Lott stared at the Baobhan Sith and asked, "You knew it all those years ago?"
"It was about ten years ago," she replied, her voice tinged with something almost like regret. Morgan, standing nearby, was lost in thought, trying to make sense of the situation. Lott, however, felt a strange unease.
Ten years ago? Lott pondered, That's when I first arrived here. Why did the Baobhan Sith have this feeling when I came ten years ago? What troubled him more was how divided the fairy clans had become. The splintering here mirrored the division within the anomaly zone as if something had triggered this rupture.
Ten years ago... What could have caused such an effect? Morgan was also lost in thought, recalling an old prophecy from Lott about a terrifying name — Lostbelt. It was a name that sent shivers through her. If this entity could manipulate time, then this was beyond the reach of even the most powerful magic.
Curious, Morgan didn't pursue the thought any further as Lott refocused on the conversation with the Baobhan Sith.
"I understand the reasons for this," Lott said softly but firmly. "And about your concerns, don't worry. Baobhan Sith will always remain Baobhan Sith and never belong to anyone else. Some of your worries are... influenced."
The Baobhan Sith narrowed her eyes. "Influenced? By what?"
Lott's expression turned cryptic, and he replied, "This is something I cannot explain."
Frustrated by his refusal to elaborate, the Baobhan Sith clenched her fists in anger, ready to lash out. But before she could act, Gawain, standing nearby, raised her hand threateningly, and Morgan gripped her staff, ready for a confrontation. A red-haired knight strummed a harp with ominous intent, and Bedivere, the knight with a missing arm, silently gripped his spear.
Seeing herself outnumbered, the Baobhan Sith reluctantly relaxed her stance and pulled back her fist. "Fine," she muttered, "I'll stay here for now and help the villagers rebuild their homes. I'll decide later if my decision was right."
Morgan gave her a curt nod, "Of course. You're welcome to stay." It was a small concession, one Morgan was willing to allow.
Though the Baobhan Sith hadn't officially joined Camelot's army, her decision to aid the villagers was an unexpected gesture. For the fairies, however, her actions were seen as an act of betrayal.
Meanwhile, back in the Chamber of the Fairy Country, only two clan chiefs remained — the chief of the Wind Clan and the chief of the Tooth Clan. They eyed each other warily, caught in an awkward silence.
It was the Wind Clan leader who broke first, admitting, "Fine. You were right."
The situation had unfolded quite differently from what she had expected. She had assumed that, even if the Baobhan Sith failed to kill Lott or Morgan, she would at least leave them gravely wounded, making it easier to mount a second attack.
But the Baobhan Sith had failed spectacularly, and instead of retreating or continuing the fight, she had switched sides altogether. The Wind Clan chief cursed under her breath.
Baobhan Sith? You, who are supposed to suck the life out of anyone you meet? She seethed, And now, instead of fighting, you're helping them rebuild homes? The speed of your betrayal is astounding!
Beside her, the Tooth Clan leader was glaring, expecting an explanation. Feeling cornered, the Wind Clan chief sneered, "If you're so capable, why don't you take your clan and go kill Lott and Morgan yourself? You've got enough fighters, haven't you? Or are you too scared?"
She knew the Tooth Clan was easy to provoke, and her goading worked as intended. The leader of the Tooth Clan, eyes blazing with fury, shouted, "You'll see! I'll lead my clan and kill King Lott myself!"
With that, he stormed out, leaving the Wind Clan chief smirking to herself. "If only everyone were as easy to manipulate as the Tooth Clan," she chuckled.
Outside, the Tooth Clan leader wasted no time. Gathering his warriors, he rallied them with fiery words, "Camelot's forces have imprisoned our people and killed many of our kin! It's time for revenge! We'll march and take the head of that king Lott!"
"Revenge!" the Tooth Clan warriors roared in unison, their spirits high. Confident in his clan's strength — taller and more powerful than ordinary humans — the chief believed that victory over Camelot was assured. He didn't stop to think about the risks.
Meanwhile, Lott and his forces remained vigilant, preparing their defences. Bedivere noticed a guard approaching and frowned. "Where have you been? We've been on high alert, yet you've been missing. What could keep you busier than His Majesty Lott, who's been patrolling the walls all night?"
The guard, sensing Bedivere's frustration, stammered, "I... I've been carrying out orders from His Majesty."
At that moment, Lott arrived and recognized the guard. He had a sudden flash of memory and thought to himself, Oh no, I shouldn't have let him use that weapon. All I wanted was some peace.
Morgan, noticing Lott's distracted expression, grinned, though she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. "How many weapons have you modified?" she asked the guard.
The guard hesitated, holding up five fingers.
"Five hundred? That's not too bad," Morgan mused, though she still felt a bit uneasy.
But the guard quickly corrected her. "No, Your Majesty. Five thousand. I've modified five thousand long spears. They're all stored in the castle's arsenal now."
Morgan and Lott froze in disbelief. Even Bedivere, usually calm and composed, looked like he was about to cry.
Five thousand modified weapons? Bedivere thought, When we arrived, we only carried a single weapon each to travel quickly. We were counting on the castle's stockpile... and now you tell me they've all been changed?
Bedivere seethed in silent fury.