In the world of Type-Moon, it all begins with becoming Morgan's husband!

"I'll let you go today."

"Get up quickly, I want to take you to see some things."

Despite finding Morgan a bit mysterious, you did as she said.

You dressed in your casual clothes and, in front of the mirror, helped her, still naked, change into that magnificent robe.

She twirled in front of the mirror and asked you if you looked good.

Only after receiving your affirmation did she finally feel satisfied and bring the whole thing to a close.

She took your hand and led you out of the room where you spent your nights in revelry.

The sight of you holding hands in happiness became a striking scene throughout the royal court.

Ian didn't care whether those looks were good or bad.

Even without those gazes, he knew he would stand firmly by Morgan's side.

"Your Highness, where are we going?"

Morgan did not answer the question directly, but instead asked other questions in return.

"Ian, before you went to sleep last night, you told me that Father had been completely defeated, didn't you?"

"……Correct."

Ian was very careful about his tone of voice.

He understood that Morgan desperately wanted the throne—so King Uther's abdication was an inevitable consequence of that.

But along with his abdication came the death of King Uther.

Morgan himself could not be sure whether he felt even more saddened by this.

One taste of the tragic lamentation in the lake is enough.

He didn't want to see it happen a second time.

The situation isn't as complicated as you think.

Morgan is far more decisive than you might imagine.

After confirming the news, her expression actually relaxed somewhat.

This is not something that is difficult to understand.

With her sole ambition to seize the throne, she may not have much respect for King Uther.

not to mention--

Is this the same king who once banished her back to Camelot?

"Ian, does that mean we'll be receiving defeated soldiers returning from the front lines one after another?"

"Yes."

Ian glanced around cautiously, then replied in a low voice.

"Your Highness, I have already killed a batch of them on the way."

"I know."

Morgan tightened her grip on Ian's hand, her expression remaining cold and aloof, as if the knight beside her had only told her how beautiful the morning sun was.

"Your sword smells of blood."

“But Ian, you don’t need to do this kind of thing again.”

"I will use magic to correct their perception."

"Yes, I understand, Your Highness."

Ian knew one thing very well.

Her fate was now inextricably linked with Morgan's, like bodies intertwined in the dead of night.

This is an unchangeable fact.

Morgan didn't stop after explaining everything.

She took your hand and walked deeper into the royal court.

You'll see fewer and fewer people, and the surrounding environment will become increasingly quiet.

The last time I felt this way was when I was doing something blasphemous with Morgan on the throne.

You realize that the place you're about to go might hold a significance similar to that of the throne.

"Coming."

Morgan, who was walking ahead, stopped temporarily.

She reached out and slightly adjusted the angle of a book on the nearby bookshelf.

The bookshelves suddenly moved aside, revealing a dark passage illuminated by candlelight to the two of them.

Morgan tightened his grip on Ian's hand and went inside.

At the end of the secret passage was a room filled with all sorts of strange objects.

"Ian."

Morgan looked at everything before him, his expression unusually one of rapture.

Do you remember when I asked you what kind of name you liked for your child?

“Of course I remember, Your Highness.” Ian smiled slightly. “You said you liked children named Gawain, and that’s a name I like too.”

"Ah."

Morgan took Ian's hand and placed it on her lower abdomen.

"Then do you remember how many times you've released your desires here?"

“Countless, Your Highness, your body fascinates me so much that I can no longer remember them all.”

“It’s alright,” Morgan smiled calmly, “because you will come again.”

"You always satisfy me when it comes to things that bring me joy."

"so--"

Morgan looked at Ian.

"You will be under my control forever."

"We will soon have a child named Gawain."

"He calls you father, but I call him mother."

"He will gain immense power under my magical blessing, and under your swordsmanship guidance, he will display the grace of a knight."

"His sword will be wielded for us until a new king rises in Britain."

“Ian, although I have never loved you, I command you to accept all of this unconditionally.”

After hearing these words, Ian gently kissed Morgan's hand.

"It is my great honor, Your Highness."

53. Joy does not change with any new life.

The knights, fleeing from their defeat at the front, gradually arrived in Camelot.

Just as Morgan said, under the influence of his magic, they accepted your identity without question.

They call you King Loth, just like the residents of the capital, but they seem to prefer calling you the Knight of the Old.

From the accounts of these defeated individuals, you pieced together an even more surprising truth.

That is, after Vortigern's great victory over King Uther, he did not press his advantage—which is the fundamental reason why the knights were able to escape.

He seemed to be searching for something more important on British soil.

[You know that might be closely related to the decline of the divine age he mentioned earlier.]

But more important than that right now is the positive impact of this news on you and Morgan.

After all, starting another war with Vortigern in the current state is nothing to be happy about.

Morgan's opinion is not significantly different from yours.

Time slipped away amidst your precarious anxiety.

"Princess."

Ian stood on the city wall, gazing at the vast expanse of golden yellow stretching to the horizon.

It's harvest time again.

"Ah."

Morgan nodded, glanced at Ian beside her, and his lips moved slightly.

"Ian, am I still as attractive to you as before?"

"of course."

Do you still love me?

"of course."

"Unfortunately, I still don't love you."

"It's alright, Your Highness. Love is never something that needs to be reciprocated."

"Then kiss me once, knight. I want to hear if your heartbeat matches your words."

"It will inevitably be so."

The knight kissed the princess on the city wall, their feet on the ever-declining land of Britain.

None of them knew how long the lie they had concocted together could last.

But cherishing the good things in front of us is a consensus.