Seeing Guinevere once again attempting to wipe her chest, Artoria Pendragon quickly backed away in nervous retreat.
Though hers were admittedly on the smaller side, if someone placed their hand on her chest, they'd definitely notice.
Morgan, noticing the situation, swiftly intervened.
"Let's head back now," she said to Guinevere.
Guinevere, observing Artoria's reaction, realized she'd been too hasty. Reluctantly, she lowered the handkerchief and let Artoria leave.
Her eyes lingered with longing.
King Leodegrance watched his daughter's actions and sighed inwardly.
My cabbage is about to be devoured by a pig.
if he knew that his "cabbage" wasn't being devoured by a pig but by another cabbage, his expression would undoubtedly be priceless.
Victory in battle naturally called for celebration.
This time, however, King Leodegrance wasn't the one preparing the feast.
Lot couldn't stomach the local cuisine, and neither could Morgan, Artoria, or Galahad all of whom had grown accustomed to the chefs Lot had brought from Orkney. Even someone as uncomplaining as Galahad wouldn't refuse a delicious meal when offered.
After informing King Leodegrance, Lot declared that this time, he'd treat him to Orkney's culinary expertise.
With abundant ingredients on hand, the chefs from Orkney prepared a lavish spread.
Given the number of attendees and one particularly ravenous Artoria they stuck to simple cooking methods.
Cumin and chili-spiced grilled meat, two spices unheard of in this era's Britain, were exclusive to Lot's pantry. Alongside other easily prepared dishes, the meal was nothing short of extraordinary.
King Leodegrance and Guinevere found themselves nearly swallowing their own tongues in delight.
After all, Lot's recipes hailed from over 1,500 years in the future refined through centuries of Chinese culinary evolution. Compared to Britain's current fare, this was nothing short of dimensional warfare.
No wonder Artoria refused to defect.
In that moment, both King Leodegrance and Guinevere understood.
Humanity pursues beauty with relentless passion.
Compared to this feast, Guinevere suddenly felt like she'd been eating mud all her life.
"Father, do you still object to me joining the Round Table Knights?"
Guinevere elbowed her father playfully, grinning.
King Leodegrance had no words.
Instead, his attention was fixed on Artoria, who was still eating.
His face paled slightly.
"…Daughter, perhaps consider someone else?"
It wasn't that he didn't want her to find happiness.
But this guy ate way too much!
From what King Leodegrance could see, Artoria had already devoured enough for ten men and she still looked unsatisfied.
If she married into the family, his entire treasury might not cover her meals.
"Don't worry. We'll manage. We won't starve."
Guinevere glanced at Artoria's plate, hesitated, then answered weakly.
"Your voice is shaking!"
King Leodegrance deadpanned.
Guinevere averted her eyes guiltily.
Even the purest love couldn't mask some lies.
"This is how we should live every day."
Though Morgan's appetite paled next to her sister's, her table manners were equally… enthusiastic.
She leaned back, picking her teeth in satisfaction.
"Agreed. Even if we leave everything else behind on campaigns, we're bringing the chefs."
Lot nodded emphatically beside her.
Between bites, Morgan turned to him.
"With King Rience dealt with, our campaign in Scotland is effectively over. Now, we need to consider how to maintain influence here."
Scotland was vast. With the threat of the Vortigern looming, they couldn't afford to divert forces here permanently.
Moreover, if they pushed too hard, Scotland's kingdoms might unite against them a scenario where even Camelot's armies would struggle.
"So, Lot, figure it out."
Morgan, ever the opportunist, dumped the problem onto him.
"I could devise a solution myself, but this is about nurturing your initiative, right?"
She even justified her laziness internally.
"You're unbelievable."
Lot shot her an exasperated look.
Resting her chin on her hands, Morgan batted her eyelashes, her gaze dripping with allure.
Then, slipping off her shoe under the table (after ensuring no one was watching), she stretched her foot out
and traced slow circles on Lot's calf with her toes.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Stop using that trick."
Damn it. Teasing me when you won't even
"Fine. I'll think of something when we return. Happy?"
Morgan beamed, withdrawing her foot.
As expected, the best way to handle her husband was temptation.
While the group celebrated, a lone figure stood on the battlefield outside.
Tall, with flowing purple hair, clad in a bodysuit, and gripping a crimson spear
a woman of breathtaking beauty, exuding mature elegance.
Absolutely not an old hag.
Strolling through the carnage, she examined the bloodstains.
She touched a patch, then sniffed her fingers.
"These wouldn't be enough to kill me," she mused aloud.
Yet, her lips curled into intrigue.
"But they are interesting."
She decided to pay a visit to the woman who'd dared to boast.
To see just how much more she had up her sleeve.