The throne that once belonged to the King of Uruk had been completely transformed, now bearing an entirely different style.
In front of it were twelve key Holy Lances. Once activated, they would no doubt serve as formidable defensive weapons.
But the core of the design lay in converting the Divine Tower itself into a massive Mystic Code.
There was no doubt—Morgan, as a Magus, was an unparalleled genius.
"What a revolutionary design... This really is just like you," Shiomi couldn't help but praise her sincerely. "Honestly, I'm kind of jealous of your talent, Morgan."
He gently ran his hand along the throne's surface, careful not to disturb its flawless structure.
Hastily assembled? Even if he were given ten times the time, Shiomi doubted he could create something this perfect.
"It's truly groundbreaking. She really is a genius Magus beyond all others," came Scáthach's voice.
Shiomi blinked in surprise. "Master? What brings you here?"
The throne was already complete. Only minor refinements remained, and those would be automatically filled in by the spellwork that had already been etched.
Morgan was supposed to stay and oversee those final touches, but she had convinced Shiomi to go rest instead. After all, he had been bedridden for ten straight days, and even after returning this afternoon, he had laid down again for at least three more hours.
But even if Shiomi wanted to sleep, he simply couldn't.
"I wasn't sleepy either, so I came to find someone to drink with," Scáthach said, swaying a clay jug in one hand, two wooden cups tucked under her arm. From the sound of the sloshing, it was clearly filled with barley ale. "Would my beloved disciple be willing to have a drink with his master?"
"A drink or two sounds nice," Shiomi said with a smile.
So the two of them sat down in front of the throne and began to drink.
The throne, originally facing north, had been reoriented to face south—directly toward Tiamat's approach from the Persian Gulf. This would allow Morgan to activate the throne's secret weapon with pinpoint accuracy when the time came.
"But I must say, I'm a little surprised. I never expected my beloved disciple to be jealous of someone else's Magecraft," Scáthach teased softly as she poured.
Shiomi almost spilled the ale just as he brought it to his lips. "It's just a figure of speech. Besides, I'm not even your most talented disciple."
"That's not necessarily true. It's a fact you've trained under me longer than anyone else, but that doesn't mean your talent is inferior to those other brats." Scáthach clinked her cup gently against his. "The very fact that you awakened your Authority on your own... even I can't help but be jealous of that."
"...You have a point," Shiomi said with a thoughtful sigh.
He reached out, wrapping his arm around Scáthach's shoulder. His touch lightly traced along her arm and waist, and she naturally leaned into his embrace, refilling his cup as she did.
"Uruk's nights have gotten so quiet," Shiomi murmured. "When I first arrived, the city still had lights glowing even after dark."
Scáthach lifted her cup, gazing toward the Persian Gulf. "The Mother of Magical Beasts is out there. The people of Uruk—of Mesopotamia—have all gathered at the northern walls for shelter. Once we win, the city will come back to life."
"Yeah." Shiomi nodded, pressing a little closer to his master.
Even though the night wasn't cold, it still made him want to be nearer to her.
"Truth is... when they carried you back ten days ago, soaked in blood, I was scared too," Scáthach said quietly. "The others thought you were just injured. But I knew. And I still had to keep calm, reassure them, make sure no one's morale wavered."
"Do you blame me?" Shiomi asked.
Scáthach took a sip of ale. "No. I just want you to know—your master does care about you."
"I already know," Shiomi replied gently, his heart softening. "Actually... if I'd woken up and seen you by my side while the northern wall was under attack, I probably would've bolted out of bed and rushed to the frontlines."
It was because he knew she, and Artoria, were holding the line that he had the time to stay composed—and reach the battlefield swiftly.
"So Morgan's the one staying behind, then," Scáthach said with a smile, sipping her ale.
Shiomi glanced over and saw her throat move slightly as she drank. She was nearly done with the entire jug, while he'd barely taken a sip of his second cup.
"You said you came to drink with me, but it feels more like you're just drinking alone."
"No, you can't hold your liquor that well. If you overdo it, you might not be in shape to head out tomorrow," Scáthach replied, reaching for the jug to pour more—only to find it empty. Just a small splash dripped into the cup. "So as your master, I had no choice but to enjoy this Age of Gods ale for you."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have invited me in the first place," Shiomi grumbled, lifting his cup. "I'm not sharing this with you. This one's mine."
"Alright, it's yours," Scáthach said, watching him sip. Then suddenly, she called out, "Wait—don't swallow yet."
"?" Shiomi, mouth full of ale, could only look at her in confusion.
Then he saw her lean in and pry his lips apart.
He could feel the ale being stolen bit by bit. In the end, less than half of it actually made it into his stomach.
"...Master..." Shiomi chuckled.
"Hmm... not bad. Maybe it really does taste better this way," Scáthach said with mock seriousness, as if genuinely judging the drinking method.
"That's a huge waste," Shiomi said, eyeing her now ale-soaked collar. "And the smell's all over you now—people are going to think you've turned into some kind of drunk."
"A first-rate warrior should know how to drink," Scáthach said, her red eyes fixed on him.
"Then I must not be first-rate, huh? Guess I've brought shame to your teachings," Shiomi replied, putting on a solemn expression as if he'd just realized a deep truth.
"Drinking well isn't a prerequisite for being a first-rate warrior," Scáthach said, gently wiping his chin with her finger. "Besides, someone bold enough to make a move on their master? That definitely counts as first-rate."
"That's a pretty loose standard," Shiomi muttered.
"It depends on the person. Teaching must suit the student," Scáthach answered calmly.
"Could you maybe teach me something more useful...? All I've learned from you is how to kill people," Shiomi joked.
"I also taught you how to be a man," Scáthach said.
Shiomi went quiet. After a long pause, he finally mumbled, "Uh... that... that wasn't really something you taught me. I kind of pestered you into it."
Then, imitating what she'd just done, he leaned in—this time with a mouthful of ale.
Together, the master and disciple finished the rest of the drink... along with the words left unspoken.
...
(100 Chapters Ahead)
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