Lancelot And Arthur

“Unfortunately, I already have both a guard and a fiancé. And I find it unpleasant to be touched by someone I don’t know. Tell me—did Agravain forget to teach his men proper manners?”

With a sharp slap, Morgan brushed away the knight’s hand and stepped close beside Arthur. The purple-haired knight, however, showed no sign of offense. Instead, he smiled pleasantly and spoke with practiced calm.

“My apologies. Your beauty robbed me of reason for a moment. I have yet to introduce myself—my name is Lancelot. I have been appointed as the leader of this expedition.”

“What!?”

“Lancelot… you mean that Lancelot?”

Even Tristan, usually unfazed, reacted with shock alongside Arthur and Morgan. Arthur turned to him and asked in a low voice,

“He’s that famous among knights?”

“Yes,” Tristan said eagerly. “Not only is he unmatched with a sword, but he’s also an exceptional commander. Many call him the strongest knight in Britannia. And…”

“And what?”

Tristan smiled mischievously, eyes glinting with admiration.

“He’s also notorious for his love of married women. Not long ago, he was imprisoned for an affair with a nobleman’s wife. A forbidden romance… truly inspiring, don’t you think?”

“Uh… that’s just plain bad, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s exasperated mutter made Morgan frown deeply.

If a man could seduce a noble’s wife and still avoid execution, that alone proved how indispensable his military skill was. Even knights as highly ranked as Tristan or Gawain would not escape death for such a crime.

“Well then, let’s depart. In the desert, water is your most precious ally. Be sure to prepare properly,” Lancelot said, mounting his horse and leading the group forward.

“Shall we go as well?” Tristan said. “Still, for Lancelot to approach first… perhaps he mistook you two for husband and wife, Lord Arthur and Lady Morgan?”

“What!?”

Arthur and Morgan exclaimed in unison, though for different reasons—Arthur in confusion, Morgan in embarrassment.

“Stop saying ridiculous things. Let’s just go.”

Arthur sighed, thinking that Tristan’s hopeless romantic streak was acting up again, and reached out to escort Morgan. She froze, face flushed red.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. Thank you.”

“Oh… all right…”

Arthur blinked at her unusually shy tone, wondering if she’d eaten something strange. Still oblivious as ever—but at least mature enough not to blurt it out—he said nothing further.

Their march proceeded with surprising smoothness. No bandits attacked, and they arrived safely at the frontier lord’s stronghold near the Desert People’s border.

“Everything’s going too well… I expected at least some trouble.”

“That’s Lancelot’s doing,” Morgan said. “He probably scouted a safe route in advance. He’s good at reading danger.”

“Indeed,” Tristan agreed. “He’s even achieved victories in previous skirmishes with the Desert People—capturing important figures, they say. He must know this region well.”

“Hmph… well, it’s not like I couldn’t handle the Desert People too.”

Morgan and Tristan’s continued praise of Lancelot left Arthur feeling vaguely annoyed.

“What are you talking about? You’re not even supposed to be fighting in the first place.”

“Mmgh…”

Morgan only meant to worry about him, but Tristan looked on with a fond smile, amused by Arthur’s childish jealousy.

Before long, they reached the bustling border town. Despite its proximity to the Desert People’s lands, the place was lively—its streets filled with people of dark, sun-tanned skin unlike those in Britannia’s capital.

Arthur’s eyes sparkled with curiosity at the new sights.

“We’ve got some time before meeting the lord, right?”

“Yes. Normally we’d rest at the manor, but… wait, don’t tell me—”

Arthur was already glancing toward the streets, clearly planning to wander off. Morgan sighed, realizing that unlike Kei or Marianne, she couldn’t simply let him run wild.

“Fine. I suppose understanding the local atmosphere has its merits. But I’m coming with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s your way of doing things, isn’t it? Then I should learn from you… as your wife, after all.”

“Yesss!”

Morgan’s face turned crimson as she tried her best to hide her bashfulness—but Arthur, thrilled to have earned a bit of freedom, completely missed her final whispered words.

They were just discussing their plan—Tristan would act as their escort during the inspection—when a familiar voice interrupted.

“My, heading to the market, are we? Then please, allow me to guide you.”

It was Lancelot, who had appeared nearby without a sound.