trying to ask her to take part in a dating show made Eleanor shiver in fright.
She didn't want to die yet! She was still young!
She had just turned forty! She still had a long life ahead of her!
Yet Sir Agravain was not a man you could say no to. His quiet, almost bored expression when she had raised her concerns was all it took to silence her.
He had not threatened her, but she knew better than to test him.
Still, between Mordred's steel fist and Sir Agravain's cold stare, she knew which to pick, so now she just had to come up with an excuse for why Mordred wouldn't want to take part.
As long as she tried and failed, surely he wouldn't blame her, and as long as she didn't actually go out of her way to ask Mordred, surely she wouldn't need plastic surgery and facial reconstruction.
-----
Back in the Royal office, Sir Agravain couldn't help but feel proud of himself. If he hadn't told the head of the Royal Broadcasting Service to include Mordred, she might have found it suspicious.
After all, Mordred was among the missing knights, so if he didn't include her, that would hint that she was indeed, as rumors said, gone.
But by instead insisting she was part of it, he indicated that she wasn't gone.
But at the same time, there was no way she would be invited to take part in the show.
Rather than him trying to find an excuse for her not appearing, he would get the Royal Broadcasting Service to come up with one for him, while also distracting the rest of the realm by trying to find the so-called perfect match for Gareth.
Yes, his sister would have to suffer a little bit, but compared to the alternative, it wasn't much, and who knew, maybe they would actually learn something about what kind of man Gareth liked.
(End of chapter)
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