The wheels of the carriage bound for North Wales rattled over Britain's rough dirt road.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was surprisingly warm, thanks to Artoria Alter monopolizing Kay's lap, Tamamo wagging her tail as she gently cajoled her sister-in-law, Jeanne d'Arc Alter grumbling at the window, and Medusa absorbed in her book.
But the mood among the First Order of North Wales Knights escorting the carriage outside was decidedly different.
They sat upright on their horses, yet their faces behind their helmets were uniformly somber and heavy. In particular, the shoulders of their commander, the giant Galehaut, drooped conspicuously.
The man who claimed to be the Lion King's half-brother.
They had assumed him to be a powerless hanger-on who relied only on connections, but he had crushed their vaunted martial prowess with a single blow and even nearly shattered a shoulder blade with that fearsome grip—an utter humiliation.
More than the physical pain, the mental blow of seeing their lifelong knightly pride shattered in an instant was far deeper.
As the sun dipped behind the western hills and a slate-gray dusk began to settle, the group halted the carriage in a broad clearing within the forest and set up a makeshift camp.
The knights adeptly fed their horses, posted sentries, and kindled a campfire.
"Eat," Galehaut commanded. "We don't know when the enemy might strike—fill your bellies first."
At his order, the knights fished from their saddle pouches hard-as-rock black bread, salt-cured meat reeking of brine, and shards of dried cheese.
These were the gruesome field rations common in British army camps, designed solely for survival rather than taste. Without a flicker of expression, the knights gnawed on the black bread and forced water down their throats.
At that moment, the carriage door swung open and Kay stepped outside.
He frowned at the sight of the stone-like black bread and the salt-saturated chunks of meat the knights were chewing.
"Hey. Is that really all there is for dinner?"
The knights froze mid-bite at Kay's appearance. Galehaut rose with a stern expression.
"This is how meals always are in the field. We had to keep up our pace, so we left the heavy supply wagons behind and only brought a few days' worth of preserved rations. Please understand even if it doesn't suit your taste…"
"Understand? It's not that I don't like it—it's that how do you expect anyone to swing a sword properly tomorrow morning after eating that?"
Kay placed a hand on his hip in disbelief.
"A soldier's morale in battle is eighty percent in the gut. You've got food here. Lay it all out. I'll handle the cooking."
"What? Bu-but… that meat is basically raw and salt-caked. Even if you grill or boil it, the salt is too overpowering… and out here, our cooking tools are barely adequate."
"Don't worry—just bring it. Jeanne d'Arc Alter, Tamamo! Time to work!"
At Kay's call, Jeanne d'Arc Alter lightly leaped down from her nighttime watch on the carriage roof, and Tamamo trotted out from inside.
"Jeanne d'Arc Alter, build a fire pit of hearth size over in that clearing. I'll control the temperature—just keep the flames alive. Tamamo, please prepare the utensils."
"Yesss~"
With a flourish of her hands, Tamamo summoned a massive cauldron, frying pans, cutting boards, and an array of cooking tools, instantly assembling a fully stocked outdoor kitchen on the bare earth. The knights gaped in astonishment.
Kay rolled up his sleeves, donned an apron, and laid dozens of slabs of salt-cured meat on a cutting board.
Tat-tat-tat-tat!!
In the blink of an eye, his blade flew with invisible speed.
The rock-hard meat, encrusted with salt, sliced thin and uniform as paper under Kay's knife.
He briefly blanched the cut strips in the hot water Tamamo had prepared, leaching out the excess salt and any gamey odor.
"Fetch every last potato we've got! And onions too!"
He cubed the potatoes snatched from the knights' rations and the onions he had brought, then began sweetly frying them in a huge iron pan slick with pork fat.
By the time the potatoes turned golden, he heaped in the de-salted meat, sprinkled in pepper and rosemary fetched from his otherworldly provisions, added a little broth, and tossed it all over high heat until it was perfectly stir-fried.
Sizzle!!
The brutal aroma of rich, savory fat filled the forest clearing.
It was the magic of transforming discarded salt meat into a gourmet feast: corned beef hash.
Not content with that, Kay crumbled the hard black bread, then simmered it in broth and butter into a moist, comforting bread porridge.
"There! It's ready! Line up and grab a plate!"
In just thirty minutes, Kay had produced a phenomenal meal.
He piled the corned beef hash—potatoes and meat perfectly melded—into huge wooden platters, ladled generous portions of the soft bread porridge alongside, and handed them out to the knights.
A monstrous oversized plate tripled in meat ratio was delivered to Artoria Alter, who sat inside the carriage.
"…Are you telling me that this really came from those dreadful field rations we were just gnawing on?"
The knights took their plates with incredulous expressions.
Steam billowed as they scooped generous spoonfuls of meat and potatoes into their mouths.
"…!!"
The knights' eyes nearly popped out.
The once-tough, salty meat melted tenderly on the tongue, the fluffy potatoes and sweet onions, coupled with Kay's secret spices, exploded with flavor.
The once-axe-hard black bread had become a silky soup warming them from the inside.
"I-it's delicious…! So delicious!"
"Heavens, I never thought I'd eat a meal like this on a campaign!"
They abandoned all decorum, tears in their eyes, burying their noses in their bowls and devouring every last bite.
Even Galehaut, after tasting his serving, looked as if his head had been struck by a hammer.
"T-this is impossible. Even the finest delicacies that the palace's head chef crafts with the greatest care could never match this. And yet, out here, using nothing more than scraps of preserved rations…"
Having sampled all manner of royal banquets in his life as a former king, he had to concede this was without doubt the finest meal he had ever tasted.
For common soldiers or knights to enjoy such a supremely sumptuous meal in the field was, by Britain's standards, nothing short of a miracle.
When the meal ended, the knights' faces were no longer shadowed by gloom but lit with the happy smiles that only a full stomach can bring. Their gazes at Kay had shifted from contempt to boundless respect.
Kay sat by the fire, cleaning the remaining pots and pans.
At that moment, Galehaut approached cautiously and stood beside him.
"…Sir Kay."
"Hmm? What is it—still hungry? I can scrape out the bottom of the pot if you'd like."
When Kay looked up casually, Galehaut suddenly bent his great bulk, knelt on one knee, and bowed his head deeply.
"…I beg your forgiveness."
"Whoa, where's this coming from? A big guy like you kneeling—your knees'll sink into the ground."
"No. Today, I am overwhelmed with shame and self-reproach for having underestimated you out of my own arrogance and ignorance."
Galehaut's voice trembled with genuine contrition.
"I thought Your Majesty's eagerness to see you was born merely of some shallow bond from the past, and I regarded you as a mere burden on the battlefield. But…Sir Kay, you are a towering force no one could hope to challenge, and you won hearts just as swiftly with this extraordinary cuisine."
He gripped the empty platter Kay had set before him.
"Having tasted such miraculous dishes all my life… I now understand why our Lion King never cracked a smile at the palace chef's finest spread. You, sir, are the one worthy of Her Majesty's highest hopes—a truly great man."
Galehaut's heartfelt apology prompted all the knights nearby to bow their heads in unified deference.
Kay put down the pot, stifled a laugh, and said indifferently while stirring the fire with a poker:
"Ah, enough. You don't have to apologize over something like this. Guys like me who work out here often get blamed or misunderstood unfairly."
He spoke matter-of-factly.
"I just like cooking. Alter or Lancer, every one of them is picky—if I don't cook, they won't eat properly. As for overwhelming strength? I only got that strong because I wanted to feed my sisters. That's it."
The man who willingly cooked for eight sisters with no drop of royal blood, who endured hellish trials in alien mana dungeons just to keep that daily routine.
Seeing his scarred, sturdy hands, Galehaut felt a deep, burning awe rise from his chest.
"…Had I not already sworn fealty to the Lion King, I would eagerly pledge my service to you, sir. I respect you with all my heart. Your vast generosity and kindness are the very qualities of a true king."
At the giant knight's high praise, Kay waved him off.
"Oh, enough of that sweet talk. I'm no king—just let me feed my sisters so they don't go hungry and can smile warmly in a cozy room. That's more than enough profit for me in life."
The firelight gently illuminated Kay's scarred jawline.
Before such a humble yet grand wish, Galehaut bowed deeply once more.
The distrust and prejudice toward Kay that had taken root deep within the Knights of North Wales melted away—like snow before spring—at the sight of his rough-hewn hash, comforting porridge, and ocean-wide generosity.
And through the carriage window, watching their every word, Artoria Alter murmured softly, cheeks tinged pink as she gazed at Kay's back:
"Hmph. This is why I can't let any other girl steal my brother's spot. He's just too foolishly kind."
That night, with misunderstandings and conflicts resolved, the Knights of North Wales could not wait to return home and spread word of Kay's greatness. This man was destined to change the fate of North Wales, and indeed Britain.
Meanwhile...
Somewhere else in Britain, a camp bustled with people preparing to build a new kingdom and drive the Saxons completely from the land.
"Your Majesty, I have prepared a meal."
"…Thank you, Sir Gawain."
"It's nothing. If it's insufficient, please let me know."
At their head stood the king, Artoria Pendragon.
She received the meal from her nephew—and the only one among them who could even cook—Sir Gawain.
It was mashed potatoes made from crushed potatoes—nothing more than roughly mashed spuds. At least it was seasoned.
She scooped a spoonful, her brow creased in a frown.
"…Today, more than ever, I miss you."
"Would things have been different if I had halted the advance? I miss you more with each passing day, Brother."