Morgan, You’re Not Acting Right!

"Finally, we've transported all these guys back."

Returning to Camelot once more, Lot felt as though an era had passed. This expedition had taken them far too long especially for Lot himself.

Ever since Vortigern's forces attacked and he rushed to reinforce the south, he had gone through a series of ordeals: defeating the Saxon army, slaying Vortigern in his draconic form, capturing fairies in the castle, persuading Baobhan Sith to surrender, and finally taking prisoner the chieftain of the Fang Clan, one of the six great fairy clans.

Now, that chieftain remained among the troops led by Lot, bound hand and foot, awaiting Lot's next move.

Artoria had been waiting at the gates long before their arrival. The moment she spotted Morgan and Lot, she hurried over.

"Your Majesty!"

She spoke with palpable excitement.

With the return of Her Majesty, peace would be restored to the capital.

With the return of Her Majesty, fine dining would once again be assured!

Life in Camelot had indeed been comfortable for Artoria lately she enjoyed the finest "Orkney" delicacies daily. But these were merely what ordinary people considered gourmet food. What Artoria truly craved were the exclusive dishes reserved for Their Majesties, Lot and Morgan.

Artoria had come to realize that her palate was growing increasingly refined from merely seeking satiety in the past to now pursuing culinary excellence.

Such was human nature desires only ever expanded.

"Guess I've been eating a little too well lately," Artoria mused to herself.

"Hmm."

Seeing their younger sister (sister-in-law), Morgan and Lot couldn't help but smile.

"Perfect timing. We're exhausted from escorting them all the way back. The rest is up to you. Now that we've brought these fairies back, the prisoners of war in Camelot can finally take a break," Lot instructed Artoria.

Camelot had captured no small number of prisoners in the previous war. Neither Lot nor Morgan were the type to treat prisoners kindly Lot's moral standards were only marginally higher than those of your average feudal king, after all.

Why show these prisoners any courtesy?

Work. Work yourselves to the bone.

They wouldn't be worked to death, but they'd damn well wish they were.

Now, with this new batch of fairy captives, Lot found himself with an almost excessive surplus of prisoners.

[Looks like it's time for some large-scale construction.]

Lot pondered to himself.

What to do with such an abundance of labor? Obviously, he couldn't just dump them all into the military.

His past life had taught him too many painful lessons in this regard. He wasn't stupid enough to repeat those mistakes.

Labor?

Now was the time to fully convert them into productive forces.

[The primitive accumulation of capital is drenched in blood at every step. From now on, every newly erected structure in Camelot shall be built upon the blood of fairies.]

So Lot thought to himself.

Beside him, Morgan shuddered at his words.

Wait

What was this husband of hers planning?

Live sacrifices, perhaps?

"Built upon the blood of fairies"?

Morgan's imagination ran wild: in the future, every time a new building rose in Camelot, Lot would gleefully drag out a fairy, brandish his 'Joyeuse,' and gut them open.

That…

That seemed a tad too barbaric.

Sure, the Romans might consider them barbarians, but they knew better they were civilizations ahead of their time. Lot, don't go emulating those Nordic savages!

Wait, wasn't Lot's family closely tied to Denmark?

Was this some kind of ancestral tradition?

But they'd been married for so long, their children already grown how had she only just learned of this?

Was she failing in her duties as a wife by not knowing her own family's customs?

Hmm…

Fine, if it came to that, she'd do the killing herself.

With this in mind, Morgan leaned in and whispered to Lot, "Lot, can we use magecraft when killing the fairies?"

"Of course."

Lot, not understanding her meaning, nodded reflexively.

[Killing fairies is killing fairies on the battlefield, does it matter whether it's magecraft or swordsmanship? Morgan, you're plenty effective blasting away from the rear lines anyway.]

Seeing how oblivious he was, Morgan lowered her voice further. "No, I'm not talking about the battlefield. I mean for the sacrificial rites the sacrificial rites for the fairies!"

She emphasized it repeatedly.

Hearing this, Lot's expression shifted.

"…That's acceptable."

He answered ambiguously.

[What is my wife planning!? Does Camelot have some kind of sacrificial ritual I don't know about? Ugh, no if it's really that bloody, I should be the one to do it if she insists.]

Morgan, hearing his thoughts, was stunned.

Wait weren't you the one who said Camelot would be built on fairy blood?

Did I misunderstand!?

Morgan was baffled but chose not to press further.

Why bother with the fairies' fate?

As long as Lot was satisfied, that was all that mattered.

Morgan and Lot proceeded into Camelot.

...

"Now let us bring Camelot to its knees!"

The acting chieftain of the Fang Clan roared, addressing the assembled warriors of his clan and the equally indignant, dwarfish fairies of the Earth Clan beside them.

His jaws parted, saliva dripping from his rows of fangs, his face twisted into a savage grin.

"YES!"

The fairies raised their hands and cheered.

Meanwhile, the chieftain of the Wind Clan wore an expression of sorrowful compassion.

"With this, the people of Camelot will be plunged into war. It seems I must find a way to shelter the displaced. A land of fairies should still make room for humans."

She spoke softly.

Beside her, the chieftain of the Mirror Clan scoffed.

This woman

"Hypocrite."

That was her verdict.

The Wind Clan's chieftain heard it clearly but showed no reaction.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

The wind fairy replied coolly.

"..."

The Mirror Clan's chieftain had nothing more to say.

A hypocrite was far too disgusting.

As she silently cursed, the Fang Clan's fairies began their march.

From the fairy kingdom, an army fierce as wolves and tigers set forth.

War

Was about to begin.

...

Land of Shadows.

"These creatures aren't particularly strong, but they're certainly annoying. This time, I'll see how my dear sister and brother-in-law handle them."

Scáthach observed the fairies' movements with ease.

Their assault had caught her attention, if only slightly.

"Though, if this is all the fairies have, it won't pose any real threat to Lot."

That was her assessment.

But then, her tone shifted subtly, as if her gaze had turned elsewhere.

"Of course, if that half-human, half-serpent fairy from France joins the fray, the tide of battle could shift. Either way, England is in for interesting times. Not that I mind only in the crucible of endless war can one's strength grow rapidly. Only then can Lot and Morgan's power meet my expectations."

She yawned, then reignited her fighting spirit.

"Still, what intrigues me most are the changes in those fairies and Lot's words. Though the truth remains unclear, his expression that day convinced me he's connected to parallel worlds. Who knows if this will be for better or worse? I may no longer wish to live, but my love for this land remains."

So she mused.

Lot's abilities indeed blocked all forms of detection magecraft, even clairvoyance.

But

He couldn't stop her from using her own eyes, could he?

Much like the stealth fighters of his future world:

Invisible to radar, but not to the naked eye.

Though Scáthach had seemingly left early during Lot's recent battles, she had actually circled back, observing from the shadows.

Picture this: amidst the blood-soaked battlefield, a purple-haired woman crouched in a distant tree, munching on snacks as she watched the carnage unfold.

Quite the sight.

Having witnessed Lot's performance, Scáthach deduced that the fairies' transformations were linked to him.

This only deepened the enigma surrounding him.

Scáthach continued her train of thought:

"Still, this warrants further investigation."

As for the fairy war before her? Scáthach couldn't care less.

If Lot and Morgan couldn't handle this much, they had no business ruling Camelot.

They might as well pack up and return to Orkney.

Unconsciously, Scáthach's expectations for the couple had grown, as had her satisfaction. Her initial stance "if they fail, they can die" had softened to "if they fail, they can go home."

Such was the fruit of their efforts.

...

War does not pause for contemplation.

The Fang Clan's acting chieftain led the charge.

Despite Lot's preparations, the fairies' assault was ferocious.

Overnight, multiple northern strongholds fell.

In many cases, fairies disguised as humans infiltrated castles first, sowing chaos within before the defenders could react.

Caught off guard, the garrisons collapsed under the sudden onslaught, allowing the main force to storm in.

Moreover, the fairies had gathered extensive intelligence on these castles beforehand.

The reason?

After Vortigern's attack, they had "helped" with repairs.

Even if their actual assistance was minimal, it gave them ample opportunity to scout.

Using these tactics, the fairies swiftly wreaked havoc across northern England.

And once the Fang Clan's rampage ended, the Wind Clan reappeared.

They tended to the wounded, offered shelter, and promised homes to those displaced by war.

The people, already grateful for the Wind Clan's aid after Vortigern's attack, trusted them easily.

They followed the Wind Clan's advice and began relocating.

With local lords decimated by the Fang Clan, resistance was minimal.

Everything proceeded smoothly.

It was proof: in this land of Britain, once castles were breached, warfare became blitzkrieg.

Within days, the fairy army reached the borders of Orkney.

This was Lot's homeland its fall would be symbolic.

And yet

Here, the fairies hit an immovable wall.

Their usual tactics failed.

Infiltration attempts were thwarted when guards cross-referenced newcomers with illustrated registries.

"State your origins if you're not local."

A rudimentary facial recognition system.

The fairies, unprepared for such scrutiny, were quickly exposed.

Once discovered, their fate was sealed.

Frustrated, the fairies outside the walls opted for a direct assault.

But

Orkney's defenses were unlike anything they'd faced.

This was Lot's stronghold its castle, refined under his guidance, was centuries ahead of its time.

A fusion of Eastern and Western ingenuity.

The fairies, accustomed to crumbling fortresses, broke against it like waves against a cliff.

...

"Pity, these fairies."

"Indeed. They're practically throwing their lives away."

Not far off, the Rain Clan's chieftain and another figure observed the battle in secret, offering commentary.

Had a member of Camelot's court been present, they would have gasped this figure bore an uncanny resemblance to Morgan or Artoria.

Had Morgan been here, she would have noticed the resemblance was near-identical like a twin.

And had Lot been present?

He would have known instantly.

This, too, was Morgan

But the Morgan of the fairy realm.