Things were looking grim.
Hurrying in the direction where Artoria and the others were, Noknare's mood was undeniably heavy.
[You pacified Woodworth, occupied Salisbury and Oxford, and then began to investigate the specific situation in both places in order to fully bring them under control.]
[However, after you started handling affairs in Oxford and Salisbury, you discovered several incidents of fairies transforming into Mors.]
Fairies turning into Mors? Was it because she had occupied Oxford and Salisbury, completing the unification, that some fairies, as enemy elements, fell into despair and thus transformed?
Noknare was slightly puzzled by these incidents, but since the number was small, she didn't think much of it.
But then came the strange part.
[In the days that followed, you noticed that incidents of fairy Morsification continued to occur—and at an increasing frequency.]
[At this point, a terrible suspicion began to take shape in your mind.]
Such large-scale Morsification among fairies must be triggered by some special cause.
However, after Beryl vanished—presumably dead—his special Mors poison never had the chance to be deployed. On the other hand, the calamity in Norwich had already been eliminated through joint efforts, and the accompanying Mors tide had been completely wiped out. So why were so many Mors appearing again in recent days?
By now, Noknare could no longer sit still.
She had to go to Camelot, to see the throne for herself.
And the fastest way there now was to borrow Bavanzi's water mirror to reach it instantly.
On the other side, perhaps Artoria and Bavanzi had also sensed the situation to some extent. When Noknare arrived, she found them standing outside Guinevere's room, anxiously discussing something.
"Artoria, Bavanzi, you're both here? Good, saves me the trouble of looking for you."
Saying this, Noknare strode toward them.
Seeing her appear suddenly, Artoria—surprised—quickly stepped forward.
"Noknare! Perfect timing. I have something very important to tell you."
"Oh? So you've noticed something as well?"
Hearing this, Noknare's expression shifted slightly, and she nodded quickly.
"In that case, get Guinevere, prepare for battle at once, and follow me."
"Huh? That fast? We're acting right away? Isn't that a bit hasty?"
Bavanzi was taken aback.
"And how did you find out so quickly? We only just—"
"No," Artoria interjected, "but is it really appropriate to call Guinevere for this?"
"…No, I need Guinevere's opinion on this. And… although this is an internal matter among us fairies, Guinevere is also connected to Morgan in some way. He has the right to know."
"Huh?" ×2
Hearing this, Artoria and Bavanzi exchanged glances, suddenly feeling that something was off.
"?"
Artoria frowned. She looked at Noknare again, trying to use her fairy eyes to discern something…
"Wait—you mean we weren't even talking about the same thing just now?"
"What? You weren't talking about the Morsification of fairies?" Noknare was stunned. "Then what are you standing here worrying about?"
*Uh…*
Artoria and Bavanzi glanced at each other, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed.
"…In any case, it's nothing important," Artoria said. "Yours is the real issue—go ahead."
"Oh." Though puzzled about what the two of them had been up to, Noknare had no time to dwell on it. She got straight to the point:
"Before we continue—Bavanzi, can you still use your water mirror magic? Open a path to Camelot's throne hall for me. I need to confirm something at Morgan's throne."
"What? You're asking me for that?"
At these words, Bavanzi's face instantly darkened.
After all, she was supposed to be the rightful heir to her mother's throne. But because of that beast Lancelot's threats, she had never had the chance to develop her own power. After Noknare's rise, there was no more opportunity—she had to settle for being a proper and dutiful lord of New Darlington.
And now Noknare wanted to go to her mother's throne and have *her* open the shortcut? That was a bit much.
But before she could protest, Artoria—seeing her displeasure through her fairy eyes—placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I know you're not happy about this, but Bavanzi, the situation is urgent—it concerns the survival of Britain. Can you put up with it just this once?"
Artoria, having sensed the severity of the situation from Noknare's emotions, stepped in to smooth things over without hesitation.
"…Fine."
Though still displeased, Bavanzi had spent enough time with them to know they weren't the type to make baseless demands. They must have their reasons. After a brief hesitation, she stepped back and used the Ring of Swiftness to quickly open a water mirror leading to Camelot's throne hall.
"I'll help you, but once you've confirmed whatever it is, you *owe* me an explanation."
"Thanks, Bavanzi."
Noknare gave her a grateful nod, then stepped through the water mirror without hesitation, arriving in the lavish throne hall of Camelot. She walked straight to the magnificent throne and placed her hand on it.
Her expression changed instantly—first shock, then puzzlement, followed by a hint of realization. Finally, she let out a soft sigh, shook her head, and murmured:
"So this is your trial for your successor… Morgan?"
"All right, you've confirmed whatever it is—now tell me why you were in such a rush to come to my mother's throne."
Bavanzi's voice came from behind her.
"…Fair enough. As Morgan's daughter, you have the right to know."
Noknare turned and asked:
"How much do you know about your mother's throne?"
"What do you mean?" Bavanzi frowned. "It's my mother's royal seat—the place only the fairy queen can sit. Isn't that all?"
"But that doesn't explain why Morgan never leaves it, does it? Even when she handles matters, she sends her avatar. Her true self almost never leaves the throne." Noknare's tone was calm but probing.
"Don't you think that's strange? A chair, even a throne, should just be symbolic. What ruler stays bound to it like a ghost chained to its own tombstone?"
"…That's…"
Prompted by Noknare, Bavanzi recalled that it was indeed so. Ever since she had known her mother, Morgan had been by the throne's side, and for anything requiring her personal attention outside the hall, she had sent her avatar instead.
"That… that's because the throne is my mother's magic reservoir," Bavanzi reasoned. "She's always stored the magical energy collected from fairies as existence tax there. So the throne is her most important magic supply—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her face suddenly puzzled.
"Looks like you feel it too," Noknare said. "Even for a strategic-level magic storage, there's no reason she *must* never leave it. That's what's strange."
"All right, enough suspense," Artoria interrupted. "What's the real reason?"
Noknare hesitated for half a second, then pointed to the throne and said slowly:
"…Morgan's throne is the hub of the fairy realm—and the device that sustains the cycle of the fairies."
"This throne turns the gears of life for all fairies who lost theirs at the end of the Fairy Calendar. It is also the 'false Round Table' created by Ash, who sought to defy the destiny of the prophesied child. Or rather…"
She paused, then enunciated each word:
"…the Throne of the Summoner."
Artoria frowned. "…In plain language, please."
"It's exactly what it sounds like," Noknare shook her head. "Whoever is connected to the throne becomes the master of all fairies in Britain—because most of them aren't alive."
"What?" Both listeners were stunned. Bavanzi scowled. "Do you even hear yourself? If we're not alive, are you saying we're dead?"
"That's not far from the truth," Noknare continued. "Most fairies in Britain should have died in the Great Calamity two thousand years ago. But back then, Morgan poured everything into reviving—or rather, summoning—them, allowing them to continue on as summoned beings."
"And the throne is the core that sustains this massive summoning ritual. Morgan stored magic in it not only for strategic reasons, but to keep the summons going. Right now, most fairies are essentially Morgan's familiars. Only the clan leaders and a handful of high-ranking fairies who survived the Great Calamity are exceptions."
Seeing the two of them nearly petrified in shock, Noknare added:
"Don't think I'm making this up. In Fairy Year 400, when the previous Northern Queen, Mab, tried to challenge Morgan, Morgan told her all of this. Mab, though not one of Morgan's revived fairies and thus free from her control, could not bring herself to fight someone who went so far just to keep Britain alive."
"So after that, Mab—who had always opposed Morgan—laid down her arms and made a secret pact: she would never again stand against Morgan. In return, if the day came when Morgan grew weak, exhausted, or unwilling to continue bearing it all, the royal clan would take over the throne."
"And that is the mission I inherited from Mab."
Bavanzi took two dazed steps back.
"…So Mother… has been carrying all of that all this time?"
"Wait," Artoria suddenly interjected. "What does this have to do with the recent spike in Morsification? We've never seen anything like this in past simulations."
"You still haven't realized it, Artoria?" Noknare shook her head. "Without a master, familiars lose their bond—and slowly turn into Mors. The reason so many are appearing now is precisely because Morgan has severed her link to the throne."
"In past simulations, even when I became queen, I could still sense the throne's link to its previous master until I took over. But now… the throne no longer has a master's link."
"In other words—Morgan has let go."
"What?!" Bavanzi suddenly cried. "You mean… something's happened to Mother?"
"That, I don't know."
Gently caressing the throne, Noknare's expression turned solemn.
"All I know is that the throne is now without a master… and because the link was only just broken, it won't be able to form a new contract for the next ten days."
"And surviving those ten days… I think that's the trial Morgan has left for us."