Dál Riata.
The Gaels who had lived in the northeast of Ireland felt their position there was uncertain, and above all, they took issue with the depletion of Mystery.
The glorious age once enjoyed by the Celts was over, and things had grown so dire that even the Picts had migrated on a massive scale.
Fergus made his decision.
Making use of their strengths in navigation and shipbuilding, the Gaels chose to migrate to Pictland, and they succeeded in occupying its northwestern region.
Fergus built the fortress of Dunadd and declared the founding of Dál Riata, shining brilliantly as a new maritime kingdom.
Though they often fought the Picts, he also maintained friendly relations with some of them and focused on diplomacy. Taking advantage of being a seafaring state, he traded with Ireland and the continent alike, and continued to grow.
He had been certain this prosperous age would continue.
But the appearance of one man changed everything.
Arthur Pendragon.
The Pendragons were originally a house with no connection at all to the Gaels, and at most, he should have been nothing more than a king of southern Britain.
He should have had no ties to them in Ireland or Pictland.
But Arthur, son of Uther, was different. For the sake of an age of peace, he continued his conquests through overwhelming force.
Whatever his nemesis Vortigern might do, Arthur sought unification first before defeating their common enemy.
After all, once Vortigern disappeared, most kingdoms would become skeptical of unification.
In Britain, Arthur advanced unification under the banner of opposing Vortigern, while Ireland was conquered because it was a vassal state of King Rience.
And in Dál Riata's case, his justification was that it was an enemy of Britain. The same was true of Pictland.
Even when Dál Riata in Ireland was occupied, Fergus had thought it was only because of a surprise attack.
But once the conquest of Pictland began, he realized that was not the case.
Arthur was a monster on a level that had driven even the Picts to choose submission. The Picts were a warrior people who had fought Rome's armies to the death and, in the end, driven the Roman forces back out.
And yet they would submit after only a few battles?
That could only be because there was an overwhelming power beyond comparison.
"This is a battle we cannot win."
As the ruler of a kingdom, surrender should have been unthinkable. But this case was different.
He had formed an alliance with the Kingdom of Fidach and entered alliance negotiations with other Pictish tribes as well, but then he saw it.
Artoria's army attacking Dál Riata.
The soldiers were of an extremely high caliber, having been trained by Arthur and the Heroic Spirits themselves, and Artoria's strength in particular was astonishing.
She was Arthur Pendragon's twin, the woman who had inherited the title of Pendragon granted to the heir.
It was hard to believe such martial might belonged to a mother with a child. She was not even twenty yet, and still she wielded Marmyadose, given to her by Arthur, and drove back countless troops.
And beyond that, there were the fierce assaults of Caenis and Penthesilea. Fergus judged there was no chance of victory.
The fleet he had once boasted of had already been half-destroyed in Ireland.
Even if they kept fighting, all it would amount to was buying time.
Of course, since they specialized in naval warfare, they could migrate somewhere else entirely.
But where could they go?
Dál Riata had already undergone a massive migration, and only now had it entered a period of stability.
Dál Riata had first been founded in Ireland by his grandfather, Erc mac Echdach.
And Fergus had inherited the throne from his father, Loarn mac Eirc.
Recognized among twelve children and made king, Fergus had, during his reign of over twenty years, made the great decision to migrate to Pictland.
His ability and the loyalty of his people had made that possible.
But in the current situation, could he accomplish such a thing again? And where would he even go?
Ireland was already Arthur's domain, and going to Pictland was meaningless when Arthur intended to conquer all of it.
Beyond the sea?
There were lands called Norway and Denmark, where the Saxons lived.
Would those places truly welcome them? They too already had masters dwelling there. Nor did Dál Riata still possess the overwhelming army it had once had when it migrated to Pictland.
They were not abundant in supplies either, so even if they migrated now, it would be a disastrous move.
And so Fergus chose surrender.
He personally stepped forward, sought out Artoria, handed over the Stone of Destiny he had brought, and declared his surrender.
"This may be a choice a king should never make, but it is the way to protect our house and our people."
If the rumors were true that Arthur treated those who surrendered generously, then surely he would recognize them as a vassal state.
Though it meant being reduced to a vassal, it would prevent any further damage and allow his bloodline to continue.
That alone held great meaning. Even if he himself would be remembered as the king of a defeated and fallen nation.
He could not let the line of Dál Riata, which had endured for three generations, be cut off here. First, they had to survive, and he had to protect the people who had followed him.
After conveying his intention to surrender, Fergus returned to Dunadd and decided to wait for Arthur to come to the capital.
He set the capital in order, prepared to receive the army of Britain, and made every arrangement necessary to be recognized as a vassal state.
It might have seemed pathetic, but each and every one of those efforts was a way to remain, even if only as a vassal state.
His ancestors would surely lament it if they saw him, but he could not resist the flow of the age.
Like the nations that had encountered Iskandar, like Rome that had been destroyed by the Huns, this time had finally come for them as well. Once they had met the natural disaster called Arthur, this was the best they could do.
He summoned his son, his heir, explained the plan to welcome Arthur, and entrusted him with part of the preparations.
"It likely will not take very long. King Arthur is said to be leading the Pictish host, and with their mobility, they should arrive soon. We must organize the various documents as quickly as possible and show the proper bearing of a vassal state."
"......"
"Even if not to the level of the Kingdom of Munster, we must at least be treated as the next best thing. My son, you must also make ready..."
"You have changed, Father."
"Hm?"
He had believed that with Arthur's mercy, things would surely turn out well.
Crunch!
"Kgh!?"
"Father, you have grown too old. How could you hand the nation over?"
His heir had stabbed him with a sword.
To the heir's eyes, it looked like nothing but selling the country away. That was all he saw: an old father who had lost the pride of the Gaels.
"Khk... how could you do... such a thing...?"
"I have already finished speaking with the ministers. Certainly, this land has no future. But Dál Riata cannot become a tributary of those Britons. Just as you once did, I too will lead the people in migration and preserve the line of Dál Riata."
"W-Where do you mean to go? There is no place left that can escape King Arthur's grasp!"
Fergus coughed up blood as he rebuked his son's foolishness. But the son only gave a crooked little smile, as if mocking him.
"There is, isn't there? The northern island that no one but us even knows how to sail to."
"!? Foolish boy! That place is a barren, uninhabited island! At best, only a few Picts live there. You would migrate to a place with no civilization at all? Do you mean to work the people to death in endless labor?"
"Better than selling the nation. I will make Dál Riata endure for over a thousand years. Watch from the underworld. One day Dál Riata will rise again and conquer even Britain."
"Do you not even know... with what feelings... I chose surrender...? It was all... for you... kh..."
Fergus soon breathed his last and collapsed, while his son stood over the corpse with cold eyes, holding the blood-dripping sword.
"In any case, Arthur will never come. We will take with us everyone who knows that island, everyone who knows the way there."
His name was Domangart.
He moved to migrate to the northern island with the retainers who followed him.
If Arthur had known, he surely would have been dumbfounded and said the man truly lived up to his name.
And Domangart did not know.
He did not know that the island he was heading to would one day be called Iceland.
And he did not know that Arthur, who had come from the future, knew of that island's existence.
In the far future, it would be a land rich in resources, the site of the Cod Wars, and thus a territory Arthur intended to conquer after subduing Pictland. Unaware of any of that, Domangart forced through the migration to Iceland.
"Huh? Where did everyone go?"
Unaware of all this, Artoria arrived late at the capital and stared in bewilderment at the nearly empty castle and the small number of people who had failed to leave with the migration.
"Merlin."
"Mm."
"Is your clairvoyance not doing its job?"
"Come on~ it's not like even I can keep looking only at faraway places all the time, right?"
"Then prepare to be scolded by my brother."
"Eeh~?"
"At night."
"...... I'll look into where they ran off to right away."
Such was reality that even a succubus had to worry about getting fucked. In an entirely different sense, Arthur was said to inspire fear in his women.
And at that same time, Arthur...
"Does the block taste good?"
"Awu!"
He was playing with Mordred, who was happily mouthing a clean wooden block far too large to fit in her mouth.
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