Holding a longsword, Merlin pierced through a soldier wearing the uniform of Vortigern's faction.
This was a scout dispatched from the castle.
For the messengers, Lot and Morgan had decided to let them go to seek reinforcements from Vortigern.
But as for those who wanted to scout the surrounding area—
Sorry, we can't let you learn our true situation.
And when it came to dealing with these scouts, no one was more suited than Merlin.
Though Merlin couldn't detect Lot's location, tracking down scouts who had ventured out? That was as easy as lifting a hand.
One catch after another.
Without giving them any chance to react.
No matter what Merlin truly thought inside, at the very least, he was currently aiding King Uther's side.
"There weren't many people inside to begin with. After killing thirty scouts, they probably won't dare send any more."
Lot looked at the corpses on the ground, stroking his chin as he spoke.
"Indeed. There weren't many suited for this job in the first place. Going out and making it back—that's no simple task."
Merlin echoed Lot's words.
Hearing the two talk , Morgan opened the tent flap and said to Lot:
"Alright, you two. Enjoying yourselves out there? Lot, get inside now."
My horndog shouldn't catch a cold.
As for that old swindler Merlin?
Sorry, we're not familiar.
Neither Lot nor Morgan was foolish—they understood exactly what Morgan meant.
Lot, who had just been standing in the rain with Merlin, immediately ducked into the tent.
Sorry, Merlin. We're not close either.
Lot's tent was specially made.
Or rather, he had "fished" it out from the modern era.
Combined with some rainproofing methods of this era, not a single drop of rain could penetrate inside.
Within the tent, Morgan was boiling water.
As a Chinese person, two obsessive compulsions were ingrained in his bones.
First, he couldn't stand seeing any land left barren, without crops planted.
Second, he had an extreme aversion to unboiled water—he would never drink it unless thoroughly heated.
Especially on a rainy day .
The gloomy chill seeped into soaked clothes, and at times like these, a cup of hot water could drive away the cold.
Moreover, avoiding unboiled water prevented diseases like malaria, ensuring the army's combat effectiveness remained intact.
Lot watched as Morgan picked up a cup, poured hot water into it, and took small, careful sips.
Her satisfied expression made Lot's heart swell with happiness.
[In this era, telling a girl to drink more hot water won't get me labeled a clueless straight man. Nice.]
Gazing at the boiling water, this thought crossed Lot's mind.
Morgan, hearing this, looked puzzled.
Aren't you the same age as me?
The way you say it makes it sound like you're some centuries-old immortal.
And, horndog, why would I ever be unhappy about drinking hot water?
Morgan couldn't quite figure it out.
But soon, she handed her cup of hot water to Lot.
"Here, drink more hot water."
Lot took it and downed it in one go.
Only after he drank did Morgan remember—this was the same cup she had been using.
Her face flushed slightly.
Lot, however, didn't seem to mind. After finishing, he looked at Morgan and said:
"Morgan, let's take advantage of this opportunity to continue harassing them with our troops."
Doing nothing at all would seem far too suspicious.
After surrounding the castle, the next step was a war of attrition.
"Hm? What are you planning, Lot?"
Morgan looked at him questioningly.
"Of course, sending out squads of soldiers to harass them in shifts. As long as we make a big enough show, they'll think we're launching an attack and start defending. But then we don't follow through. After repeating this a few times, they'll be mentally broken. They'll definitely demand reinforcements more urgently, making our next moves even easier."
And fully supported it.
What do humans fear most?
Like an ADC seeing Nocturne's ultimate darken the screen.
Like an ADC spotting Rengar's ultimate marker above their head.
Like an ADC watching Shaco vanish into stealth.
At any moment, they could be struck down.
This was exactly the state of Vortigern's castle now.
With the heavy rain, the enemies outside were completely obscured.
Messengers sent out to deliver reports—who knew if they'd made it?
And the scouts who ventured beyond the walls?
The outside world seemed to harbor beasts of prey—unseen, unknowable.
The psychological torment on the defending soldiers grew worse by the minute.
And then, Lot's harassment tactics began.
All night long, the moment they tried to sleep, war horns blared.
They couldn't afford not to defend.
The Romans were master craftsmen—their siege engines were formidable.
What if a real assault broke through?
But when they mustered their defenses—
Damn it, we've been tricked!
The soldiers' morale plummeted.
They tried to rest again.
But before they could even take off their gear—
The horns sounded once more.
Attack! The enemy is attacking again!
The soldiers had no choice but to rouse themselves and prepare.
Yet again, after waiting endlessly—nothing.
Then the horns blared again.
The defenders knew it was likely another false alarm, but they had to respond.
This was a stratagem with no counterplay.
If they ignored it and a real assault came? What then?
Even now, they still believed these could be Romans who had crossed the sea.
They had no recourse.
With their numbers stretched thin, they could only endure these mind games.
The relentless rain, the endless psychological warfare—the defenders were on the verge of collapse.
They dispatched more messengers, but no reinforcements arrived.
The harassment continued unabated.
Yet over time, they did devise a solution.
One often seen in League of Legends between the 15th and 20-minute marks.
They made a decision that defied the Tyrant King's will.