Instead of seeing Artoria's embarrassing retreat, she heard a strange voice. Morgan, who had been feeling disheartened, suddenly realized this might be an opportunity. After all, just a small piece of that black crystal was enough to create a spell that could stop Artoria in her tracks. If she could establish a closer connection...
Morgan glanced around. After confirming that nearly everyone was cheering for Artoria, she slipped away unnoticed.
She passed through the royal court and returned to her room. Taking a deep breath, Morgan felt she was prepared and tentatively tried to make contact with the black crystal.
"Um, you are—"
The moment the question left her lips, Morgan regretted it. What followed was a hysterical roar.
"It's you! You're the one who took my son, aren't you! Give him back! Give him back to me! Or I'll kill you! I'll definitely kill you!"
"..."
Morgan considered herself a relatively calm person, but the voice coming from the black crystal still made her tremble. She didn't know the speaker, but she could imagine a hysterical mother. And as the voice grew angrier, the concentration of magical energy in the black crystal rose sharply.
There's no mistake. This is something she created through some means. Perhaps a projection, or some other method. In any case, it's her.
A seemingly absurd plan began to form in Morgan's mind.
"Please, don't be so angry," the Princess of Britain said politely. "I am not the one who took your son."
"Then what do you want from me—" The roar grew more terrifying. "Don't you know I'm looking for him?! Don't get in my way!"
"..."
The resentment was so palpable that Morgan even suspected she would be killed instantly if she were standing in front of this being. However, the danger only made her more excited.
"Because I want to help you find your son."
"..."
The voice fell silent. Clearly, the bargain Morgan offered was valuable enough to the mother in the crystal.
"Who are you?"
"Morgan." Recalling everything that had happened today, the abandoned princess of Britain added, "And I will eventually become the king here."
"..."
"Tiamat. I permit you to call me that." After they exchanged names, Tiamat continued, "So, why should I believe you can help me find my son? Just because you're a so-called king?"
"Of course not—" Morgan picked up the staff by her bed. She focused her energy, gathering certain substances onto the black crystal in her hand. It was a spell created by reverse-engineering Tiamat's roar, a formula that only a genius magus like Morgan could grasp in such a short time.
"Like you, I understand what it feels like to have something important stolen from you. I understand you. I empathize with you. Tiamat, trust me!"
The minds of the lost often seem to follow a similar path. Feeling the emotional fluctuations transmitted back from Morgan, Tiamat, alone in the Sea of Life, gradually returned to her humanoid form.
"Your pain... seems to be no less than mine. Morgan, perhaps you truly can understand me—"
"..."
Morgan gave a bitter smile. She walked out onto the balcony. The post-rain air of Britain was fresh; all the murkiness seemed to have been washed away. "Of course I understand you, Tiamat. No one has the right to blame us. So, let's be a little crazier—"
Meanwhile, on the streets of Britain.
Artoria was riding a horse. Behind her were the knights who had witnessed the King Selection Ceremony. At the very front of these knights was Ian. They were on their way to see King Uther. And as the main character of it all, the girl named Artoria was incredibly nervous. As a country girl (or rather, a country boy in others' eyes) who had come here from a remote village, this was her first time experiencing the feeling of being the center of attention.
But seeing Ian leading her horse beside her, Artoria felt a little better. He's still here. I'm not alone.
"Artoria—" Ian suddenly blurted out.
"Wh-what is it?" Artoria answered cautiously. She could feel countless eyes on her from behind. But she could never ignore his words.
"Why don't you ride me?"
"..."
Ian's words nearly made Artoria choke. She scolded him with a flushed face, but was very careful with her volume. "Honestly, don't say things like that right now! Can't we talk about it when... we're alone?"
"But—" Ian looked confused. "—isn't it much more comfortable riding on my back than on a horse?"
"Hmm?" Artoria then realized that the "ride" Ian was talking about meant "to be carried on his back." What he was actually trying to say was, "Let me carry you, it's more comfortable than a horse."
Although the reason had become much more proper, Artoria felt a strange emptiness in her heart. If he had meant the other thing... it seems... No! Artoria shook her head. What am I getting hung up on?! Snap out of it, Artoria!
After admonishing herself, the newly-crowned king didn't forget to explain to Ian. "Because I'm the king now. Everything I do has to satisfy everyone. The king everyone wants is one with dignity, one who is worthy of respect. So..." Artoria tugged on the reins in her hand. "...a king on horseback surely fits everyone's expectations better than a king on your back, right?"
"..." Ian nodded with a look of partial understanding.
Although Artoria wanted to say more, she couldn't think of anything else to bring up. They continued the rest of the way in silence.
Artoria and Ian arrived before the castle of Camelot. It was the place where the kings of generations had lived, and the destination of their journey. However, the person waiting to greet the new king was not King Uther. It was... a somewhat slovenly, even frivolous-looking, white-haired man.
"So you are the sword-drawer?" he asked. "I am Merlin, the court magus of Camelot. King Uther specifically sent me to welcome your arrival."
He sounded like an important person. Artoria was about to dismount to greet him. But the next moment, a figure flashed past.
Blood flew—
Ian had just punched Merlin!
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