'There's no helping it, mother is watching, I can't make a fool of myself.'
Mordred sighed lightly, then suddenly lifted her head, a smug smile on her face, "All of you, get out of my way!"
She planted her foot, and the greatsword in her hand burst with red electric light. She tore through the encirclement like a cannon shot.
Then she slammed down and came to stand beside Morgan.
The knights wanted to rush forward, but when they saw the veiled woman standing at the palace gate, they all froze for a moment.
From beginning to end Morgan had not used any magecraft, yet merely standing there felt like a hard control, and the leading knight slowly began to break into a sweat, then whispered, "Lady Morgan?"
Though she had been away from the palace for many years, anyone who had once seen Morgan would not forget that alluring and dangerous woman.
"Your operation was too hasty, little Mo," Morgan looked up at the majestic ancient palace, her voice cold and crisp.
The once defiant Mordred suddenly seemed subdued, "Sorry, I didn't expect the king to leave the palace that day."
Morgan glanced at the ponytailed girl, "That's an excuse only a loser would use."
"Even facing the Red Dragon, with your two bloodlines, you should have been able to get away."
"But I wasn't just facing the Red Dragon," Mordred said.
Morgan's voice stalled for a moment. Mordred's voice rang in her ear again, "Father, the Watchman is alive. The king went out to fetch him back to the palace. I happened to run into them."
Those few words made Morgan's brain go boom, and her pupils contracted violently.
'So it is true.'
'He really did not die.'
'And he really has returned to the palace.'
'No wonder. No wonder the king went out of the palace, no wonder Gareth sensed the White Dragon's presence.'
'No wonder Mordred could not get out.'
If it had just been the king, Mordred might have escaped with everything she had.
'But if he was there as well...'
After a moment of blankness, Morgan fixed a burning gaze on the depths of the palace.
"Sorry, but I cannot let you in."
However, as Morgan stepped forward, the leading knight finally forced himself ahead and blocked her.
Morgan looked at him coldly.
"Get out of the way!"
This time she held nothing back. As she advanced, the mana in the air seemed to twist into countless turbulent flows and then detonated beside the knight.
If modern magi had seen this, they would have been utterly shocked and likely crushed by defeat.
This high risk magecraft, only manageable in the Age of Gods, Morgan condensed in a single moment merely from a glance.
She had once been an innocent girl, but later became a witch feared by all. Over years of the White Dragon revival plan her power had grown much stronger.
Do not speak of a single knight order. The current Morgan was not inferior to Vortigern himself and had even surpassed that dragon. Even with Gawain and the other Round Table knights present, it would be hard to stop her now.
However, the sound that should have exploded vanished.
Because at the next moment a golden sword light fell from the sky.
As if the entire space were cleaved by that sword gleam, the holy sword symbolizing the king pierced the ground.
The golden holy sword stood at the palace gate, blocking the knights and halting Morgan's advance.
Mordred shuddered and instinctively took a step back.
Gareth by her side likewise looked pale and stared at the palace gate.
A heavy blue cloak draped a perfect figure. Pale golden hair fluttered in the wind.
Morgan narrowed her eyes and stared ahead.
A hand slowly gripped the holy sword.
Then she raised her head and looked the witch in the face.
"Big sister, long time no see."
———
"It seems easier than I thought."
Beneath bright sunlight, a young man strolled leisurely through King Marco's great estate, feeling particularly relaxed.
Not long ago Alvin had a friendly democratic negotiation with Tristan's uncle, the great noble King Marco.
In the end, Marco readily agreed to Alvin's request and would unconditionally support King Artoria's decision.
In fact Alvin and Artoria had always handled things this way.
When Artoria first ascended, most of these great nobles were veterans from the previous reign and were a bit arrogant due to seniority.
When she first took the throne, Artoria's policies that harmed noble interests were delayed, and those assigned to execute them made excuse after excuse.
Later, an unnamed Watchman proposed to Artoria a suggestion: use democratic votes first so everyone would accept willingly. If anyone was not satisfied, he would later conduct friendly and effective communication.
The results were immediate. After that the nobles no longer complained, and tasks set by the king were carried out much more efficiently.
Of course this method had a downside. The name Watchman became a taboo among the nobles.
When teaching their children, nobles would warn "If you are disobedient the Watchman will take you away," and the like.
Alvin did not care about such things. He was an efficiency man. As long as he could quickly clear the route to unlock CGs, reputation meant little.
Seeing the manor gate coming into view, Alvin reined in his thoughts and murmured, "Time to go back and report to Lily."
The Watchman authority activated.
In an instant Alvin vanished like a phantom.
———
Shortly after Alvin left, King Marco still sat in the room, motionless, his terror not yet gone.
After a long while he suppressed his trembling and sprang up, flinging open the door.
The guards at the door stared at the ashen, sweating King Marco.
Before they could speak, Marco grabbed a collar and in a voice strained with emotion said, "Where is Tristan? Hurry! Take me to him!"
———
"How sad."
On a sunny morning, Tristan sat in a corner of the garden, his gaze heavy with melancholy.
"Still thinking about today, Tristan?", A gentle voice came from beside him.
A blonde woman wrapped her arms around Tristan from behind.
"Iseult, it's you."
Seeing the blonde woman, Tristan's expression softened and he glanced around.
"Do not worry. King Marco is still resting inside," Iseult said softly.
Tristan's parents died early, so he had long served as a knight in King Marco's household.
Because Iseult's mother was Marco's sister, the noble counted as Tristan's uncle.
Although now a Round Table knight, Tristan still lived at the estate to be near the woman he loved and to repay his uncle.
Tragically, Iseult was the woman Marco pursued obsessively. The noble had sworn to marry her.
One side was the uncle who cared for him. The other was the woman he loved. This had tormented Tristan for years.
"I heard Artoria intends to cooperate with traversers. Does King Marco disagree?", Iseult asked in a gentle voice.
"Traversers mean uncertainty. My uncle spent years raising his status in the empire. He would not welcome change."
Tristan sighed, "But the king has made up her mind. No one can change her will."
"Besides, traversers are not necessarily untrustworthy. I think cooperation is the right decision."
No matter what Artoria decides, so long as it does not cross a bottom line, Tristan will obey unconditionally.
Still, since leaving the palace the red-haired knight had been uneasy.
What if King Marco were to act secretly?
Not only Marco. Many kings and nobles are conservative. If they tampered with this cooperation, for example, directly strike the traverser side...
"If the king acts against King Marco, what will you do?", Iseult asked suddenly.
"I swore when I joined the Round Table that I would pledge my sword and blood to the king. If it is the king's decision, I will obey without condition," That statement made his stance clear.
Still, Iseult saw worry in Tristan's eyes.
Not just worry about Marco, but worry for the empire's future.
"Sir Tristan!"
Suddenly a hurried voice came from outside the garden.
Tristan and Iseult pulled their hands back as if electrocuted.
Tristan turned and saw a guard approaching.
Then he saw King Marco, pale faced, not far behind.
Tristan was stunned and asked, "What is the matter?"
A trace of lingering fear remained on Marco's face.
He hurried forward, gripped Tristan's shoulder, and with a trembling voice said, "Tristan... he has returned!"
'He?'
Tristan was taken aback, but before he could ask more a knight rushed in.
"Sir Tristan, bad news!"
"A message just arrived from the palace. Lady Morgan returned and is confronting the king!"
'Morgan le Fay?'
Tristan's eyelids jumped. He instinctively looked toward the palace.
'First Morgan used indexing magecraft. After that she personally went to the palace?'
'What on earth does she want to do?'
"Could it... be related to him?", Marco asked.
Tristan's thoughts moved. He looked and said, "Who?"
"The Watchman I just mentioned."
Under Tristan's disbelieving look, Marco whispered, "...he has returned."
———
Like sunlight breaking through dark clouds, when the holy sword of the king stood at the palace gate, golden radiance quietly rose, seeming to dispel all darkness.
Morgan narrowed her eyes and stared at the golden-haired knight queen before her.
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