"Next group... Let's see, I've already assigned most of the labor and crafts. Since you Anglo-Saxons are a maritime people, I suppose you're well-suited to the sea. This group will go and work as fishermen."
Artoria sat behind a small desk, diligently assigning tasks to the last batch of Anglo-Saxons. "No additional taxes will be imposed, but since you're undergoing labor reform, fifty percent of your catch will go to us."
"Once you've completed your rehabilitation, the tax rate will drop to thirty percent. The revenue will go towards the development of Maple Leaf Ridge, and the rest will be yours to keep."
Merlin raised an eyebrow. You're really sending them to the coast? Aren't you worried they'll just swim away?
Anglo-Saxons of this era were seafarers capable of long voyages—not the weakened remnants they'd become after the Age of Gods faded.
"Arthur, you've truly grown!" Merlin said as she revealed herself, stepping next to Artoria. She reached out with her pale hand and brushed some dust off the girl's cheek.
"Care to explain what happened?" Merlin perched herself on the edge of Artoria's desk. "I'm really curious—how exactly did Kaelar manage all this?"
Merlin wasn't particularly concerned if the Anglo-Saxons decided to escape to the sea. If Kaelar had defeated them once, he could certainly do it again. What intrigued her was how he had done it in the first place.
"Merlin? You're here?" Artoria greeted her sternly, but when she heard Merlin's question, she couldn't contain her excitement, beaming like a little girl. "I did it together with Kaelar!"
I helped Uncle Zhao escape seven times!
It wasn't entirely false. Artoria had carried Kaelar's banner, riding alongside him. Though she hadn't done much herself, she could still say they'd accomplished it together.
"...?"
After learning the details, Merlin was shocked. "Just the two of you... no, just Kaelar? What about Maple Leaf Ridge's army?"
"Kaelar said, 'Killing is Misfortune.' He detests any form of killing, so we all had to respect his will. Mobilizing the army wasn't an option."
Artoria's eyes shone with admiration. Despite being the symbolic Red Dragon of the Celts, years of Kaelar's guidance had not extinguished her deep-seated Celtic reverence for strength—though she no longer reveled in bloodshed.
"Killing is Misfortune, huh..." Merlin muttered to herself. "Is this guy really a Celt?"
Seems like I've stumbled upon a cotton ball in a mud pit.
Merlin thought grimly, "I'd better go warn that brute Ector. If I don't, the knights might clash with Kaelar directly."
No doubt, Ector was already on edge, leading over ten thousand fully-armed Celtic knights. Seeing the seventy thousand Anglo-Saxons disarmed...
Oh boy.
---
"That boy... something's not quite right about him."
While Artoria and Merlin were catching up, Kaelar had returned to the castle, reuniting with his own teacher.
Master and student versus master and student.
"Back already? I'd have thought you'd stay a little longer outside, basking in the adoration of the Anglo-Saxons," Morgan said, her arms crossed as she watched Kaelar. He was removing his armor, hanging the gleaming, bladeless ceremonial sword—the one that had shattered seventy thousand blades—back on the wall.
"From now on, even the Venerable King Vortigern won't be held in higher esteem among the Anglo-Saxons than you, Kaelar."
Morgan had remained in the castle, witnessing Kaelar's heroic conquest of the Anglo-Saxons without intervening.
"It doesn't matter," Kaelar replied calmly, not sparing a glance for the now-legendary ceremonial sword. "Whatever weapon I wield becomes a holy sword."
"It's just a decoration made by a blacksmith at the village forge. Only in my hand, Kaelar's hand, does it become an invincible holy sword."
"Kaelar, you've created a miracle. You've ushered in an era of your own," Morgan said, her tone carrying a hint of reverence. "Before you, heroes were made powerful by their divine or celestial weapons—the weapons defined them."
"But today, Kaelar, you transformed an ordinary sword into a weapon equal to any legendary armament. Not because of the sword itself, but because of you."
Morgan's gaze was serious as she continued, "Kaelar, you've graduated. You've surpassed me."
Surpassed... her?
Kaelar frowned. "Morgan-sensei, the only magic I'm proficient with is mental linking and Geis-based oaths. You call that 'graduation'?"
"Are you just tired of teaching me?"
"...I never agreed to take you as a disciple in the first place!" Morgan poked his forehead with a pale finger, slightly annoyed. "Besides, mastering an entire field of magic isn't enough for you?"
"That old dream-eater Merlin, the only magic she's truly mastered is illusion and dreamwalking, yet she's still the greatest mage in Britain."
Morgan dabbled in many schools of magic, but her greatest specialty was the creation of artificial life—being able to produce first-class Heroic Spirits was a feat unmatched in Britain.
Even Vortigern had coveted his niece's skills, hoping she would aid him in creating more heroic entities.
But Morgan, for all her talk of hating both her father and sister, secretly funneled her artificial Heroic Spirits to Artoria, leaving Vortigern with nothing.
"I'm being honest, Kaelar. You no longer need my guidance," she said, her deep blue eyes fixed on Kaelar, as if trying to etch his sun-like presence into her memory.
"Alright, Morgan, I understand." Kaelar nodded. "Even if I've graduated, I will always respect you."
"Morgan, would you like to see Lily?" he asked.
"We just met yesterday, didn't we?" Morgan folded her arms, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You know exactly what I think. Are you pushing for a reconciliation between us?"
"Yes."
Kaelar didn't hesitate. This was a question he would have dodged in the past, but now, he faced it head-on.
I want the two of you to mend your relationship. Maybe not as allies, but at least not as sworn enemies.
He didn't want to stand against Morgan, even if she posed no real threat to him.