Chapter Twenty-Three: The Empress

When Lancer and Toria returned with Lancelot, they happened to witness Gawain and Gareth tending to the cattle.

“Oh, you’re back? Is that fellow behind you the knight the king mentioned? Doesn’t seem all that impressive~” For reasons unknown, Gawain’s attitude toward Lancelot was distinctly unfriendly from their very first meeting.

Gareth, too, behaved peculiarly. His elder brother was normally friendly even to ordinary soldiers, but this time he was downright hostile toward the newcomer. Though Gareth found it strange, he had always believed “Big brother is always right,” so he simply put on a “fearsome” face for Lancelot. Seeing this, Lancer sighed helplessly, covering his head, “You fool. Honestly, are you still a child? Everything’s written all over your face.”

“So, you must be the one who wasn’t chosen,” Gawain said, demonstratively patting the longsword slung across his back.

“Tch, seems you don’t get it. My sword was custom-made—it’s nothing like your cheap, mass-produced imitation.” Gawain had once been dissatisfied with his weapon, but after so many years, he’d grown attached. Even if the Lady of the Lake herself demanded it back, Gawain would refuse.

Lancer was speechless. Gareth’s childish expression already left him at a loss, but seeing the previously sunny Gawain and the handsome Lancelot bickering like schoolboys, he realized few of the Round Table Knights possessed a normal temperament.

Ignoring the two glaring rivals and one acting cute, Lancer addressed the shadow at the wall, “Bedivere, has something happened? Why are the three of you here to meet us? And Kay is absent—has someone come to visit?”

Within the kingdom, Gareth managed the regular soldiers, Bedivere served as Toria’s attendant and protector, Gawain was responsible for purging “dark creatures,” and Lancer himself handled surveillance, assassinations, and traitor affairs.

Kay, Toria’s foster brother, should have led the knights, but he claimed his personality was unsuitable and took up the role of castle steward instead. Though somewhat scatterbrained, he managed the castle with remarkable order. Now that Lancelot had arrived, he’d naturally assume leadership of the knights. With Toria away for half a day and countless affairs to handle, only Lancer could escort Lancelot to the knights’ quarters.

“Lancelot, may I ask you a question?” Once separated from the others, Lancer led him out of the castle, for the knights’ residence lay in the forest beyond its walls.

Lancelot regarded Lancer curiously, unsure what he meant, but knowing they’d be comrades for a long time, he replied, “Go ahead.” He saw no reason to conceal anything.

“Do you have a lover?” Lancer asked calmly.

“Pfft~” Lancelot’s previously cool demeanor instantly turned odd.

“Are you always so ‘forthright’ in speech?” Lancer always carried the scent of blood, yet never gave off any malice. To Lancelot, he seemed a fine warrior, but after hearing this question, Lancelot felt he’d need to revise his impression.

“Not really. It’s just that your duty is to protect the king’s wife, and Toria…” Though Lancer wore a mask, Lancelot sensed his expression was deadly serious.

“Ahem, though it’s personal, yes, I do.” Lancelot showed no hesitation. “It happened one evening. As usual, I was practicing swordsmanship by the lake. At that moment…” Perhaps because he’d spent his youth with the goddess and lacked someone to talk to, he confided his love story to Lancer, whom he barely knew. Lancer’s lips twitched; he was delighted to learn that this world’s Lancelot deeply loved his wife, but as someone familiar with the Lancelot from fate/zero—the mad Berserker who, in the end, told Toria, “King Arthur, you are the ideal king. As one who served you, everyone thinks so”—Lancer felt both affection and admiration for him. As a child of the nineties, he’d had his own youthful fantasies; Lancelot, though branded a “traitor,” was portrayed as a man who loved his king to his dying breath. A side note: Lancelot and Guinevere’s love is described as “Platonic spiritual romance” in the books; after King Arthur’s death, Lancelot became a priest, prayed for him, and was buried beside him, guarding his king even in death.

Listening to Lancelot recount a melodrama worthy of a soap opera, Lancer was left utterly at a loss for words.

“…And so, we ended up together.” The tale finished just before they reached the knights’ quarters, and Lancelot seemed still entranced by his own romance.

“Well, here we are. Go greet them yourself—I believe you have the ability to win them over.” Toria was called the King of Knights not merely for her own prowess, but because of her elite order of knights. The Round Table hadn’t yet been formed, but the knights were undeniably Toria’s strongest force. Most were descendants of nobles, largely worshippers of Lancer and Gawain. When they heard neither would be their leader, they’d complained, but Lancer believed Lancelot’s strength would soon whip them into shape.

Entering, Lancer called all those in basic training to assemble. When the messenger announced the arrival of their new leader, everyone looked to Lancer. As for Lancelot? No one paid any attention to the mysterious newcomer clad in purple.

But when Lancer declared Lancelot as their leader, just as he’d predicted, the proud young knights immediately protested. They weren’t afraid of Lancer, knowing from their elders that while he was formidable, he never harmed those who stayed within the rules.

Of course, this meant a duel. To Lancer, it was merely a bunch of overconfident kids begging for a thrashing. Leaning against the training field wall, he watched the farce with a smile.

“Sir Lancer!” Just as the “heated” contest above was underway, a shout reached Lancer’s ears. In an era with little entertainment, he was understandably annoyed at having his amusement interrupted; instantly, the sharp aura he’d honed on the battlefield pressed upon the intruder.

“Er…” The newcomer immediately faltered.

“What is it?” Lancer turned back, his tone neither warm nor cold.

“Well, just now…” The messenger stammered.

“Get to the point!” Spotting the distinctive mark on the messenger, Lancer recognized it as the “Scorpion” code. “Honestly, I haven’t drilled them in ages—how dare they waste precious time on the battlefield.”

“Sir Gawain said the king’s fiancée has arrived and asks you to see her.” At Lancer’s prompting, the messenger reported loudly.

“Alright, I understand.” Lancer realized Guinevere must have appeared; he hadn’t anticipated the timing would be so coincidental, but was still deeply concerned—for here was the woman who might one day bring about the collapse of King Arthur’s dynasty. With this in mind, he turned to leave without bidding Lancelot goodbye.

As he turned, he addressed the messenger, “I believe your name is Maple Caster, isn’t it? Not bad. Since you’ve made up your mind, pursue your dream. But I’m dissatisfied this time—even if you are a newcomer. When I return, I’ll drill you all properly.” With that, Lancer vanished from Maple’s sight.

“Yes, sir!” Watching the back of his idol, Maple felt a surge of excitement. He had come not only to serve his country, but out of admiration for the man who would sacrifice his own reputation to protect this fledgling nation.

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