Lancelot felt a rush of frustration as he recalled events from a different timeline—one where he had an affair with a married woman, leading to disastrous consequences. He had ended up in France, forcing Altria to chase him down, resulting in a bloody conflict that killed many of the Knights of the Round Table. The memory made him curse under his breath.
"What a mess!" he thought bitterly, shaking his head.
However, no one around him was paying attention to his brooding. Fujimaru Ritsuka, Mash, and others were more focused on the present situation, discussing a different matter entirely.
"Seriously, who designed that outfit? And how did Guinevere even agree to wear it?" Ritsuka wondered aloud, her tone a mix of admiration and disbelief.
The outfit in question was Guinevere's—a modern-style secretary uniform complete with black stockings. It was utterly anachronistic, but somehow it worked, accentuating her beauty and creating an aura of untouchable elegance. Ritsuka couldn't help but mentally applaud Morgan's strange yet impressive sense of style.
"It's almost unfair," Ritsuka thought. "Guinevere looks incredible."
Glancing over at Lancelot, who was also watching Guinevere, Ritsuka felt a pang of pity for him. In another timeline, Lancelot and Guinevere's relationship had been complicated, driven by mutual attraction and unfulfilled desires. But here? Lancelot had been humiliated by Galahad and hadn't done anything particularly heroic. There was no reason for Guinevere to be interested in him now.
"Poor Lancelot," Ritsuka sighed sympathetically.
Meanwhile, Morgan and Lott were observing the army's advance from a distance. Morgan, with a calculating look, turned to Lott.
"Should we just eliminate them now? It would save us a lot of trouble later," she suggested, her voice cold and decisive.
Lott shook his head. "No, they're not so easy to deal with. If we push Mash too far, she might unleash some of Galahad's power. And Mordred...well, it's complicated."
Morgan crossed her arms, considering his words. "True, but it would be more fun to see how many allies Fujimaru Ritsuka can gather. Then we can crush them all at once."
"Fair enough," Lott agreed, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Besides, our army is looking pretty impressive."
At that moment, Guinevere approached them, her expression calm and composed.
"Your Majesties, everything is ready. We can board the ship whenever you wish," she informed them.
"Good," Morgan replied, then softened her tone. "We're heading to your homeland, Guinevere. If you want to stay with your family, I'll allow it."
Guinevere shook her head lightly. "Thank you, but I'm staying with you. I'm more useful here than I would be at home."
Morgan nodded, pleased with her dedication. "Very well, but make sure to rest when we reach Scotland. You've earned it."
Guinevere smiled softly, grateful for Morgan's concern. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Just then, Altria approached her presence immediately shifting the mood. Guinevere's smile vanished, replaced by a stony expression.
"Sister, brother-in-law, everything is ready. There's no sign of resistance ahead," Altria reported.
"Good. Let's get everyone on board and set sail," Morgan commanded.
As Altria went off to relay the orders, Ritsuka and her group, along with the rest of the army, began boarding the ships bound for Scotland. Mordred, leaning on the ship's railing, glanced back at Camelot.
"I didn't even get to explore the Chalk City. Master, promise me we'll come back and see it when we win," Mordred said to Ritsuka, her tone a mix of disappointment and determination.
"Of course, Mordred. We'll make sure to visit every place you want to see," Ritsuka reassured her.
Hearing this, Mordred muttered something under her breath but said no more. She didn't fully trust Da Vinci or anyone else, but she held onto a small glimmer of hope.
After a short journey, Camelot's army arrived at the territory of King Leodegrance. To Lott's surprise, the king and his men were already lined up, ready for battle.
"What's this about?" Lott asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. "Are you here to fight us, King Leodegrance?"
The king, standing tall and defiant, responded, "I need to know your intentions, Your Majesty. What will become of us once you take Scotland?"
"That depends on you," Lott said, dismounting his horse and walking up to the king. "If you resist, we'll fight. If you cooperate, you're our friend."
"And if we resist?" Leodegrance pressed.
"Then give it your all," Lott replied, a dangerous smile on his lips.
"And if we choose to ally with you?"
"Then we're brothers," Lott said with a grin, clapping Leodegrance on the shoulder. "In fact, why don't we seal it with a pledge of brotherhood?"
Leodegrance blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Gawain, standing nearby, looked equally stunned. "Your Majesty, isn't this a bit...sudden?"
Morgan chuckled softly. "It's unconventional but effective."
Leodegrance, still processing, sighed. "Fine. Let's talk over dinner."
But as they followed him to the banquet hall, Lott, Morgan, and their companions couldn't help but grimace.
Camelot's cuisine was leagues ahead of Scotland's, and the thought of enduring another bland meal was not appealing. They exchanged glances, silently agreeing that they would endure it for the sake of diplomacy.
As they sat down to eat, Lott and Morgan tried to hide their disappointment as they picked at their plates. The food was tasteless, a far cry from the refined dishes they were used to.
King Leodegrance, noticing their reluctance, felt a pang of frustration. Despite everything, he was still bound by tradition, and it stung to see his hospitality met with such lukewarm reception.
Guinevere, too, noticed the awkward atmosphere and sighed inwardly. It seemed no matter where she went, things would always be complicated.
As the evening wore on, Morgan and Lott made polite conversation, keeping up appearances. But inwardly, they were already planning their next move—one that would bring them closer to their ultimate goal.
For now, they would play the part of gracious guests. But soon enough, the game would change, and they would be ready.
The storm was coming, and they would be at the center of it all.