Under the cover of night, ragged Romans were herded onto British ships.
No matter how pitifully they begged, the British showed no sympathy.
No matter how desperately they cried for help, the locals turned a blind eye—as if they saw and heard nothing at all.
This was the truth behind the recent wave of disappearances in several Roman cities.
They had all been taken as slaves, forced aboard British merchant vessels.
The mastermind behind each operation was always the same—Merlie, or sometimes Merlin himself. With advanced illusion magic, every capture and transfer was done seamlessly, leaving not a trace.
Of course, it sounded disgraceful to make a top-tier mage handle something so base.
But that, in itself, proved just how powerful Rome remained. Ordinary magi would be caught or killed. Only someone like Merlin could work so freely on Roman soil.
"Is this really the right thing to do?" Arturia asked, her tone hesitant.
She stood off to the side, her eyes lowered.
Arthur had always treated slaves with unexpected gentleness.
In Camelot, any slave who worked diligently and contributed to society could eventually earn full citizenship. It was a long process involving assessments and years of service, but it solved both the population crisis and minimized internal resistance.
The 5,000 Saxon prisoners of war taken years ago? Nearly all of them were now official citizens of Britain.
Of course, many still faced discrimination in daily life—but it was a far better fate than starving in their homelands or dying on the battlefield.
So when Arturia first heard of the slave raids in Rome, she didn't think much of it.
In her mind, British slaves were treated well. Fairly, even.
But then she saw it.
British soldiers cracking whips. Roman civilians—men, women, and children—dragged from their homes, loaded onto ships like livestock.
Only then did the cruelty become real.
"Your Highness Arturia," said Agravain respectfully, "these filthy creatures are not worthy of your sympathy. If it disturbs you, you may turn away."
He meant it kindly.
Agravain had always held a deep respect for Arturia.
After all, this princess was nothing like Morgan.
Innocent. Upright. Gentle. A true example of Camelot's nobility.
Even the cold-blooded Agravain couldn't help but admire her.
Yes, this is what a royal should look like, he thought bitterly. Unlike that walking disaster Morgan, who tarnishes our king's name every time she breathes.
"Oh my~ Arturia is still too kind~," Merry chimed in mockingly. "In my original plan, she should've been on the front lines, cutting down enemies every day until she went numb."
She leaned lazily against a crate, her tone dripping with insincerity.
"But sympathy for Romans? That's just a waste."
There was venom beneath the humor.
Ever since Merlin had triumphantly returned with the red dragon's remains, he'd been stuck to Arthur like a lovesick ghost, declaring: 'I want my king! I'll never leave him even in death!'
The result?
The mission to Rome had been dumped on her.
Because, of course, Arthur only needed one "clairvoyant." The other was redundant.
Now Merry had to suffer Rome's stench and heat while watching Merlin preen back in Britain.
Naturally, she was in a foul mood.
"Yes, yes, you're all too soft," Merry said, waving her hand dramatically. "Let me be clear—there's no need to pity them. The people of Britain have suffered far more than these Romans. Know who deserves protection—and who must be crushed. My king's own words: 'As long as hostility remains, the enemy must be suppressed without mercy.' If you disagree, feel free to complain to him~☆."
Her voice was light, her smile sharp.
Clearly, she wanted Arturia to go back and cause trouble for Arthur.
"Lady Merry—!"
"Alright, alright, calm down, Sir Agravain~ No need to draw your sword. You can't beat me anyway."
"...Your Highness Arturia," Agravain said through clenched teeth. "Please do not be shaken by Lady Merry's words. That said... in some respects, her point stands. These people do not deserve your sympathy. From a British standpoint, this is simple retribution."
Centuries ago, Rome had done exactly the same.
They raided Britain. Stole its people. Enslaved its children. Ravaged the Isles without fear of consequence.
Now the roles were reversed.
That was the bitter irony of history.
"…Sir Agravain, I… No, please go on."
In the end, all Arturia could do was pray.
Pray for the Romans.
Because no matter what, her loyalty to Britain would not waver.
The next day, at noon, Arturia and Merry—disguised as merchants—began trade operations in the heart of the city.
This was, in fact, Arturia's true mission.
"A hundred denarii."
She accepted the Roman's stiff payment—a note bearing Camelot's red dragon crest.
Roman coins were no longer in circulation here.
These banknotes, issued by Camelot, had become the dominant currency.
Strange, wasn't it?
Roman cities, trading with Roman merchants, using British paper money.
This monetary shift had begun during Camelot's Third Commercial Expansion.
Previously, Roman gold coins had been the norm.
But coins—at their core—were just symbolic. Two coins of identical material could hold vastly different values depending on the mark they bore.
Camelot understood this well.
By combining their pseudo-red dragon crystals with advanced magical printing, they'd created a form of paper currency that was essentially impossible to counterfeit.
It was light. Elegant. Reliable.
And only accepted in trade by Camelot.
Barter was still allowed, of course—but only the upper class could afford to exchange goods of equal value. The common people?
They had no choice.
So demand for Red Dragon banknotes among Roman citizens skyrocketed—far more than among their aristocracy.
Naturally, this caused tension.
The nobles noticed the growing influence of Camelot's currency.
But there was little they could do.
First, Rome lacked the papermaking technology to replicate the notes. Even if they did, the magic required to make them secure cost more than the money was worth.
Second, banning Red Dragon notes would only trigger unrest among the commoners.
And so, the Roman elite could only grit their teeth and watch as Camelot's currency swept across their cities—
—like an omen of the empire's slow decay.
-End Chapter-
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