Nuclear Sword Immortal Starting from Type-Moon

Artoria, who was standing to the side, also looked at Shirou with some confusion.

Then, as if she had thought of something, she tentatively spoke to the vendor.

"Um... add seventeen more pancakes."

"No, isn't this enough for you?"

Shirou was shocked.

Including the ones from before, that's almost fifty pancakes now!

"No... I have other people at home who need to eat."

Artoria said, somewhat annoyed.

"Really, senior. I'm not a pig."

That was for my brother Kai and my adoptive father Eckert.

Well, how could she eat so little by herself?

"Alright alright."

Shirou waved his hand and quickly did some calculations.

"That was 160 just now, plus 17 more, that's 85, for a total of 245 Semis."

"Boss, you can take it yourself."

This unexpected new business deal kept the vendor busy calculating for a while.

After a long while, he nodded repeatedly, looking at Shirou as if he were looking at some great scholar.

"Yes! It really is two hundred and forty-five Semih!"

The blonde girl beside him stared blankly at Shirou for a long time.

"Senior, where did you learn your arithmetic? How come you're so good at it?"

"I'm...good at math?"

Shirou raised an eyebrow, a hint of self-doubt in his expression.

Isn't this something even an elementary school student could handle?

However, Shirou quickly figured it out.

This is likely related to geographical and temporal limitations.

These mental multiplication methods are something even elementary school students can do in modern times.

However, in the ancient world, it was undoubtedly a "great subject of knowledge," a wisdom that only the ruling class could master.

Especially in the country of Britain.

Even in modern times, the British are terrible at everyday math, and it is common to make mistakes when giving change.

"Then let me test you, senior..."

Artoria's eyes flickered slightly, and she suddenly became interested, so she asked again:

"Let's assume our estate's monetary income this year is 13,400 Semis."

"The kingdom's taxes are two-tenths."

"Including the money we spent on buying pancakes, how much money have we 'given' in total on this trip?"

What do you want to do?

Shirou took the packaged flatbread from the vendor, picked one up, and took a bite.

"So dry..."

It tastes like chewing wood chips.

After silently complaining to himself, Shirou casually answered the girl's question.

"With an income of 13,400, the tax rate is 20%, which is 20%, so the tax would be 2,680 semi."

"The amount spent on the flatbread was 245 samims."

"So, the total is 2,925 Semi."

"Right?"

After saying that, Shirou looked at the girl.

"I...I don't know either..."

Artoria scratched her cheek a little embarrassedly.

"Hehehe..."

Her eyes revealed a naiveté even clearer than that of a college student.

"Then ask your own..."

If it weren't for the fact that the person next to him was a beautiful girl, Shirou would definitely be speechless and want to curse right now.

So you don't even have the answer yourself!

"None of that matters."

Artoria said, her eyes sparkling.

"Senior, your arithmetic skills are definitely good enough to make you a 'housekeeper'!"

Artoria felt that her ability to judge people had greatly improved.

If, after becoming king, he were to have such a wise and shrewd advisor as his strategist, it would undoubtedly be a fortunate thing.

As for wanting to keep her senior by her side, this hidden selfish desire was temporarily suppressed in her heart.

Chapter Forty: The White King's Spying

The boys and girls on the street had already left the vendors.

The boy, in front, looked around with great interest, observing the exotic town of Kamishiro.

The girl behind her was holding a large pancake and enjoying it immensely.

In an inconspicuous tavern at the back.

A gaze was peering through the noisy crowd, watching the two of them from behind.

"That person...is quite talented."

An elderly man dressed in a long robe and blouse held a bottle of cheap ale in his hand and spoke in a low voice.

"Your Majesty Vottigeng, should we go and capture this man?"

The attendant beside him lowered his voice and asked respectfully in a low whisper.

"No need, just keep an eye on those who are participating in the royal selection for now."

He paused for a moment, then Vortigern's iron-gray eyes swept indifferently over the group of customers in the tavern.

“My brother Yuther is truly a fool.”

"What kind of trouble could this rabble possibly cause even if they gathered together?"

Just one glance.

In that instant, the lively atmosphere of the entire tavern seemed to freeze.

The air suddenly became oppressive, and even breathing became heavy.

Even when traveling incognito, this incarnation of the white dragon exudes an invisible, terrifying pressure with every gesture.

This is not some kind of intimidation or power.

That was real, overwhelming power.

If he unleashes his fury, his flesh and blood can instantly transform into gleaming armor.

Its arms can also transform into dragon wings that blot out the sky.

The flames spewed from its mouth are enough to burn a town to ashes in an instant.

The white dragon that devours light intends to seize the throne of Britain—Vortigern, the Lowly King!

His infamy is known to everyone in this land.

In the rumors circulating among the British people, Vortigern was a cruel and tyrannical ruler whose infamous reputation could stop children from crying at night.

"Besides... you don't have the ability to capture that boy."

Vottigan withdrew his gaze and looked at the ministers sitting beside him.

"Your abilities are insufficient to discern the young man's true strength."

"But I can feel it..."

Amidst the incredulous gazes of his ministers, the lowly King Voodoo slowly uttered the rest of his words.

"This person's strength..."