[FGO] Camelot of the Divine Round Table

The sun was shining brightly.

In this vast expanse of yellow sand, the scorching heat distorts the air and the water reflected in the mirage.

Morgan, whose personality is that of a lake fairy, would never say she likes the heat.

If she were to appear in the world as a Servant, she would be unaffected by temperature, but unfortunately, she is not a Servant summoned by anyone.

Morgan also didn't believe that this group of indigenous people, who, even when fully armed, couldn't hide their disheveled state and whose only visible feature was a pair of eyes overflowing with fear, could summon her.

She walked steadily on her own two feet, and then had sand thrown all over her face by rough men on horseback.

"..."

I, Morgan, will become a merciless queen! I will summon endless karmic fire to burn these insolent fools to ashes!

However, even more relentless than the heat that seemed to evaporate the surrounding moisture was the lingering resonance of the plucked strings that brushed past my ears.

—The trembling sound that cut through the air carried a faint lingering affection, like the soft whispers of lovers forced to part.

In an instant, before even Morgan could react, the weapon raised towards the British noblewoman was reduced to a mangled limb in the desert.

The woman, wearing a black veil, with silver hair and a black skirt, subconsciously looked up.

The vibrant red that came into view resembled blood splattered in the dust, or a blazing, burning flame.

A moment later, a flash of golden light seemed to streak across the iris.

Even though Morgan wasn't very familiar with the man, he was still able to recognize him.

—That was undoubtedly a Knight of the Round Table.

As if the answer had been revealed, Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a sense of peace that brought a sense of relief to the situation.

Only now did she completely abandon the idea of ​​gathering intelligence from the indigenous people.

Morgan didn't know much about this world, only vaguely sensing that there was a King Arthur here. But having almost been buried by quicksand as soon as she landed, she didn't have time to think about how to contact him. She just took a step in a certain direction based on a subtle feeling.

Then comes the scene at the beginning.

Bringing our attention back to the present, the man who rode up to her wore leather armor that allowed for agile movement. His long, fiery red hair, like a blooming spider lily on a riverbank, cascaded over his shoulders. The misty gray down on the shoulder pads of his white cloak framed his handsome face, and a strand of red hair slid from his forehead to his habitually lowered eyelids, making his long, fan-like eyelashes appear even more beautiful.

Morgan noticed the travel-worn appearance of the other woman; perhaps it was his pursuit that led her to encounter these chunks of flesh on the sand (...).

Through a black veil, Morgan and the knight on horseback exchanged a silent glance.

Neither of them spoke, and for a moment, a suffocating silence spread.

The sun overhead continued to relentlessly radiate heat, silently gazing at Morgan in the scorching heat that could dry a person. Morgan began to feel awkward, so he tentatively spoke:

"Sir Tristan."

The red-haired knight then deftly dismounted as if pressing a power button, standing in front of Morgan at an angle that perfectly blocked the gentle sandstorm.

"Your Highness Morgan."

Then silence returned.

—No, so our relationship has deteriorated to the point where we can't even talk to each other?!

Despite his inner turmoil, Morgan nodded calmly, pondering whether to begin studying micro-expressions as he said, "It is my fortune to have met you, Lord Tristan. May I ask if you may…?"

"...So you've only shown yourself now? Ah—how sad."

Morgan's unfinished pleasantries were interrupted by a sigh from the archer, Tristan, who slightly raised his chin, looking compassionate under the blazing sun.

Hmm, he really is a very sentimental knight!

Even the angle at which the red-haired knight tilted his head was perfect. Morgan strongly suspected that Tristan's silence just now was actually because he was looking for the best shot!

—As for the fact that I accidentally got lost in Uruk and then helped defeat the Primal Mother, let's keep that a secret.

Remembering that there were quite a few troubled children among the Knights of the Round Table, Morgan adopted a more caring attitude towards the other party's mental state, and his tone became much gentler, "...I deeply agree with your expression, but right now I need to tidy up my appearance at the post, so could you please give me a ride?"

"No problem, please allow me to take you to the Holy City, Your Highness Morgan."

Fortunately, after activating Tristan (?) in the correct way, the subsequent dialogue went smoothly.

After Tristan finished speaking, he added, "Watch your step." As Morgan looked down, he felt a force lifting him up from his waist.

With the help of the red-haired knight, she mounted the horse. The British noblewoman thought that she had lost her sense of riding because she hadn't ridden in a long time, but the next moment she heard a slight movement behind her.

The hot sand carried by the wind suddenly stopped.

Tristan, his arm encircling Morgan's side beneath a layer of armor, pulled the reins back with a natural expression, as if riding with the Island Witch was an extremely ordinary thing.

—No wonder he's a knight who frequents brothels.

Morgan's thoughts.

In a moment of girlish excitement, she subconsciously looked up at Tristan, who was holding her in his arms.

As the soft tickle from the brush of the crimson hair against his cheek reached his ears, the knight's slightly hoarse admonition came through:

"Please be aware that you might bite your tongue if you speak, so please bear with it for now."

Morgan nodded reservedly and nestled obediently against Tristan's chest.

Compared to Lancelot, whom Vivian had raised, Morgan had almost no dealings with Tristan, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of distance from this unfamiliar Knight of the Round Table.

This sense of distance made Morgan feel somewhat constrained.

But as the relentless wind whipped up sandstorms that blotted out the sun, Tristan considerately covered Morgan with his cloak to shield her from the rough sand, and held her in his arms in a protective gesture.

Surrounded by the whistling wind that lashed against the outside of the knight's cloak, Morgan, not a woman, heard the rapid pounding of her heart. Sensing this, Morgan slowly raised the corners of her lips.

Although the words "Sir Tristan, you are such a person!" were swallowed back after circling on his tongue, Morgan was secretly pleased to receive the ordinary reaction that an average person would have.

After all, in the previous world or the world before that, Morgan encountered Servants and Kings of extraordinary stature.

When faced with a life-or-death crisis, having a calm and composed partner is not a bad thing, but it lacks a bit of fun and makes her feel quite depressed.

It's not about running around like a wild boar, but about constantly maintaining a serious mindset, which is very tiring.

At that moment, Morgan suddenly had an idea.

Tristan had no idea what Morgan le Fay was really like. In other words, no matter how Morgan's personality, behavior, or emotions were expressed, Tristan found them all reasonable.

Lancelot is an honest man who is easy to bully, so is Tristan someone who can be tricked?

Morgan secretly planned to test Tristan.

The only difficulty was that she couldn't find opportunities to put her knowledge into practice.

The desert storm continued for a while, and Morgan had no opportunity to strike up a conversation or make any underhanded moves, thus maintaining a delicate balance between the two.

When Morgan emerged from beneath Tristan's cloak, the magnificent city that stood majestically amidst the sand dunes came into view in his icy blue eyes.

The hoofprints led to the city walls, where Tristan gracefully dismounted, led the reins to the gatekeeper, and as the guard bowed respectfully, said:

"Knight Tristan of the Round Table returns to the city to report, accompanied by the princess of Britain. Please forward this report to the government office as well."

Morgan liked the way Tristan called her.

She is neither the witch of the island nor a seductress, but merely "the princess of Britain".

Even if she didn't know it was a coincidence, or perhaps the red-haired knight's thoughtfulness.

The British princess, seated upright on her horse, passed through the solemn city gates, led by Tristan, a knight of the Round Table. The straight avenues, paved with neat and flat stone bricks, led in all directions, with a knight standing guard at intervals.

The black veil did not obstruct Morgan's vision. After taking in the sights of the city, she came to a conclusion.

—Although the layout and architectural style are very similar, this "sacred city" is not Camelot.

But since the city of Chalk, with King Arthur, Morgan, and the Knights of the Round Table, can't be considered Camelot, right?

Just as Morgan was thinking this, Tristan slowly spoke up:

"Under King Arthur's leadership, we have just concluded our battle with that 'demon.' The work of eliminating the remaining remnants is still underway, but we remain fully prepared to face the enemy that will bring about our demise."

...I see. It seems that they will be facing a formidable opponent in the future, so troublesome that the Knights of the Round Table are even considering borrowing Morgan le Fay's power. That's why they treat her as an honored guest, and sending the guard to the government office is also to convey this proposal to their comrades.

"That person is the true embodiment of despair, ah—how tragic."

Tristan's mournful tone gave Morgan a bad feeling.

Who is "that person" referring to? Could it be the Magic King?

She just finished fighting the Primal Mother, and now she's fighting the Magic King. Isn't that a bit too much of a drain on her labor?

Moreover, her goal was merely to ask King Arthur for help in saving her Britain (the fairy kingdom), and she had no intention of sacrificing herself again, since having her spirit core pierced once was enough.

Suddenly remembering something, Morgan asked, "Sir Tristan, besides yourself, which other Knights of the Round Table have been summoned here?"

"Gao Wenqing is the commander of the first front, Agwen's legion is responsible for the security of the Holy City, and Mordred and Lancelot serve as mobile personnel, both of whom operate outside the Holy City."

Upon hearing several familiar names, Morgan became restless, and his gaze toward the guards not far away became awkward.

—Isn't this practically a family reunion, a grand celebration?!

Should we say it's fortunate we didn't run into Mordred along the way? Morgan hadn't figured out how to face that child yet.

As far as she remembered, Agrave hadn't been very friendly to Morgan le Fay. Could she possibly get along with Agrave? The British princess grew increasingly anxious as she thought about it.

Gawain was probably the only one who gave Morgan some peace of mind. In her memory, her eldest son was straightforward and cheerful, and his attitude towards women was quite gentlemanly. He shouldn't have given her a hard time.

Morgan suppressed her anxiety and waited in the reception room that Tristan had provided for her to rest.

The worst-case scenario might be being sent to a high tower, preventatively isolated from the knights and King Arthur, and used as a tool?

--I absolutely refuse this kind of treatment! QAQ!!!