Chapter 40: North Wales - 5 -
The wheels of the carriage bound for North Wales rattled over Britain’s rough dirt roads.
Inside, the atmosphere was surprisingly warm. Artoria Alter had completely monopolized Kay’s lap, while Tamamo wagged her tail, gently cajoling her sister-in-law. Beside them, Jeanne d’Arc Alter grumbled while staring out the window, and Medusa remained absorbed in her book.
However, the mood among the First Order of North Wales Knights escorting the carriage was decidedly different.
Though they sat upright on their horses, the faces behind their helmets were uniformly somber. In particular, the shoulders of their commander, the giant Galehaut, drooped conspicuously.
The man claimed to be the Lion King’s half-brother.
They had assumed him to be a powerless hanger-on who relied solely on his connections. Instead, he had crushed their vaunted martial prowess with a single blow, and Galehaut had even suffered the humiliation of nearly having his shoulder blade shattered by that fearsome grip.
More than the physical pain, the mental blow of seeing their lifelong knightly pride shattered in an instant was far deeper.
As the sun dipped behind the western hills and a slate-gray dusk began to settle, the group halted the carriage in a broad forest clearing to set up a makeshift camp.
The knights adeptly fed their horses, posted sentries, and kindled a campfire.
“Eat,” Galehaut commanded. “We don’t know when the enemy might strike—fill your bellies first.”
At his order, the knights fished hard-as-rock black bread, salt-cured meat reeking of brine, and shards of dried cheese from their saddle pouches.
These were the gruesome field rations common in British army camps, designed solely for survival. Without a flicker of expression, the knights gnawed on the black bread and forced water down their throats.
At that moment, the carriage door swung open and Kay stepped outside.
He frowned at the sight of the stone-like bread and the salt-saturated chunks of meat the knights were chewing.
“Hey. Is that really all there is for dinner?”
The knights froze mid-bite at Kay’s appearance. Galehaut rose with a stern expression.
“This is how meals always are in the field. We had to keep up our pace, so we left the heavy supply wagons behind and only brought a few days’ worth of preserved rations. Please understand, even if it doesn’t suit your taste…”
“Understand? It’s not a matter of taste—how do you expect anyone to swing a sword properly tomorrow morning after eating that?”
Kay placed a hand on his hip in disbelief.
“A soldier’s morale in battle is eighty percent in the gut. You’ve got ingredients here. Hand them all over. I’ll handle the cooking.”
“What? Bu-but… that meat is basically raw and salt-caked. Even if you grill or boil it, the salt is too overpowering… and out here, our cooking tools are barely adequate.”
“Don’t worry—just bring it. Jeanne, Tamamo! Time to work!”
At Kay’s call, Jeanne d’Arc Alter lightly leaped down from her nighttime watch on the carriage roof, and Tamamo trotted out from inside.
“Jeanne, build a fire pit the size of a hearth over in that clearing. I’ll control the temperature—just keep the flames steady. Tamamo, please set up the kitchen.”
“Yesss~”
With a flourish of her hands and a graceful spin, Tamamo summoned a massive cauldron, frying pans, cutting boards, and an array of utensils, instantly assembling a fully stocked outdoor kitchen on the bare earth.
The knights gaped in astonishment at the mystical sight.
Kay rolled up his sleeves, donned an apron, and laid dozens of slabs of salt-cured meat on a cutting board.
Tat-tat-tat-tat!!
His blade began to move with invisible speed.
The rock-hard meat, encrusted with salt, was sliced into thin, uniform strips as light as paper under Kay’s knife.
He briefly blanched the strips in the hot water Tamamo had prepared, perfectly leaching out the excess salt and any gamey odor.
“Fetch every last potato we’ve got! And onions too!”
He cubed the potatoes gathered from the knights’ rations and the onions he had brought, then began sautéing them in a huge iron pan slick with pork fat.
By the time the potatoes turned golden, he heaped in the de-salted meat, sprinkled in pepper and rosemary from his otherworldly provisions, added a little broth, and tossed it all over high heat.
Sizzle!!
A violently savory and salty aroma of rich fat filled the forest clearing.
It was the magic of transforming discarded salt meat into a gourmet feast: corned beef hash.
Not content with that, Kay crumbled the hard black bread and simmered it in broth and butter, creating a moist, comforting bread porridge.
“There! It’s ready! Line up and grab a plate!”
In just thirty minutes, Kay had produced a phenomenal meal.
He piled the corned beef hash—potatoes and meat perfectly melded—into huge wooden platters, ladled generous portions of the soft bread porridge alongside, and handed them out to the knights.
A monstrous oversized plate with triple the meat ratio was delivered to Artoria Alter inside the carriage.
“…Are you telling me that this really came from those dreadful field rations we were just gnawing on?”
The knights took their plates with incredulous expressions.
The moment they scooped a steaming spoonful of meat and potatoes into their mouths—
“…!!”
The knights’ eyes nearly popped out.
The once-tough, salty meat melted tenderly on the tongue, while the fluffy potatoes, sweet onions, and Kay’s secret spices created an explosion of flavor.
The once-axe-hard black bread had become a silky soup that warmed them to their core.
“I-it’s delicious…! So delicious!”
“Heavens, I never thought I’d eat a meal like this on a campaign!”
They abandoned all decorum, tears in their eyes, burying their faces in their bowls and devouring every last bite.
Even Galehaut, after tasting his serving, looked as if he had been struck by a hammer.
“T-this is impossible. Even the finest delicacies that the palace’s head chef crafts with his soul could never match this. And yet, out here, using nothing more than scraps of preserved rations…”
Having sampled every royal banquet in his life as a former king, he had to concede this was without doubt the finest meal he had ever tasted.
For common soldiers or knights to enjoy such a sumptuous meal in the field was, by Britain’s standards, nothing short of a miracle.
When the meal ended, the knights’ faces were no longer shadowed by gloom but lit with the happy smiles that only a full stomach can bring. Their gazes at Kay had shifted from contempt to boundless respect.
Kay sat by the fire, cleaning the remaining pots and pans.
At that moment, Galehaut approached cautiously and stood beside him.
“…Sir Kay.”
“Hmm? What is it—still hungry? I can scrape out the bottom of the pot for you if you’d like.”
When Kay looked up casually, Galehaut suddenly bent his great bulk, knelt on one knee, and bowed his head deeply.
“…I beg your forgiveness.”
“Whoa, where’s this coming from? A big guy like you kneeling—you'll make the ground cave in.”
“No. Today, I am overwhelmed with shame and self-reproach for having underestimated you out of my own arrogance and ignorance.”
Galehaut’s voice trembled with genuine contrition.
“I thought Your Majesty’s eagerness to see you was born merely of some shallow bond from the past, and I regarded you as a mere burden on the battlefield. But… Sir Kay, you are a towering force no one could hope to challenge, and you won hearts just as swiftly with this extraordinary cuisine.”
He gripped the empty platter Kay had set before him.
“Having tasted such miraculous dishes all my life… I now understand why our Lion King never cracked a smile at the palace chef’s finest spread. You, sir, are the one worthy of Her Majesty’s highest hopes—a truly great man.”
Galehaut’s heartfelt apology prompted all the knights nearby to bow their heads in unified deference.
Kay put down the pot and let out a short laugh.
“Ah, enough. You don’t have to apologize over something like this. Men who work in the field often get blamed or misunderstood unfairly.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, stirring the fire with a poker.
“I just like cooking. Alter and Lancer are both incredibly picky—if I don’t take care of them, they won’t eat properly. As for overwhelming strength? I only got that strong because I wanted to feed my family. That’s all.”
The man who willingly cooked for eight sisters with whom he shared no blood, who endured hellish trials in an otherworldly realm just to protect that daily routine.
Seeing his scarred, sturdy hands, Galehaut felt a deep, burning awe rise from his chest.
“…Had I not already sworn fealty to the Lion King, I would eagerly pledge my service to you, sir. I respect you with all my heart. Your vast generosity and kindness are the very qualities of a true king.”
At the giant knight’s high praise, Kay waved him off.
“Oh, stop with the cheesy talk. I’m not interested in being a king—it sounds exhausting. I just want my sisters to be well-fed and smile in a warm room. If I have that, my life is a success.”
The firelight gently illuminated Kay’s scarred jawline.
Before such a humble yet grand wish, Galehaut bowed deeply once more.
The distrust and prejudice toward Kay that had taken root deep within the Knights of North Wales melted away—like snow before spring—at the sight of his rough-hewn hash, comforting porridge, and ocean-wide generosity.
And through the carriage window, watching their every word, Artoria Alter murmured softly, cheeks tinged pink as she gazed at Kay’s back:
“Hmph. This is why I can’t let any other girl steal my brother’s spot. He’s just too foolishly kind.”
That night, with misunderstandings and conflicts resolved, the Knights of North Wales could not wait to return home and spread word of Kay’s greatness. This man was destined to change the fate of North Wales, and indeed, all of Britain.
Meanwhile...
Somewhere else in Britain, a camp bustled with people preparing to build a new kingdom and drive the Saxons completely from the land.
“Your Majesty, I have prepared a meal.”
“…Thank you, Sir Gawain.”
“It is my pleasure. If it is insufficient, please let me know.”
At their head stood the king, Artoria Pendragon.
She received the meal from her nephew—and the only one among them who could even remotely cook—Sir Gawain.
It was mashed potatoes. Nothing more than roughly crushed spuds, though they were at least seasoned.
She scooped a spoonful, her brow creasing in a frown.
“…Today, more than ever, I miss you.”
“Would things have been different if I had halted the advance? I miss you more with each passing day, Brother.”
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