That evening, after the spar had ended, I held a grand banquet to welcome the Munster delegation.
The banquet tables in Nogares Castle's hall were laden with every delicacy imaginable.
From whole roast pig barbecue dripping with juices from the charcoal fire, to richly spiced stew simmered until tender, to fish roasted crisp on the outside and moist within.
The delegation's reaction after tasting the food was pure shock.
"O-oh...! Good heavens, what in the world is this flavor...?"
"The meat is melting in my mouth! What kind of sorcery did you use?!"
A bombardment of gourmet food unlike anything they had ever experienced in their lives.
General Morholt and the other fierce warriors of Ireland forgot all decorum and began practically burying their faces in their plates as they wolfed the food down.
Watching their astonished reactions, I lightly swirled my wineglass and smiled.
"I'm glad it suits your tastes. I knew that in the traditional Celtic faith, rabbits, chickens, and geese were considered sacred animals and not served at the table. So I deliberately left those out when planning the menu. I also heard pork is considered unclean in some parts of Ireland, so I debated whether to exclude it too... but in the end I prepared it as deliciously as possible and served it. Doesn't seem like you mind, though?"
My careful consideration and understanding of their culture seemed to move Isolde deeply, and she clasped both hands together.
"Your Highness, I sincerely thank you for your profound thoughtfulness in respecting even the traditions of a foreign land. But in truth, most of those customs have already faded away."
"Really? That's surprising for descendants of the Celts, who are supposed to be so devout."
Setting down her fork, Isolde gave a somewhat bitter smile.
"It has already been more than a hundred years since the Age of Gods in Erin came to an end. After Finn MacCool and the Fianna vanished, the Mystery of Erin rapidly faded, and food shortages arose across the impoverished land. Before starving people, taboos and traditions could no longer be upheld."
The reality of Ireland, forced to abandon its laws for the sake of survival.
I nodded and took a sip of wine.
"Well, if life was that hard, no wonder those Picts and Gaels forced their way across the sea and invaded this land of Britain."
At the weight behind my words, Isolde's face turned pale, and she hurriedly bowed her head.
"As for that... I offer my apology in place of the Ard Rí who once ruled Erin and remained indifferent."
According to her explanation, the situation was this.
In ancient times, the Picts had lived in Caledonia in northern Britain, but during the age when Mystery ran deep, most of them had dwelled in Erin, fighting alongside—or living intermixed with—the warriors of Erin.
But when the age of Finn MacCool waned and Erin's Age of Gods came to its end, the Picts, a race of phantasmal beings that could not survive without Mystery, crossed the sea in great numbers for the sake of survival, migrated to Caledonia, and founded Pictland.
Originally, the Caledonians had been comrades-in-arms with the Picts, fighting together against the Roman Empire, but the Picts, driven to the brink of extinction, came to regard the Caledonians as no different from the Britons and brutally slaughtered them while seizing their lands.
As a result, the Caledonians of the present now saw themselves as Britons and regarded the Picts as sworn enemies, continuing a desperate struggle for survival.
The most representative figure among them was King Lot of Orkney.
And on top of that, there were the Gaels—Scots—who, despite being human, chased after the dense Celtic Mystery and warlike spirit and invaded northwestern Britain, founding the kingdom of Dál Riata.
In a sense, the disasters currently drenching northern Britain in blood were little different from the result of a massive migration from Ireland—in other words, an invasion.
Britain had been the one caught in the middle and crushed by the great migrations of Ireland and the Saxons.
"I truly apologize, Prince Arthur. We Ard Rí knew of their mass migration and plundering, yet we thoroughly turned a blind eye while trying to put down our own civil wars..."
To Isolde, who had lowered her head, I waved a hand and answered indifferently.
"No need to apologize. Raise your head. It wasn't your Kingdom of Munster that sent that trash over here in the first place."
When Isolde carefully lifted her head, she saw that my emerald eyes had sunk into a cold, inorganic killing intent.
"That said, as the king of Britain, let me make one thing clear. I don't care whether they crossed over for survival or because they were chasing Mystery. The moment they harmed the people of this land and made themselves our enemy, they became nothing more than vermin from overseas."
There was not the slightest trace of mercy in my voice.
"They're just scraps of phantasmal creatures that can't even live without Mystery anyway, aren't they? For daring to foul my front yard, whether they're Picts or the Gaels of Dál Riata, I'll wipe out every last one of them and exterminate their race."
At that cruel and resolute declaration of genocide, General Morholt and the delegation felt a chill run down their spines.
But at the same time, a fierce hope bloomed in Isolde's heart.
She became convinced that if it were me, I really might be able to erase those savage, horrific Picts—who knew nothing but battle and plunder—from this world completely.
Sensing that the mood had grown too heavy, I grinned and pointed at the empty plates to change the subject.
"Anyway, does the food suit you? Good. Makes all the sweat I poured out standing in front of the grill worth it, since I made it myself."
"...What?!"
Isolde's eyes went wide as saucers. Even General Morholt nearly dropped the meat he was eating.
"Y-Your Highness. What did you just say? Are you telling us that this exquisite feast... was personally cooked by Prince Arthur, the ruler of an entire kingdom?!"
I shrugged and grumbled.
"What else could I do? The cooks in Britain all seem to have collectively lost their sense of taste. All they ever do is boil or roast things until they turn them into lumps of charcoal or blocks of salt. I've been writing down recipes myself and training them, but every last one of them has no talent for cooking, so progress is crawling. At this rate, I'm going to have to keep holding the ladle and making the meals myself for a while."
I complained while lamenting my lot in life.
But Isolde seemed to see me in a different light.
A king who had defeated a monstrous tyrant through overwhelming martial power, displayed political ability through administrative reform, and even took the lead in preparing food to perfection.
"They say that in an age of desperate chaos, a true hero descends to end the turmoil and lead the world into eternal peace... Ah, Prince Arthur truly is the one and only hero the gods have sent down to save Britain and Erin!"
With both hands clasped to her chest, Isolde gazed at me with blind, fervent eyes, as though she were looking up at a saint.
A few days later.
After roughly finishing the administrative stabilization of North Wales, I finally decided to set out on an expedition to conquer Ireland.
As agreed, Princess Isolde would remain in Nogares Castle as a hostage, while only a small contingent of my royal guards, Heroic Spirits, and General Morholt's delegation would accompany me on the journey to Ireland.
On the morning of our departure, I packed my things in the castle garden and left a few words behind.
"Artoria. Take care of yourself. Don't lift anything heavy, and no swinging your sword for the time being either. I'll settle things as quickly as I can and come back."
With a gentle hand, I stroked Artoria's swollen belly.
"Don't worry, Brother! I'll stay here quietly and wait with the baby in my belly. You mustn't overdo it either—you have to come back safe and healthy."
Artoria smiled brightly and rubbed her cheek against my hand.
For this trip to Ireland, I had decided to leave behind not only Artoria, but also Caenis and Penthesilea as her guards, since their Mana paths were connected to hers.
The command authority had been transferred from Artoria to me, but their materialization itself was still being sustained by Artoria's Mana.
"Caenis, Penthesilea. You two stay glued to Artoria's side and protect her no matter what. Got it?"
"Tch, I know that without you nagging me. Just don't go getting your ass kicked by those Erin bastards. Hurry up and come back already."
Caenis grumbled, and Penthesilea silently nodded.
"And even while we're apart, I'll occasionally share consciousness through Caenis or Penthesilea."
After our reluctant farewells were over, the expedition party—including me, Merlin, Morgan, Medea, Barghest, Ushiwakamaru, Stheno, and Oda Nobunaga—headed out to the cliffs beyond the castle walls.
At the edge of the precipice overlooking the open Celtic Sea,
Merlin raised her staff high with a bold smile.
"Now then, shall we begin our great little emperor's voyage across the sea? Come forth!"
Merlin threw a golden shield into the air.
Amid a dazzling flare of Magical Energy, the small shield began to expand exponentially in midair.
Kuuuuung!
What revealed itself grandly in the sky, cutting through the wind, was Prydwen—a gigantic magical ship constructed as a divine vessel of war.
"Ooh...! Th-that is...! The shield turned into a ship!"
General Morholt and the delegation were so shocked they nearly threw themselves flat on the ground.
"Everyone, aboard! Prydwen, set course for Erin!"
As I leapt onto the prow and shouted, the massive golden ship sliced through the air and rose, gliding over the rough waves of the Celtic Sea.
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