Chapter 78: A Moment of Peace -1-

“So, you’re going to keep up the boy’s disguise for the time being?”

Kay crossed his arms, frowning as he stared at Artoria.

“Yes, Brother. I’d love to rip off my armor and slip into a dress right away… but Camelot has just been established and Logres only newly founded. If we suddenly reveal that the king is actually a woman, the soldiers and local lords will descend into chaos—who knows what might happen?”

When Artoria pointed out the practical problem, Artoria Lancer and Artoria Alter also nodded.

“Indeed. The foolish lords of Britain won’t take kindly to being ruled by a woman. I was even rejected in North Wales at first.”

“Well, what difference would it make now? I’m so flat-chested I'm practically a cliff—it's not like anything would actually change, right?”

“Orta! What does that have to do with anything?!”

Artoria snapped, shouting in indignation.

Britain had been ruined ever since the era of Roman Britain, thanks to those half-baked notions of chivalry and noble conduct borrowed from Rome.

In the distant past, there had been several queens, including Boudica—who was still revered—and various tribes and clans across the land that honored goddesses.

There was even Guendoloena, the granddaughter of Brutus I, Britain’s first king, and daughter of the first Duke of Cornwall.

She had deposed her foolish husband, Locrinus, the second monarch, and as the third ruler, she led Britain into a long era of peace.

Even in the Age of Gods, queens existed. The twenty-fifth sovereign, Queen Marcia, compiled the Marcia Code, a work so remarkable that in the distant future, Alfred the Great used it as the foundation for England’s legal system.

And yet, people claimed they hated female leaders.

Of course, they had their pretext. They pointed to Cartimandua, queen of the Brigantes and a contemporary of Boudica.

To put it simply, she was a traitor who sold out her own country. Unlike Boudica, who fought a desperate war of resistance, Cartimandua pledged loyalty to Rome and betrayed the warriors fighting for their freedom—truly one of the worst rulers in history.

Consequently, people used her as a justification to oppose any queen.

From Kay's perspective, it was absurd. A monarch only needed the ability and wisdom to lead the country; gender was irrelevant.

After all, Artoria had trained under Scáthach, the queen of the Shadow Realm who made even the gods tremble in fear.

It was a ridiculous reality that the only people bringing shame upon Britain were the Britons themselves.

“Sigh… fine. So how long are you going to keep this up? You can’t hide it forever.”

“Once the kingdom has stabilized enough and my authority as ruler is firmly established…”

Artoria rolled her eyes and shamelessly proposed an excuse.

“What if I claimed that a dreadful Saxon sorcerer cursed me, and when I woke up one morning, I’d suddenly turned into a woman? Wouldn’t everyone believe it? Since I wield Excalibur, no one would dare suspect it's a lie!”

“…Truly a bold piece of fraud, fitting for the King of Britain. Well, I suppose there is precedent.”

Kay let out a hollow laugh of disbelief, but decided to respect her practical judgment for now.

After all, there were cases like Calogrenant.

Not long after, the knight orders responsible for subjugating and patrolling the border regions began returning to Camelot one after another.

Among them were faces that warmed Kay’s heart—old comrades he had shared life and death with.

“Sir Kay…”

It was Bedivere, the one-armed knight. Behind him came Goplet, still boasting his sturdy build, and Lucan, with his agile features, both panting as they hurried over.

“I’m truly glad you’re safe.”

“Of course I'm safe. Do you know how many people I have to take responsibility for?”

Kay smiled mischievously, patting Bedivere on the shoulder and greeting Lucan and Goplet with bright, friendly fist bumps.

“We thought you were dead… we cried every night, longing for the meat you used to roast for us!”

Goplet sniffled loudly as he blew his nose.

“Sheesh, you’re still whining just like you did in the old mercenary days, regardless of the helmet. I’ve already roasted an entire boar hind leg, aged in the Abyssal Realm, just for you lot. Tonight, let’s empty some barrels and catch up on everything.”

“Ugh, shut up, Goplet.”

“What does it matter, Brother Lucan? It’s a wonderful day—let’s just let it slide.”

The three knights’ eyes glittered with heartfelt excitement.

That night, Kay and his three old comrades raised their glasses until the early hours. The surviving members of their old mercenary unit gathered as well, sharing tales of the hardships and daring exploits from the Abyssal Realm over the last five years, cementing their deep bond of brotherhood.

Of course, that was the extent of the "bonding"—they just talked.

“All right, try mashing them again. When you’re crushing the potatoes, don’t just suppress them with brute force; roll them gently, as if leaving room for the butter to seep in.”

The next afternoon, in the kitchens of Camelot.

The first casualty of Kay’s 'Camelot Gastronomic Normalization Project' was none other than Gawain, the Knight of the Sun and Kay’s nephew in all but blood.

“Ugh… th-the space for the butter to seep… I have to control my strength!”

Gawain was sweating bullets as he mashed the boiled potatoes with a spatula, looking far more serious than when he wielded Galatine.

Due to his monstrous strength, there were dozens of moments where he nearly smashed the entire pot to pieces instead of just the potatoes.

“Now pour in the milk, and season with salt and pepper. Don’t make it taste like dirt; use proper rock salt!”

Kay watched Gawain’s every move from behind with a hawk’s eye.

After dozens of bowls had been shattered and Gawain’s arm muscles began to cramp, a true batch of mashed potatoes—smooth, creamy, and golden, without a speck of grit—was finally complete.

“O-oh…! I can't believe potatoes could smell so smooth and savory…!”

Overwhelmed by the result of his labor, Gawain took a bite and immediately fell to his knees on the kitchen floor, weeping profusely.

“Thank you so much, Sir Kay! I, Gawain, shall lay down my knight’s sword from this day forward and become your chief disciple—a Knight of the Kitchen!!”

“Don’t actually lay down your sword. If you dedicate yourself solely to cooking, Britain’s food stores will run dry. Just make special dishes every now and then.”

Kay sighed, but inwardly felt a sense of pride as the capital slowly began to return to some semblance of normalcy.

And later that night.

After feeding Mordred her bottle and putting her to sleep, Kay poured two cups of warm hot chocolate and headed to a quiet balcony in Camelot.

There, his niece Gareth—who had suffered cracked ribs from his blow several days prior—sat alone, wrapped in bandages, staring up at the night sky.

“The wind is cold. A patient shouldn’t be out this late.”

At the sound of Kay’s voice, Gareth slowly turned her head.

Her face showed neither surprise nor sorrow. Like a doll with its emotional switch turned off, she simply stared at Kay with empty eyes.

“Uncle Kay.”

Gareth fiddled with the hot chocolate he had handed her, and Kay spoke.

“How did it feel when you killed someone?”

“…I felt nothing. When I killed the Saxons, when I killed the nobles who oppressed the people, even when I killed the heralds of North Wales. I felt nothing. Killing was simply the natural thing to do.”

Her tone was unsettlingly calm, but a horrifying truth lay beneath her words.

“Merlin taught me that way. He said that slaughter for the sake of the King’s great ambition is justice. He told me that empathizing with the pain of others is an unnecessary weakness that only dulls the blade. So, I cut it all away. I don't even know what guilt or sorrow is supposed to feel like.”

Kay gripped his mug tightly. He felt a surge of anger, realizing how that half-breed dream demon had twisted and brainwashed this child’s mind.

“I know… that this isn’t normal. My behavior and attitudes are just like Merlin’s—the same things you hate and want to kill him for. Because that is what I learned from him.”

Despite her lack of emotion, she possessed a chilling level of self-awareness. She knew she was broken—that unlike ordinary people, she was a psychopath capable only of wearing a contrived smile.

“You find me disgusting too, right, Uncle? Because I’m a monster who can’t feel sorrow when I should, and feels nothing when I should feel guilt… Do you hate me too? Will you beat me and chase me away again?”

She tilted her head as she asked, so thoroughly broken that she couldn't even fully experience the fear of abandonment.

In her mind, being cast out was only logical. The flawed must be excluded; the unnecessary must be removed.

That was the world she had known, and the logic Merlin had instilled in her.

But.

A rough, warm hand pressed down heavily on the crown of Gareth’s head.

“……?”

“Why on earth would I cast you out, you idiot?”

Kay tousled her hair, his voice low and resolute.

“Not feeling others’ pain, feeling no guilt over killing—yeah, honestly, that’s not normal. But that’s because that bastard Merlin taught you that and broke you. It isn’t your fault.”

A tiny crack appeared in Gareth’s unwavering gaze.

“It’s just that you didn’t have a proper adult by your side. There was no one to guide you onto the right path. You becoming like this isn't your failure—it's the failure of the adults around you.”

“…….”

“If you can’t feel it in your heart, then I’ll teach you to understand it with your head. I'll teach you what is right and what is wrong. I'll teach you why you must not kill people recklessly.”

Kay clasped Gareth’s small hand firmly. Her skin was still cold, but he refused to let go.

“Whenever you go off track or try to make a wrong choice, I’ll grab you by the scruff of your neck as many times as it takes—I'll even give you a flick on the forehead—to stop you. Until you learn how to stop yourself, I’ll be the one to help you.”

Gareth blinked.

No magical surge of guilt or tears of pity blossomed in her chest. Damaged emotions do not recover overnight.

However, Kay’s firm, unwavering promise carved a crucial new rule into her empty logical circuitry.

Uncle Kay won’t abandon me, even if I’m a monster.

I will not do the things Uncle Kay says are wrong.

Gareth, for whom Merlin’s word had been the absolute truth, shifted that devotion to Kay.

It might not have been the exact growth Kay had envisioned, but it was progress nonetheless.

“…All right, Uncle.”

On Gareth’s lips appeared not that chilling, artificial smile, but a very faint, genuine smile of a young child.

“I still don’t really understand why it’s bad… but I’ll never do the things you tell me not to. I’ll try to learn the way you teach me.”

“Right. Just take it slow. After all, you’re just my adorable little niece.”

Kay and Gareth sipped their hot chocolate together, gazing at the night sky.

The road ahead still looked long and treacherous. Correcting a child who had become nearly a psychopath would require far more patience than slaying monsters in the Abyssal Realm.

But he had no intention of giving up.

Because this child, too, was precious family to him.

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