“Fine. We should at least get something out of that man.”
Guinevere nodded obediently, pretending to be calm as she crossed her arms and legs.
The expression that had been grinding her teeth in frustration moments ago quickly regained its composure.
“You seem injured. Let Morgana treat you with her herbs.”
Click—
As she gestured, King Vortigern looked down at his palm.
It seemed he hadn’t even noticed the wound until now.
A thin cut running across his palm must have been sustained in the chaos of the tournament.
Thud—
Guinevere set down her cup and added in a firm tone,
“Don’t misunderstand—it’s not because I care. I heard it’s a famous herbal remedy from a well-known shop in the capital these days.”
“Hmph, herbs? What nonsense. The priest is on his way. Why would I bother with such trivial things?”
His voice carried a subtle sneer. It was a stark contrast to his previously indifferent demeanor.
Morgana smiled faintly at the old-fashioned, uncreative remark.
“The thief in the Princess’s palace was also caught using herbs. Even the mandrake mentioned in the scriptures is, strictly speaking, a herb, Your Majesty.”
An eye for an eye, a god for a god. The words of a fool can always be refuted with the words of a fool.
By blatantly mentioning the mandrake from the scriptures to someone who brought up the priest, she left him speechless.
He turned his head, pretending not to hear. To refute would be to insult the temple, and to accept the herbs would contradict his earlier words
.
Morgana tightly clutched the bottle with both hands.
“Are you rejecting a herb that even appears in the scriptures?”
When she stared at King Vortigern with expectant eyes, he reluctantly extended his hand as if being pushed.
“…Fine, let’s see what it can do.”
“Yes, thank you!”
Worried he might change his mind, Morgana quickly uncorked the bottle. She pretended to apply the thickly ground herbs to his palm while subtly channeling a faint trace of her power.
At the same time, King Vortigern’s hand twitched.
‘What’s this…? Did I misjudge?’
Perhaps he wasn’t cursed but simply a person with a completely broken character.
Morgana swallowed her tears internally.
‘Even if his character is beyond repair, at least grant the honorary noble title!’
As she lamented, his shoulders, which had been hunched, suddenly began to shake.
“Heh…, haha…”
Seeing this, Guinevere frowned and muttered, “I said he’s gone mad, and now he’s openly lost it?”
“Yes, perhaps I have gone mad. To think I considered sparing those who dared threaten the Crown. My mind must have been clouded for a moment.”
When King Vortigern raised his head again, his gaze was different from before. The dry focus in his eyes had been replaced by a fierce, burning anger.
His expression, once bland and unremarkable, now carried a vivid, almost sinister edge—so much so that it was hard to believe he was the same person from the tournament grounds.
He let out a hollow laugh as he looked at the thinly applied herbs on his palm.
“These herbs are quite potent. Just applying them to a wound has cleared my mind.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!”
‘Now, please approve the honorary noble title!’
Morgana bowed her head earnestly.
Above her, King Vortigern’s harsh voice rumbled low.
“Thanks to this, I’ve realized exactly what I’ve been doing.”
As if recalling past events, he pressed his fingers against his temple and shouted irritably,
“Summon the royal knights at once! Bring me the heads of Count Aestiva’s family and their conspirators, and hang them in the square!”
“Yes, yes? Understood!”
The attendant waiting nearby rushed out immediately upon hearing his command.
His previously upright posture had now slouched into something more crooked.
Though his demeanor had shifted, his fundamental nature—before and after the curse—remained largely unchanged.
King Vortigern, with one leg, crossed, and an arm draped over the back of his chair, arrogantly flicked his hand toward Morgana.
“So, you’re the one who reported the intruders to the knight commander?”
“Yes, that’s correct!”
“Then you deserve a reward. Let’s see… Ah, I’ll confiscate part of the Count Aestiva’s lands and grant them to you.”
“…Lands, Your Majesty?”
The Aestiva Count’s family was already on the path to ruin thanks to Melwas.
While it was expected that their lands would revert to the crown, the idea of granting part of them to her as a reward was unexpected.
He took a sip of his now-cold tea and replied nonchalantly,
“Why? Is there a problem? I’ll also grant you a baronetcy.”
Just like that, she had become a noble of Britain.
What kind of windfall was this?
‘What better proof of service to the Crown could there be than this?’
This was why everyone in Avalon scrambled to marry into British nobility.
It was all about securing a title to ensure survival in times of war. King Vortigern didn’t even blink, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“Now that you’re a noble, a lady-in-waiting would be more fitting than a mere maid, wouldn’t it, Guinevere?”
He smirked, glancing at her across the room.
A maid might stay in the palace and occasionally go out, but a lady-in-waiting would mostly leave after her duties.
‘…If I disappear at night, the princess will be more exposed to danger.’
It seemed he had been keeping a close eye on Guinevere for some time.
Granting her lands and a noble title might have been a reward, but it was clear he also intended to distance her from the princess’s palace.
‘Well, if he’s giving it, I’ll take it.’
Refusing something offered went against her principles. When something is given, you take it first and think later. She bowed her head again, expressing her gratitude.
After all, King Vortigern was destined to lose his head when Arthur returned.
There was no need to worry about him. Not to be outdone, Guinevere turned to Morgana with a gentler tone than before.
“I was going to grant you an honorary title, but His Majesty beat me to it. Instead, I’ll give you five carriages and ten purebred horses.”
“Then I’ll add a teleportation stone. Portals are much more convenient.”
Before she could finish, King Vortigern immediately threw in another reward.
Guinevere’s gaze and tone sharpened, “I’ll give you fine dresses, shoes, and jewelry.”
“Is that all? I’ll build you a mansion on your lands. Grand and majestic, with a garden that rivals any.”
“I’ll give you a cloak woven from magical beast fur. It significantly reduces the chance of being noticed by monsters—perfect for traveling.”
Despite their conversation, both the king and Guinevere glared at each other, not even sparing a glance at Morgana, the recipient.
But who cared? When whales fight, the shrimp just pick up the scraps.
“Yes, thank you!”
Fight more, fight harder!
Morgana internally cheered them on.
When King Vortigern ran out of words, he deliberately tried to provoke Guinevere.
“Ha, I was wondering why you, always so arrogant, suddenly asked me to grant an honorary title to someone else.”
Guinevere, unfazed, smiled and shrugged, pointing at him with her eyes.
“Who do you think I learned it from? I just followed the example of my superior.”
She wasn’t one to back down easily.
Mimicking his arrogance, Guinevere crossed her arms and, like a mirror image, turned to Morgana with a cheerful tone.
“Then, now that you’re no longer a maid, you can enter the palace as my friend, right? We can meet at banquets too?”
“I suppose so?”
Though she’d probably resign before that happened.
Guinevere, however, seemed genuinely serious.
“Good. I was getting tired of entertaining boring guests all the time.”
Though the title had been thrown out as part of their rivalry, Guinevere remained unscathed, prompting King Vortigern to click his tongue.
“If it weren’t for my prophecy, tsk.”
As he shook his head, muttering to himself, a knock echoed through the reception room.
“Your Majesty, the High Priest and the Saint have arrived.”
It was customary for royalty to summon priests, even for minor injuries.
On days of grand events like the jousting tournament, they were called upon even more frequently.
However, it was exceedingly rare for both the High Priest and the Saint to visit simultaneously.
Given the current prominence of the British kingdom on the continent, it seemed the High Priest had taken it upon herself to intervene.
‘Well… considering she directly delivered a prophecy, it makes sense she’d be concerned.’
Morgana stepped back behind the sofa to make way for the guests.
Soon, King Vortigern granted permission.
“Bring them in.”
Click—
The door opened, and two figures in white priestly robes entered.
The High Priest had long, deep purple hair and fair skin, with gentle eyes and jewel-like turquoise irises.
The long fabric flowing from her waist was embroidered with gold thread, displaying the large emblem of the Coventina Temple, exuding pride in her faith.
The High Priest offered a simple yet respectful greeting, keeping decorum intact.
“It’s been a while, King Vortigern. I am High Priest Merlin.”
Behind him, a person with her head deeply bowed, the Saint, greeted in a soft, almost inaudible voice.
“I am the Saint, Nimue.”
Her voice was quiet, and the ash-blue hair, falling to her shoulders, completely obscured her face as she kept her head lowered.
➺ Updated Mellowart’s name as Melwas
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