Chapter 91: Sucker’s Meal - 4 -
The morning after Morgan had turned Camelot’s study into a wreck and fled, Kay returned to the inner keep, summoned the Servants and his younger sisters, and laid bare everything that had happened the previous night.
“...Hah, you really are beyond help.”
Once Artoria Alter heard the full story, she crossed her arms again and shot Artoria a frosty glare.
“That so-called King of Knights not only got her holy sword pickpocketed, but now she’s permanently handed ownership of Avalon over to her own daughter? At this rate, you might as well step down from the throne and become a court jester!”
“B-but…!”
Artoria protested, her voice trembling with indignation.
“I had no choice! Morgan set a trap specifically targeting you… It was my scabbard… my Excalibur…!”
“Cut the whining. Since the Fairy Pact binds you now, you're never getting that scabbard back.”
Kay hammered down the point with steel in his voice.
“Just think of it as an early inheritance or a birthday present. Mordred’s first birthday is coming up soon, anyway.”
“My… my scabbard… as a birthday present…?”
Artoria stood there sniffling, as if the world had collapsed around her.
“And before any stupid rumors start flying, we need an official statement. Announce that Artoria didn’t lose her sword; she willingly returned it to undergo the true test of kingly worth imposed by the Lake’s Fairies. Spin it as the great King’s decision to pass the test using only mortal swordsmanship. That way, the nobility can’t gossip.”
“Understood, Master. Tamamo and I will have public opinion under control in no time.”
Medusa pushed her glasses up and nodded curtly.
“Good. Now there’s only one real problem left.”
Kay’s cold gaze turned to the sobbing Artoria.
“Your duel with Acolón. I don’t know when Morgan will send the challenge, but knowing that witch, she’ll coat Acolón in every reinforcement spell she can muster. Without Avalon or Excalibur, you’ll have to defeat that monster using only pure swordsmanship and your physical strength.”
“Y-yes! I can do it! I am the King of Knights who founded Camelot, after all!”
Artoria replied, her voice crisp with determination.
But the smile on Kay’s lips was downright wicked.
“Is that so? Then training starts today. Until you beat Acolón, you’re not a queen—you’re my recruit. No touching, and absolutely no sneaking into my room at night.”
“W-what?! That’s too harsh, Brother!!”
Artoria shrieked in horror.
“Shut up. And if you lose this duel, don’t expect to eat a single drop of my cooking for the next six months! You’ll be gnawing on Gawain’s mashed potatoes for the rest of your life!”
“Eek…!! No, please, not that!! I swear I’ll train with my life on the line!!”
Faced with the horror of potato purgatory, Artoria finally lit a fire in her eyes and braced herself.
That afternoon, the back training yard of Camelot resounded without pause with Artoria’s anguished screams.
“Ugh, cough…!!”
Wham!!
A massive log slammed into Artoria’s breastplate, sending her body flying dozens of meters before she crashed into the dirt.
“Get up!! Why did you try to block that with your sword? You should have twisted your body to deflect it—or taken the hit and countered!”
Kay had shed his shirt and was relentlessly driving Artoria down with the haft of his Golden Axe.
The elegant, graceful chivalric swordplay Merlin taught her? None of that existed in Kay’s special training.
All he was drilling into her was the survival method of the Celtic Mystic Realm: brutal real-combat, raw violence, and barbaric conditioning hammered into her body.
“Again!! Bagest! Transform into your demon-hound form and pounce!”
“Yes, my Master!”
Bagest shifted into a massive demonic canine and charged at Artoria.
Artoria barely managed to deflect Bagest’s foreleg with the Secret Caliber, but Kay seized the opening and lunged in, striking her popliteal fossa and jaw with his bare fists.
Kwang!
“Aaaagh!!”
“Your endurance is too weak!! You’ve spent your whole life relying on Avalon’s cheating regeneration, so you never feared the attack! In a fight between true powerhouses, you'll face unavoidable, sure-hit strikes! In those moments, you need the guts and the grit to give up a bone to crush the opponent's heart!! You can’t parry or deflect everything! Even Scáthach has attacks she must face head-on!”
Kay gave Artoria no respite, fetching a massive iron pillar used as a battering ram and jabbing it into her.
Clang! Clang! Kwahng!!
“Endure!! Even if your leg breaks, endure!! Toughness is built by taking hits!!”
Violence, violence, and an endless cycle of violence.
Artoria’s body was a bloody mess, bruised from head to toe, struggling to even breathe.
Is Brother trying to kill me…? No, does he hate me now…?
Her mind went blank, and the sword in her hand felt unbearably heavy.
Just as she reached her limit and began to collapse—
“Hey, if you’re gonna sit there and sulk, go take off your crown and peel potatoes instead.”
Jeanne d’Arc Alter had quietly slipped to the edge of the training yard and clicked her tongue, holding out a healing herbal salve.
“Jeanne… it hurts so much… it feels like Brother actually wants to kill me…”
Artoria sniffled, and Jeanne scoffed, roughly dabbing the salve onto her cuts.
“Stop whining. Master’s training is nothing compared to what he endured in the Mystic Realm.”
“What? Nothing…?”
Artoria’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Master fought for his life against packs of monsters in the forests of the Shadow Realm, completely naked—without a single piece of armor or a stitch of clothing.”
Jeanne Alter’s gaze drifted as she recalled Kay’s harrowing past.
“Training under that crazy queen, Scáthach, was even worse. He was beaten until his bones shattered and his organs burst, then force-healed with rune magic just so he could be beaten again… He built that monstrous durability and evasion by being struck hundreds of times by the pillars the queen swung herself.”
“How could… such a thing…”
“Master wasn’t born with a Dragon’s factor, nor is he some genius with superior magic circuits. He’s a complete ordinary man. Can you even imagine the kind of hell that ordinary man had to crawl through just to stand alongside monsters like you—no, to protect you?”
Jeanne Alter roughly grabbed Artoria by the collar.
“How long do you plan to hide behind your brother’s back, acting like a spoiled little sister? You’re not just a sister anymore; you’re the king of a nation and Master’s partner.”
The blunt truth pierced Artoria’s heart.
“How long will you stay in the shadow of being 'Master’s sister'? Didn’t you want to be someone who could actually help him? Didn’t you want to repay the brother who loved and cherished you? Didn’t you want to be someone who could protect the person she loves and stand proudly by his side?”
“…!!”
“Do you truly not understand why Master pushed himself that far? Why he underwent such insane training? If you want to protect someone precious, if you want to hold the hand of the one you love, then you have to put in the matching effort. Who cares if you don’t have the holy sword or the scabbard? Was the Kay you know someone who only valued those treasures?”
“…No.”
“What he looked at was you—the you who always worked hard, never gave up, and pressed forward firmly. The Artoria Pendragon that Master cherished and was proud of in the Mystic Realm… wasn’t some lofty King of Knights. She was someone who loved her family and strove to be a role model. She wasn’t some brat who whined about being hurt or losing a sword.”
Jeanne Alter’s scathing advice snapped Artoria’s spirit back to attention.
…How pathetic. Brother worked so hard for us… and yet I was complaining this much. I claim to love him, yet I’m just leaning on him like a child again.
It was an old story.
Kay, who always came back bloodstained from hunting beasts for them; Kay, whose hands became calloused and scarred from cooking for them until they were tough.
Without a single word of complaint, he had silently become the pillar that supported them all.
The tears dried in Artoria’s eyes, replaced by a fierce, burning fighting spirit.
“…Thank you, Jeanne. You’re right. I won’t be a burden to Brother anymore.”
Artoria dusted herself off and stood up, staggering but firm. She gripped the imitation holy sword tightly and let out a fierce war cry toward Kay, who waited in the distance with his axe.
“I’m coming back!! Today’s training doesn’t end until I collapse!!”
“Oh? That look in your eyes is much better. Good.”
Artoria’s training continued.
It was no longer about reclaiming a lost sword, but a painful process of metamorphosis so that Artoria could stand proudly beside the man named Kay.
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