Chapter 112: Vortigern’s "Tit for Tat"

"How did the two of you end up like this?"

Upon returning to the palace, Morgan found Lot and Gawain covered in flour, looking like two oversized mice that had just escaped from a granary.

"I just took little Gawain to play around the granary," Lot replied, scratching his head sheepishly at his wife's remark.

He had been overjoyed at the sight of the stocked grains and naturally wanted to share the experience with Gawain. Though the bloodline of his past life no longer existed in this world, the spirit remained unchanged.

For the people of Huaxia, what mattered most was not bloodline but ideology not the superficial rituals of culture, but the diligence and unyielding spirit etched into those traditions.

Likewise, since Gawain was his daughter, she ought to inherit the same mindset.

Thus, he took her on a lesson about the importance of grain.

Of course, during this "lesson," he and little Gawain ended up playing around quite a bit.

So when Morgan saw them, they looked like two rodents that had just fled a storage house.

She scolded them relentlessly.

"If you're feeling 'sheepish,' go apologize to the maids who have to wash your clothes," Morgan said, rolling her eyes at Lot.

At the same time, she flicked Gawain's forehead with her finger.

Gawain clutched her forehead, her face twisting in grievance.

It was Dad who took me there! So why is Mom hitting me and not him?!

This is so unfair!

Mom, you're punishing the accomplice but not the mastermind!

This is bullying the honest ones!

Seeing her pout, Morgan flicked her again. "Go. Take a bath right now. Honestly, back when your mother and father fought our way hundreds of miles from Orkney all the way to the southern tip of England, I never looked this disheveled."

"That's because you're a mage who never fights head-on," Lot interjected, dismantling Morgan's boast.

"You go take a bath too, you perv!" Morgan snapped, swatting at him.

Lot shrugged and, before Morgan's strike could land, quickly grabbed little Gawain and headed for the baths.

Of course

Not together.

Lot didn't share the perverse customs of certain island nations. Father and daughter bathed separately.

That was just basic decency.

After a refreshing bath, Lot returned to the royal chambers to find Morgan and Gawain already eating dinner.

"You're done?" Morgan said as he entered. "Come eat. Here, I'll pour you some soup."

As she spoke, she ladled a bowl of soup for him.

Lot took it instinctively but eyed her with suspicion.

[When the devil does you a favor, he's plotting something. Since when is my wife this considerate? She's probably going to dump a mountain of work on me later.]

Hearing her Husband's thoughts, Morgan's eyebrow twitched.

Because

He wasn't wrong.

She did need him to back her up.

"I finally treat you nicely, and you're still suspicious," Morgan huffed.

"Because whenever you look like this, it means we're about to be buried in work," Lot countered.

"..."

Morgan rolled her eyes.

One look at her expression told Lot everything.

Welp. No avoiding tonight's workload.

Dinner ended quickly.

Gawain immediately went off to train her swordsmanship with Artoria, while Morgan and Lot holed up in the study.

"Lot, our grain reserves are secure now, right? The army should be ready to march soon, shouldn't it?" Morgan said the moment they entered.

"You mean we should move against Vortigern now?" Lot asked.

"Yes, of course. Before, we couldn't deal with Vortigern because he held strong forces in Wales, and our own strength was insufficient. But now, we've expanded the Round Table Knights are established, our army and territory have grown, and we've secured a massive grain surplus. The next step is to crush that despicable King Vortigern."

Morgan gritted her teeth as she spoke.

In this timeline, Morgan had more or less rightfully ascended as Camelot's ruler. Her hatred for her father had lessened, but as his daughter, she was determined to avenge him by slaying the usurper Vortigern.

Now that their strength was sufficient, Morgan was ready to offer Vortigern's head as tribute to her father's spirit.

She added, "Besides, even if we don't strike first, I doubt Vortigern will stay idle."

She had no illusions that their grain scheme would escape Vortigern's notice. With Wales suffering shortages and Lot securing a massive stockpile, what would Vortigern think?

Copying their method was impossible the French merchants wouldn't fall for the same trick twice.

If one side was starving while the other flourished, who could tolerate that imbalance?

Vortigern would have to strike now, while both sides still had supplies.

If I can't grow, neither can you.

"So we hit first," Morgan declared.

"But we need to plan this carefully," Lot objected.

"Why?" Morgan frowned.

Lot thought for a moment. "Wales is mountainous. If we charge in recklessly, Vortigern's forces could ambush us easily. Yes, our army outnumbers his, but not by a crushing margin. To win, we must be cautious."

"Prepare the troops, but don't rush the attack."

[That's only part of it. The bigger issue is Vortigern himself. If he abandons all restraint, the power he'd unleash is terrifying. At the very least, we'd need Artoria and Gawain wielding their holy swords in unison to match him.]

He recalled the descriptions of Artoria's battle against Vortigern.

[Vortigern is Britain itself.]

[The island's will, its avatar that is the Despised King. A weak tribal king who drank dragon's blood, long since ceasing to be human.]

[Truly defeating him won't be easy.]

[We'd need someone capable of standing against him.]

Listening silently to Lot's thoughts, Morgan clicked her tongue.

My uncle is that monstrous?

No wonder it took both Artoria and Gawain wielding holy swords to defeat him.

They needed a solid plan.

[Too bad we can't just recruit that sister.]

Lot's thoughts drifted again.

That sister…

Though unnamed, Morgan instantly knew who he meant.

Her eyes lit up.

Right

She could match her uncle.

Wales

Vortigern was already mobilizing his forces.

Just as Morgan predicted.

He had gathered his army, preparing to strike at Lot.

His numbers were vast greater than when he once ruled most of Britain.

Part of it was due to harsher conscription, forcibly drafting warriors from Saxon tribes to bolster his ranks.

And the other part…

Vortigern's gaze swept over the sea of soldiers, lingering on the faintly unnatural figures hidden among them.

Fairies.

He knew the fairies had secretly infiltrated his army.

Their actions were practically an open declaration of ill intent.

"But it doesn't matter. If I win a decisive victory, those trying to use me will have wasted their efforts."

Surveying his troops, he roared:

"You've been holed up here in Wales for a year now. Have you grown accustomed to these rugged mountains?"

Before the soldiers could respond, Vortigern shook his head.

"I haven't."

"I still miss England's plains."

Many of the soldiers had fled here with him. At his words, memories of pillaging England's fertile lands resurfaced, and their expressions turned nostalgic.

"So follow me let's take back all of Britain. I, Vortigern, am the true ruler of this era!"

As his voice thundered, the soldiers raised their weapons and roared.

Emotion spread like wildfire.

Soon, the army was a frenzied horde, ready to storm out of Wales and crush Camelot's forces.

With such fervor, how can we lose?

Vortigern smirked inwardly.

Returning to his palace, he barely had time to sit before a messenger arrived.

An envoy sought an audience.

At first, Vortigern assumed it was a fairy emissary.

But when the envoy entered, he saw a human.

"Who do you represent?" Vortigern asked, intrigued.

"Your Majesty, I am an envoy of King Mark."

Mark?

Vortigern was surprised.

Cornwall wasn't large, but it was strategically important.

Yet he'd had little contact with Mark. What did he want?

"And your purpose?"

The envoy bowed. "My king seeks an alliance with you."

Vortigern's eyebrows rose.

"An alliance? Against Lot and Morgan?"

"Yes. My king is enraged his betrothed was seduced away by the false king Lot. He desires vengeance."

"Seduced?"

Vortigern's interest spiked.

I thought Lot was close with his niece. What's this about seduction?

"Indeed. Sir Tristan, under King Lot's command, abducted Princess Iseult."

Vortigern's excitement deflated.

Just a subordinate?

How boring.

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Your Majesty, do you not wish to ally with us?"

Though the drama was lacking, the strategic value remained.

"No, I'm very interested. Attacking Camelot from Mark's territory would be far easier than marching from Wales."

Anything to simplify the war was welcome.

"Our combined forces would be formidable."

He grinned at the envoy.

"Together, victory is assured."

"I'll draft a reply to King Mark. We'll strike Lot where it hurts."

"At once, Your Majesty!"

The envoy, seeing the alliance secured, bowed deeply and hurried off.

Vortigern led his army quietly into Mark's territory.

The furious King Mark had already prepared his troops.

"How do we attack that bastard Lot?" Mark demanded the moment Vortigern arrived.

Vortigern pondered, then smirked.

"You've thought of something?"

"Of course," Vortigern said. "I'll use the same tactic Lot used against me."

In their last battle, Lot had outmaneuvered him, striking from an unexpected angle.

This time, Vortigern would repay the favor in kind.

From Mark's lands, they would assault Camelot's weakest point.

Hearing the plan, Mark couldn't help but grin.

You schemers are all the same each more ruthless than the last.

Good thing I'm on your side.