The Palace, Round Table Hall.
After quelling the knights' squabble, the king and her knights took their seats, beginning a new discussion:
The Holy Grail War.
Well, there wasn't much to discuss.
Seven Servants fight until only two remain, then the Holy Grail manifests. The last one standing claims victory... that's the gist of it.
But no one cared about those rules anymore.
"The outcome of the Holy Grail War? Doesn't matter." The Knights of the Round Table collectively thought.
If it were just the others, some might still vie for the prize. But with the knight seated at the Throne of Calamity, radiant with pure light, summoned to this era, the winner was all but certain.
No one would challenge her for it, nor could anyone wrest it from her grasp... a truth every Knight of the Round Table understood.
Yet, they also knew the war's "process" mattered more than its outcome:
These knights had grudges to settle.
"A fair knightly duel to decide the victor?" Gawain said.
"I understand, my king."
"With this sword, I'll sever the head of that shameful traitor, never tarnishing your glory."
Gawain's tone was humble, but his eyes locked onto Lancelot, never wavering.
What enraged him further was that Lancelot hadn't once met his gaze.
The former premier knight of the Round Table, returning to this land of honor and illusion, seemed lost in a daze.
What was he thinking? He didn't say, but those aware of his infamous betrayal knew.
Guinevere... that name was the answer.
"Hey, calm down, brother." Gareth and Gaheris, caught between Gawain and Lancelot, tried to defuse the tension sparked by their presence. Farther off, Mordred fanned the flames, shouting, "Fight! Fight!" And "Guinevere's watching you!"
The chaotic scene stunned the living Knights of the Round Table. Were these really their comrades? The charged atmosphere suggested enemies instead.
Just as it seemed the knights might be mistaken for brainless brutes, a voice cut through.
"My king, I have a request."
A pale, expressionless knight ignored the noisy "comrades" And rose from a distant seat.
"In our original history, I was your secretary, overseeing penal matters."
"For this brief time in the world, I ask to resume that role, to ease your burdens."
"And… where is Baron Morgan? I have matters to discuss with her."
Baron Morgan.
The stoic knight uttered a near-taboo name, silencing the raucous Round Table instantly.
Artoria looked at the knight, isolated in the corner as if shunned by his peers, with surprise.
Then, a knowing smile spread across her face.
Of course.
She realized this ostracized man was the true bond uniting the Round Table.
"Sir Agravain, is it? Of course, no problem." She said.
"But the Morgan you speak of isn't a 'baron' in this kingdom... she's a revered 'Highness.'"
"Be careful not to misname her. She's quite petty... if you anger her, even I won't plead your case."
White Castle, Temple of Light.
After a brief tour of the city, soaking in its vibrant culture, Alaric brought Mash to the temple built for him, where Morgan was alone, mixing potions.
Vina was gone.
After a heated lecture, Morgan had realized Vina's talent was insufficient for magecraft. She'd sent her to the garden with a hoe to till a medicinal field.
If her mind wasn't up to par, she could do manual labor!
The temple, a nexus between the world and its Reverse Side, brimmed with Mystery. Ever practical, Morgan planned to turn the garden into a sprawling herb plantation.
"What, another free laborer?" Morgan said, eyeing Mash.
"Frankly, she doesn't look capable. If she's another kid curious about magecraft, send her to that magus. She's pretty enough... he might pause a few seconds to show her tricks that'll make her laugh."
Still stinging from her failure with Vina, Morgan's already sharp tongue grew venomous.
Most girls, even the cheerful ones, would shrink from such a barbed Morgan.
But not Mash.
The seemingly timid girl faced Morgan's venom head-on, not with fear but with curious eyes, studying the beautiful yet disheveled woman.
The image wasn't unfamiliar.
In Chaldea, female researchers, after lab mishaps or month-long shifts, looked much the same... or worse.
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