"Lancelot, didn't I write in my letter? I told you to wait until Lady Elaine had given birth and then bring them both back."
"But Queen, even though I was far away in Gaul, I wasn't completely ignorant of what was happening in the Kingdom. You established the Magecraft Department, didn't you? The Holy Church couldn't possibly ignore that."
"Most importantly, you sent a letter urging me to return. That meant the situation must be dire."
Guinevere had first encountered Lancelot shortly after the King of Knights led the army to war, an event that took place in the Training Ground.
At the time, Not for One's Own Glory was merely Lancelot's remarkable ability to disguise himself so convincingly that even his closest acquaintances would fail to recognize him.
When Lancelot, disguised as an ordinary knight who had earned his glory on the battlefield, suddenly appeared before Guinevere, who was practicing swordsmanship alone in the Training Ground of the Royal Palace, he proved his return through his swordsmanship, letting Guinevere know he had returned.
His subsequent explanation left Guinevere utterly speechless.
"Given the circumstances, how could I possibly linger here because of romantic attachments? Elaine understands me. She even gave me a pendant when I left."
Whether Lady Elaine truly understood him, Guinevere couldn't know. But how could Lancelot's reasons for returning not include a more ardent personal affection?
Now, judging by his face and eyes alone, the infatuation and anguish he once felt for Guinevere seemed to have vanished entirely. The problem, however, lay in his inability to meet her gaze.
Once they left the Training Ground and were truly alone together...
He first offered his blessings for Guinevere's 'pregnancy.' But upon learning it was a 'false pregnancy', his breathing momentarily became uncontrollably disordered.
Lancelot knew the King of Knights was a woman, so the matter of the false pregnancy had to be explained to him.
-
"Guinevere, everyone knows you've been avoiding him like the plague. Yet you summoned him back. The urgency of this situation must outweigh all appearances.
I never imagined that after half a year apart—with Lady Elaine about to give birth—he could still be so devoted to you.
No, I should say, time has only intensified his longing for you, making it burn even hotter."
Outside Camelot City, Morgan wore her usual black and blue long dress, the intricate patterns on the black lace veil concealing her lower abdomen. Her words carried on the gentle breeze, reaching Guinevere's ears alone.
Guinevere, clad in full armor, her head completely covered by a helmet, gripped the reins of her warhorse tightly.
Behind them, Tristan had not accompanied them. He would coordinate all the ordinary knights left behind by the King of Knights. If the Church launched an attack on the Royal Palace, he would send a signal and hold out until Guinevere and her party returned.
Though the Church was unlikely to attack the Royal Palace after they left the city, precisely because of this contingency, only thirty-one Headquarters Knights in uniform accompanied Guinevere and Morgan. Among them, disguised, was Lancelot.
Guinevere's stated reason for leaving the city was to hunt a water-dwelling Magical Beast that had devoured dozens of people along the river.
Canterbury Cathedral was currently under the personal surveillance of the Barthomeloi Family Head.
With his self-proclaimed Color Rank among Mages, second only to the Grand Rank, he claimed his surveillance of the dozen or so Agents already detected by Morgan would be foolproof.
"Speaking of which, I wonder how Lia and the others are doing," Guinevere mused.
She had no further words on the Lancelot matter, fretting instead about the potential chain reaction his return might trigger. Yet she couldn't deny the joy his presence brought.
With Lancelot by her side, Guinevere's only concern was that the fish wouldn't take the bait.
As their group advanced, intending to lure their prey, the Agents—unaware they were being lured and believing themselves to be the net casters—began their own maneuvers.
Just as Guinevere had predicted, the Agents had no intention of attacking the "deserted" Royal Palace after she proactively left the city.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, the Priest was seething with anger at the knights under the Vassal Kings' command.
These knights are too rigid! Even when their Vassal Kings issue direct orders, they absolutely refuse to resort to ambushes.
Priest Andrew could only watch helplessly as they arrogantly accepted their orders and sent envoys to challenge the King of Knights to a decisive battle.
"Are these the knights of Great Britain? A bunch of worthless fools whose strength has been artificially boosted, making them overestimate their capabilities!"
"Priest Andrew, I disagree. They merely possess the chivalrous pride of knights."
Merlin materialized in the same basement, using the same method as before, but this time they were alone.
Despite witnessing everything and having the power to intervene, Merlin had allowed the controlled Vassal Kings to unite and order their knights to attack the King of Knights.
Merlin had returned here only to prevent Priest Andrew from resorting to desperate measures. If the Priest faced imminent defeat, it was uncertain how much reason he would retain.
"Merlin... do you truly believe my defeat is inevitable?"
Priest Andrew wasn't a fool. He could clearly see the situation. He didn't believe the enhanced Knights of the Kings could inflict any significant damage on the King of Knights' forces in a direct confrontation. Their only remaining purpose was to stall for time.
Meanwhile, from Camelot City, he had received news that Guinevere had left the city with only thirty-two companions for a hunting expedition. After pressuring the Archbishop of Canterbury into assisting, he saw no reason for concern.
After all, Priest Andrew had never personally witnessed Guinevere leading a charge and still believed she was pregnant.
"Priest Andrew, I too am eager to see the outcome of this battle—whether it will align with my previous visions or diverge."
Before the faceless priest, Merlin sat cross-legged on the ground, his voice calm and gentle, showing no fear of a sudden attack.
Watching Merlin, sensing his unwillingness to speak further, Priest Andrew felt an overwhelming urge to become a chatterbox, to vehemently challenge his placid composure.
"Tell me, Great Mage Merlin, if your interference forced us to resort to extremes, to use that thing as a substitute for the 'me' you suppressed—"
"So, you accept this future and are willing to bring it to fruition?"
Merlin looked up at the faceless Priest, an ominous premonition rising in his heart. He considered proactively glimpsing into the future once more.
But there was no need. The Priest continued:
"Great Mage Merlin, you should know that while the Burial Agency is responsible for entombing heretics, we don't object to heretics joining our ranks, do we?
"In fact, the founder of the Burial Agency was himself the greatest of heretics—an Ancestor-level being among the Dead Apostles."
If the faceless Priest could smile, he surely would have, for he saw on Merlin's face...
"The Heretic Nation deserves to be entombed. But alas, even using the Transformative Blood Poison of that one, we'll only managed to kill your Queen.
"I will make your King personally send your Queen to the pyre!"
Shock and rage—these were the emotions the Priest saw on Merlin's face, and the second and third human emotions that surfaced in Merlin's mind as he considered the myriad uses of the Ancestor-level Dead Apostle's Blood Poison.
Moreover, he knew that since the Priest had spoken so plainly, any attempt to intervene would be too late.
Moreover, the Priest's words—"I changed my plans because of you"—had plunged Merlin deeper into self-doubt, paralyzing him with indecision.
Urgency and anticipation became Merlin's fourth and fifth emotions. Yet, amidst this emotional turmoil, he gradually regained his composure, his gaze fixed silently on Priest Andrew.
"In the timeline where I don't intervene, you would severely wound Guinevere, and she would kill you," Merlin said. "Perhaps... I should hand you over to her for judgment."
After speaking, Merlin silently guarded Priest Andrew, determined not to give him another chance.
But the most critical factor was that as he witnessed the timeline sliding toward an even darker path, his self-doubt rapidly morphed into self-destructive torment.
Merlin had initially refused to act, but now he dared not.
He now found himself desperately hoping that the Blood Poison would be used solely on Guinevere, rather than in some more brutal manner.
Yet he knew that a mere Blood Poison, without the direct blessing of the Ancestor's Embrace, could never transform a powerful Knight like Guinevere.
At most... it would cause a stomach ache.