Chapter 1: There Are Too Many Little Sisters
Winter in Britain was harsh.
But tonight, compared to the trial that had befallen Black Knight Ector’s cabin, the freezing cold felt like nothing more than a spring breeze.
“…Father.”
His son, Kay, still just a young boy, wiped his face with trembling hands, desperately trying to deny the sight before his eyes.
On the dining table sat baskets. Not one or two, but eight of them.
Inside, newborn babies with matching blonde hair and eyes of every imaginable hue were squirming about.
“Explain this to me. What… what are these creatures?”
Kay turned his gaze, glaring at the man responsible for this fiasco.
Merlin.
Britain’s greatest magician, a half-breed son of a nightmare—and at this very moment, the man Kay most wanted to throttle in the world.
Merlin simply shrugged, wearing his trademark sly grin.
“Don’t be so alarmed, Kay. This is a miracle! A magical glitch—no, a blessing—where the possibilities of parallel worlds overlapped at a single coordinate! The child of prophecy, who was meant to be one, has proliferated into eight!”
“Proliferated? Did you just say ‘proliferated’? Is that really the word you're using?”
“Metaphorically speaking, yes! Now, let me introduce them. This one here is the original, Artoria! Then we have Alter, Lily, Lancer, Lancer Alter, and Caster. And over in the corner, the ones radiating a certain cosmic energy are X and X Alter.”
Merlin pointed to the infants as if he were showcasing different varieties of apples at a market stall.
“Is he insane?”
Kay muttered, completely sincere.
It was then that a rumble echoed from one of the baskets—a growl louder than a clap of thunder.
It was the signal.
“WAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”
The eight babies burst into tears simultaneously. Their combined volume was enough to make the cabin roof rattle. In an instant, the peaceful home was transformed into a screaming hellscape.
“Oops, looks like they’re hungry. Ector, I’ll leave them in your capable hands. I must go make some macro-preparations for the future king.”
Merlin quickly backed away toward the window.
“Wait! Hold on! What about nursing? Diapers? The food expenses!”
“I left money for the food! Oh, and their magical efficiency is incredible—they’ll likely eat ten times as much as a normal person! Good luck!”
With a loud *pop* and a cloud of smoke, Merlin vanished.
All that remained on the table was a single, lonely pouch of gold coins.
Kay stared blankly at the pouch. It was heavy—enough for an ordinary family to live in luxury for ten years.
But Kay had a sinking feeling.
*This money… won’t even last a week.*
Ten times the intake of a normal person, multiplied by eight. By simple math, he would need enough food to feed eighty grown men. This wasn’t childcare; it was a natural disaster.
“K-Kay…”
Ector, who had been standing in the corner in a state of total shock, called out to his son in a trembling voice.
“How much… how much dried boar meat do we have left in the storehouse?”
“We ate the last of it last week. We’re out of flour, too.”
“Then what do we feed them right now? We don’t even have milk. Merlin did mention earlier that since they are special children, they can digest things other than milk, but still…”
Kay looked down at the eight wailing baby dragons.
The baby in the blue blanket, Artoria, suddenly grabbed Kay’s finger and began to suck on it. The moment she realized it wasn’t food, she spat it out and began to cry again, her eyes filled with pure contempt.
“…I have to go hunting.”
Kay grabbed the bow and hunting sword hanging on the wall.
Outside, a blizzard raged through the winter night. However, he was gripped by the terror that if he didn’t leave now, he and his father might become the infants' breakfast by morning.
“Father, keep them… no, keep our sisters calm. I’ll go catch a bear.”
“A-a bear? A hibernating bear?”
“You said your back was hurting. Besides, the closest den around here belongs to a bear. It’ll have plenty of fat stored up for the winter, so that’s the one we need. Is this some kind of Lostbelt? Is their mother some kind of Big Mom? Big Mom had ten sets of twins; I guess their mother is just a bit below her level.”
Kay cursed under his breath and kicked the door open, charging out into the night.
The freezing night air stabbed at his lungs, but it felt far more pleasant than the eight-part harmony of screaming infants behind him.
The legend of the man who would later be known as the caretaker of the Round Table began on this desperate night—not with knightly training, but with a baby bottle in one hand and boar and bear meat in the other.
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