Kay's speed exceeded even Arthur's expectations.
In the morning, Arthur had tasked her with fabricating evidence against that old dog, Oscar. By the afternoon, while Arthur was squatting by the training grounds watching his knights practice and gnawing on a piece of roasted meat from some unknown magical beast, Kay came trotting over, looking quite pleased with herself.
"I've finished compi—I mean, I've found the evidence!"
"I paid a magus to help out. We 'planted' a magus over there, and I had the team of knights responsible for today's hunt 'stumble' upon him. The official story is that they caught him controlling magical beasts, and after the knights took him down, they found correspondence with Oscar on his person."
Kay handed a letter to Arthur with a mischievous grin. "And I also forged the letters between Oscar and Helmut regarding their plot to rebel. Here, take a look. We'll say we intercepted a pair of unlucky messengers on the road."
"That fast?"
Arthur took the two letters and scanned them. Between the family crests, the wax seals, and the handwriting, even Arthur couldn't spot a single flaw.
Of course, the authenticity of these letters didn't actually matter.
If Arthur said they existed, they existed. No one would dare come to him to verify the truth—and if they did, Arthur figured they must be eager to go join his "cheap" father in the afterlife.
He had always been one to help people achieve their wishes.
"Were you already prepared for this?"
"Oh, never mind that. The evidence you wanted is right here. What do you plan to do now?"
"Why do you look more excited than I am?"
Arthur glanced at the enthusiastic Kay with an amused look, then waved his hand to summon Artoria.
As his sister, Artoria now served as the commander of his Kingsguard. All knights who reported directly to his appointment fell under this unit. There were already over five hundred of them—essentially the prototype for the future Knights of the Round Table. However, since the Round Table itself was currently in the hands of Guinevere's father, they weren't called that just yet.
"Brother? You called for me..."
"How many times must I tell you? Use my title during work hours. Call me Your Majesty!"
Arthur's face immediately hardened into a stern mask.
Artoria, with her back to the other knights, made a cheeky face at Arthur. Nevertheless, she adjusted her tone to a very serious one.
"My apologies, Your Majesty! What are your commands?"
Arthur tossed the two letters to Artoria.
She caught them and read through them. Since she had finished her own breakfast early and headed straight to the training grounds to drill her subordinates, she hadn't been present when Arthur and Kay—those two "shrewd operators"—hatched their plot. She took the letters at face value.
Instantly, Artoria's cold, elegant face—which was already transitioning from that of a young girl to a mature lady—contorted with icy fury.
"Finished?"
"Yes. Shall I take my men now?"
"Mmh. Take your brothers and surround his mansion. Don't let even a dog escape."
Meanwhile, at Oscar's Estate.
Having enjoyed a few extra drinks during the banquet the night before, the elderly Oscar didn't wake until noon. By the time he had finished washing up with the help of his maids, it was already afternoon. He summoned his favorite youngest son to his presence.
"Father, you called for me?"
Looking at the young man before him—who looked almost exactly like Oscar had in his youth and shared his name—Oscar's eyes were filled with paternal affection.
"In a few days, once the plan succeeds and Duke Helmut arrives, I will have you acknowledged as his godson. Keep your wits about you; we need to ensure he agrees to marry his granddaughter to you."
"But his granddaughter is only three years old, isn't she?"
"Little Oscar" looked troubled. While twelve or thirteen was a marriageable age in this world, waiting for a three-year-old meant he'd have to wait another ten years. He'd be nearly thirty by then!
"Fool! If you marry his granddaughter, the throne is yours!"
Oscar looked at his son with disappointment. "He has only one son, Caern, and now that the boy is dead, only that granddaughter remains. Once you are betrothed to her, not only will the throne be within your reach, but once Duke Helmut passes away in a few years, the entire Helmut estate will be yours! If you aren't willing, then I'll let—"
Hearing this, the reluctance on Little Oscar's face vanished, replaced by greed.
"I'm willing, Father! I'm wil—"
Before he could finish the word "willing," a servant suddenly burst into the room, panicked.
"Master! It's terrible! Disaster has—"
Before the servant could finish, Oscar barked an angry rebuke. "What is all this panic? Has the sky fallen?"
Oscar looked at his son, using the moment as a teaching opportunity. "You are my son, the man who will one day be King. You must remain calm in the face of adversity. You cannot be like these servants, panicking over every trivial matter. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Father."
Watching his respectful son, Oscar gave a slight nod. Only then did he turn to the trembling servant. "Now, speak. What is—"
Suddenly, the sound of bodies hitting the floor, walls collapsing, and the wet sound of blades meeting flesh echoed from the entrance. It was followed by screams, but everything went silent again just as quickly. The only sound remaining was the dense thud of approaching footsteps.
Then...
With a violent crash, a dark shadow smashed through the doors and landed at Oscar's feet. Before Oscar could even look down to see who the corpse was, a streak of light flashed past him.
Oscar turned his head. His eyes instantly turned blood-red.
"My son?!"
His youngest son, his favorite and most prized possession, the future King of Camelot—was now pinned to the wall by a peculiarly shaped spear. His eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness in a deathly stupor.
"Who are you?! How dare you... Artoria?!"
Once he recognized the intruder, Oscar let out a furious roar. "How dare you! I am—"
Before Artoria could even move, Muir, who stood behind her, stepped forward and delivered a stinging slap across Oscar's face.
"How dare you speak to Her Royal Highness like that?"
Muir's slap was heavy. It left a bright red palm print on Oscar's face and caused blood to leak from the corner of his mouth. The pain, however, forced a cold clarity back into his eyes. He glared with venomous hatred at Artoria, the woman who had just killed his son.
"Where is Arthur? I want to see him."
"See my brother?"
Artoria let out a cold sneer and turned to leave. "Lock him up. As for the rest of this household... leave no one alive."
"Yes, My Lady!"
Instantly, Oscar's facade of calm shattered. His face twisted into a mask of rage as he roared, "You can't do this! You can't do this! I am Oscar Wilfred! I was your father's teacher! How can you do this?! How dare you! Come back! Come back here! I want to see Arthur! I want—!!"
"See, see, see. You think you're worthy?"
Muir slapped him again, a cruel grin on his face. "Old dog, the only things you'll be seeing from now on are the cockroaches and dead rats in a dark, damp dungeon."
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