"You seem like a completely different person today."
The next morning, as she observed Arthur—who appeared surprisingly full of energy—Artoria couldn't hide the confusion that surfaced on her face.
She truly didn't understand what was going on.
Over the past few days, Arthur had been constantly bombarded with an overwhelming amount of information, ranging from military strategies to political and administrative matters. On top of that, with the imminent assault on the Saxon forces, it would have been only natural for him to show signs of fatigue—or even apathy.
And, in fact, that was exactly what she had seen in him recently.
But now…
It was as if he were a completely different person.
His eyes were more alive, his expression lighter, and even his posture seemed to carry a renewed energy.
It didn't make sense.
"Alright, let's continue today's training." Arthur, on the other hand, showed no intention of elaborating on the matter. In a casual tone, he changed the subject as if nothing had happened.
Artoria blinked a few times, still somewhat confused, but eventually nodded lightly. A small smile appeared on her lips.
"I'm glad to see you so willing to study. Then let's begin today's training."
They called it "training," but in reality, it was far more comprehensive than that.
First came a lengthy explanation of military strategies: troop positioning, terrain analysis, ambush tactics, and retreat maneuvers. After that, they moved on to more complex subjects, such as governance, diplomacy, and the responsibilities that fell upon a king.
Arthur had to listen attentively… and still record every detail.
Only after this theoretical portion did the daily physical training begin.
And even then, it still wasn't over.
Ongoing discussions about the upcoming campaign against the Saxons would arise throughout the day, further extending his already heavy workload.
In short…
His entire day was completely packed.
It was through this exhausting routine that Arthur finally came to understand, on a much deeper level, why Morgan had been so reluctant to allow Artoria to take the throne.
Watching someone so young carry such a heavy burden…
Was, without a doubt, painful.
…Although, to be honest, he also felt like he was being crushed under that same weight.
Still, there was one crucial difference.
During his time as king, he was not alone.
Morgan and Artoria were by his side, offering support, guidance, and, in a way… companionship.
That made everything more bearable.
Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
And, according to the established plan, the following day Arthur would lead a group composed of Knights of the Round Table and tribal leaders to reclaim the first territory occupied by the Saxons.
---
That night…
Arthur dreamed again.
And the moment he became aware of his surroundings, a familiar sensation ran through his body.
It was exactly the same dream as two nights ago.
The same fog.
The same feeling of immobility.
And, above all…
The same person.
Morgan was once again on top of him.
But this time…
She had taken on a different form.
Her tight clothing revealed perfect curves, and her exposed, pale, alluring skin seemed to radiate an irresistible magnetism.
She had taken on the appearance of Scáthach.
The image was so real, so vivid, that for a brief moment Arthur truly doubted whether it was just a dream.
"Why don't you like Morgan?" A soft, seductive voice echoed in his ears, wrapping around his mind like a spell.
"You could have any woman you wanted… if you were with her, couldn't you?"
"She can become… any woman you desire."
Then why…?!
Why do I keep having dreams like this?!
Arthur roared internally, completely frustrated.
If it were his master… he would never dare do something like this.
But… since it was a dream…
Even so, his body remained completely immobile.
He couldn't even lift a finger.
All he could do… was look.
Look at that figure perfectly imitating his master.
Arthur shut his eyes tightly.
If it's a dream… then I just need to relax.
The paralysis will go away on its own.
Yeah… relax…
Relax my ass!
His eyes snapped open.
In front of him, the woman was still smiling—gentle, provocative… impossible to ignore.
Then what the hell is going on?!
Did I… fall in love with Morgan?!
Why do I dream about her every three days?!
---
That same night.
Bonfires burned intensely, illuminating the surrounding darkness and casting dancing shadows across the military camp.
Amid that tense atmosphere, a man sat upon his improvised throne.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against its edge, producing a dry, steady sound.
His face was indifferent.
But his gaze seemed to pierce through the entire camp, as if it could reach Camelot itself from afar.
The armor he wore reflected the firelight, gleaming with an almost menacing intensity. Draped over his shoulders, a cloak bearing the emblem of a dragon further emphasized his imposing presence.
Vortigern.
A man who had once been defeated in the past for underestimating his opponent.
A king who had his power stolen by Morgan.
And yet…
He remained a figure no one dared to underestimate.
This was evident in the looks of the generals around him.
Each of them was a regional leader.
Proud men.
Independent.
Men who did not bow easily to anyone.
And yet…
In front of Vortigern, all of them showed absolute respect.
"Menason."
Vortigern's voice was calm.
But it carried an invisible pressure, heavy enough to make the air feel denser.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Menason, a middle-aged man, bowed slightly, maintaining a serious and respectful expression.
"Notify the leaders of all regions."
"Order them to withdraw two-thirds of their troops from their territories… and concentrate them here."
Menason's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised.
"Your Majesty… does that mean we will be handing over all the territory we've conquered to the enemy?"
"It doesn't matter if we hand it over." Vortigern replied slowly, without changing his tone. "But besides that… I need you to do something else."
"What is it?" Menason asked almost instinctively.
"Find at least three druids and order them to locate the afterlife."
"The afterlife…?" Menason hesitated, visibly confused. "Your Majesty… that is where souls go after death. Only the dead and certain great magi can reach it. Why would you—"
Vortigern simply glanced at him.
That alone was enough.
Menason immediately lowered his head.
"My apologies… I will carry out your orders."
Vortigern looked away, as if it were expected.
"Menason… I understand your doubts."
"But you must remember…"
"This era… has already come to an end long ago."
His voice grew slightly colder.
"Military strength and command are no longer enough to secure victory."
"I need… to grow stronger."
"Even if that means yielding all territory to the enemy."
His fists slowly clenched.
The indifference on his face began to fade, replaced by something deeper… something more dangerous.
"When I return…"
"I will reclaim everything."
His eyes gleamed with a cold, terrifying fury.
If we find the afterlife…
Then we will find a way to return to our prime.
His gaze then shifted toward the assembled leaders before him.
For now, they will be nothing more than stepping stones.
After all, there are countless Saxons.
Losing a few of them… makes no difference.
Noticing that Menason still seemed uneasy, Vortigern added:
"Ah… there's one more thing."
Menason immediately raised his head.
"If you find King Arthur…"
"Bring him back at all costs. Alive or dead… it doesn't matter."
Menason hesitated for a moment.
"Kill King Arthur…? But wouldn't that provoke the wrath of the Knights of the Round Table? And what about that witch—"
"Don't worry." Vortigern interrupted.
"He's just a puppet king installed by Morgan le Fay."
"Killing him… won't make any difference to her."
His tone softened slightly, as if he were speaking of something trivial.
"Even if he dies… Morgan won't be angry."
"Therefore… if you find him… bring him to me."
"Even if it costs most of your forces."
Menason lowered his head once more, this time without hesitation.
"Yes!"
(End of Chapter)