Chapter 68: The Child of Prophecy -3-

Two months passed after Mordred was born.

Nogares Castle was enjoying an unprecedented peace, filled with the warmth and laughter of a newborn child, but Arthur's march toward becoming Britain's true ruler had not come to a halt.

Once Artoria and Mordred had entered a stable enough period, Arthur once more stood before the massive table in the war council chamber, his eyes shining with a conqueror's light.

Spread across the table was a vast map of northern Britain, of Pictland, where unknown savagery and phantasmal species swarmed.

"All right. It's about time we put collars on the northern barbarians."

Arthur pointed his baton at the enormous territory covering the northern half of the map.

"Pictland. Hundreds of years ago, the founding king Cruithne established this land and split it among his seven sons. Countless petty kingdoms now run wild across it. But above those beastlike little realms, the ones who truly hold power and reign supreme are seven kingdoms."

The close aides of the Round Table and the Heroic Spirits gathered in the council chamber focused their eyes on the tip of Arthur's baton.

"Our first targets are the backbone of the Picts linking the central and western regions. The Kingdom of Fotla, which rules the rugged mountain ranges of the central interior. The Kingdom of Fidach, entrenched in the dense forests of the north-central region. And the Kingdom of Fortriu, which holds naval dominance over the north-central coastline."

Arthur's baton struck the territories of the three kingdoms hard.

"These three kingdoms are the most warlike in all of Pictland, and Fortriu in particular is the strongest power in the land. Only by smashing these bastards and breaking through the center can we completely swallow our true objective: Dál Riata, the Gaelic state on the northwestern coast."

Dál Riata was a nation with territory stretching into Ireland and its main base in northern Britain. He had already crushed them in Ireland. Now it was time to strike their homeland in Britain and cut off their last breath.

"Remember this. Every Pictish petty kingdom and every human petty kingdom along the route will be absorbed without exception. The final objective of this northern campaign is to destroy Dál Riata and place all the rest of Pictland beneath my feet."

"Your Highness."

A knight who had been studying the map carefully raised his hand.

He was originally a knight active in North Wales, and also the commander-in-chief who had led five thousand knights.

"In that case, what will be done about Garlot, ruled by your half-sister Queen Elaine, and Orkney, ruled by King Lot, both in the north? There are also still autonomous Pictish territories such as Strathearn, Atholl, and Ross."

"For now, we do not touch countries like Garlot and Orkney."

Arthur drew the line firmly.

"There is no need to unnecessarily widen the front right now and deal with both human powers and Pictish powers at the same time. And local territories like Strathearn and Atholl are nothing but riffraff that will surrender on their own once the great central kingdoms collapse. They are no real threat."

Countries like Garlot and Orkney would never surrender or enter as vassal states.

King Lot of Orkney in particular had, in the original tale, raised the banner of rebellion against Arthur and formed a grand alliance known as the Eleven Kings to wage war against Logres.

And beneath Lot were the Gawain siblings, so there was no benefit in making enemies of them for no reason.

At that moment, Morgan, who had been watching the map with her arms folded, spoke up.

"Arthur. There is one place that is a little troublesome to dismiss as mere riffraff. Look here, at the isolated Isle of Eigg on the northwestern coast."

Morgan's slender finger pointed to a small island on the map.

"The tribe ruled by Queen Moidart there is a petty kingdom made up entirely of women. It is small in scale, but the combat ability of each individual is terrifyingly high. In the past, they gained infamy by flaying alive and slaughtering dozens of monks who crossed over the sea from Ireland carrying crosses and preaching Christianity, all in a single day."

At Morgan's explanation, Arthur's eyes gleamed with interest.

"Oh? A warrior people made up only of women. So this is basically the Pict version of the Amazons, isn't it?"

With a sly smile, Arthur glanced toward Penthesilea, who had been listening quietly from one corner of the chamber.

"Well, Penthesilea? Doesn't that sound tempting to you?"

At the sound of her name, Penthesilea lifted her head. For an instant, fierce flames blazed in her warlike eyes.

"Warrior women who sneered at a foreign faith and butchered monks... Heh. That is splendid spirit indeed."

Penthesilea licked her lips.

"Will you leave the warriors of that Isle of Eigg to me? I will make those bitches submit and build a true second Amazons right in the heart of this Pictland."

"Fine, I permit it. But I'll be the one doing the conquering. I'm curious about that queen too. I want to see what sort of creature Pictland's only queen is."

Arthur nodded readily.

"But Arthur, there is one thing that bothers me."

This time it was Kay who stepped forward with a serious expression.

"If we lead the main force west and central for the northern campaign, North Wales, where Nogares stands, will be left vulnerable. What are you planning to do if the lords of South Wales or central Britain take that chance to raid an empty house?"

"Raid an empty house?"

Arthur let out a short laugh.

"Kay, do you think I turned Ireland into a sea of blood and conquered it for nothing?"

Arthur tapped the map of Ireland lying on the table.

"Tens of thousands of Ireland's regular troops, with collars on their very souls through Geas, are waiting across the sea. The moment we leave for the northern campaign, I will summon part of Ireland's armies, including the Kingdom of Munster, to Nogares and have them defend North Wales."

"Ah...! Using Ireland's army as a shield...!"

"If they rebel, their hearts burst and they die, so there is no chance of betrayal. Even if the pathetic wretches of central and southern Britain dare to invade, they won't be able to break through Ireland's warriors. And when I return, they'll have failed to conquer North Wales and will only end up losing everything. So stop worrying about someone looting an empty house."

Everyone in the council chamber could not hide their admiration for the rear-defense plan.

It was a brutally efficient imperial tactic: using the armies of vassal states conquered by overwhelming force to defend the homeland and expand the realm.

"That is the broad outline of the northern campaign. But... before we set out on a blood-soaked expedition, there is one errand I need to take care of first."

Setting down his baton, Arthur spoke in a light tone.

"I'm going to the Kingdom of Cameliard."

Cameliard. Arthur had already resolved the matter of Ireland, so now he intended to stop by Cameliard.

"I promised before that I would come again. King Leodegrance was also an old friend of my father, so as his nephew I should pay a proper visit and show him the newly born Mordred. And of course, I also mean to meet Princess Guinevere, since I promised I would see her face again."

Kay, who had been nodding at the leisurely diplomatic move before the northern campaign, suddenly cleared his throat and watched Arthur carefully.

"Ahem. Hm! Hey, Arthur. Um... don't you have something to say to me too?"

"Something to say about what?"

"No, about Mordred! As your sworn brother and someone who plays an important role in this kingdom, naturally I ought to take the position of Mordred's godfather..."

Kay was inwardly worried that the place of godfather might be snatched away by King Leodegrance.

Though he acted prickly on the surface, he thought of Arthur and Artoria as true siblings. Because of that, Kay also cared deeply about his niece Mordred.

As Kay asked in a shrinking voice, his cheeks reddening, Arthur grinned and slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Of course. Kay, even if you foamed at the mouth and fought me saying no, Mordred's godfather would still be you, no matter what. So get ready to spend the rest of your life as a fool for your niece."

"Ghk...! Wh-when did I ever say I didn't want that? Don't worry. This big brother will take good care of Mordred. I've seen plenty and learned plenty since I was young...!"

Leaving the beaming Kay behind, Arthur smiled faintly and brought the meeting to a close.

And so, a splendid procession of Nogares's elite, escorting the cradle where Mordred slept, finished preparing to depart for the Kingdom of Cameliard in Wales.

And then...

At the edge of a deep, dark forest that no one ever visited—

There lay hidden an underground prison long since abandoned.

A cold stone chamber where the only white noise was the vile smell of mold and the scratching of rats.

Through the narrow gap in the iron bars set near the ceiling, a pale thread of winter moonlight seeped in.

"Ugh... so cold..."

Beneath that frail moonlight was a woman curled up and trembling.

Her body was wrapped in shabby rags, torn and worn out, and her hair was matted and disheveled, as though it had not been washed in ages.

A gaunt, emaciated body, her bones standing out sharply because she had not even been given proper meals.

She was the real Guinevere.

The true princess, imprisoned in this cold hell after falling victim to the cruel scheme of her bastard sister Gwenddydd, who was pretending to be the false Guinevere.

Guinevere shivered in the bitter winter wind blowing in from beyond the bars and leaned her back against the cold stone wall. Her hollow eyes turned toward the dim moonlight.

Gwenddydd, who had imprisoned her, would occasionally come down to the cell and chatter mockingly about how the world outside was turning.

Through her lips, Guinevere had heard it.

That while she had been trapped here, Britain's new king had become a great hero who had conquered even Ireland.

And that this great king, mistaking the fake Gwenddydd for her, would soon take her as his wife.

"Ah..."

Guinevere moved her cracked lips and recalled that brief connection from long ago, that memory.

"Lord Arthur..."

The only being in the world who could clear away the injustice done to her and pull her out of this cold hell.

But by now, he was surely being deceived by the false smile of an impostor in some splendid castle.

Under the moonlight, a single hot tear ran down the cheek of the real Guinevere and fell soundlessly onto the cold stone floor.

The prayer of the most beautiful and noble princess in the world only mingled with the indifferent winter wind and scattered into the darkness.

Comments (0)

Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register