A New Battle

Time rewound to the day Arthur and the others had been captured.

“Fuhahaha, Desert People, I’ll make you regret ever laying hands on Lord Rod’s Golden Wheat!”

Riding in a luxurious carriage on his way to Carmine, Rod sat inside, utterly convinced of his coming victory. He had not managed to outshine Arthur by much during the Founding Festival, but if he could subjugate the Desert People, who had tormented Britannia for so many years, it would undoubtedly give him a major advantage in the struggle for the throne.

“They say grudges over food are terrifying, but… I never thought you would take this so seriously.”

“What are you talking about, Lord Rod? Golden Wheat is the finest ingredient we created in pursuit of gourmet perfection. Having it stolen from us is no laughing matter.”

Hervé, who normally never let his smile fade, now had eyes burning with fury.

“More importantly, Lord Rod, I trust you understand this already—but you will ensure Lord Arthur is properly protected.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Honestly, charging in with a small number of knights to defeat the Desert People and then going missing… he really is a fool.”

Rod and his faction had already been preparing for war when they heard that Arthur had gone to visit Carmine, the lord of the border city.

Then, a message had arrived from a certain source: Arthur and his group had been captured by the Desert People… and there was one more piece of information.

“On top of that, the key to the Holy Sword, said to lie in the depths of the desert, is supposed to be there, isn’t it? Once I find that, my path to the throne will be unshakable.”

It was the very sword said to have once been wielded by the Holy King himself—a symbol in its own right. Rod believed that if he were chosen by that sword, his father would have no choice but to raise his opinion of him.

“Heh, Arthur… I can already picture you—rescued by me, only to have the throne taken from under you, sobbing in frustration.”

Rod laughed in delight, completely unaware of the complex look Hervé gave him. With a sigh, Hervé addressed the subordinate waiting nearby.

“Bors, we are not particularly accustomed to desert warfare. We will have to rely on your father, Baron Carmine, as well. I am counting on you.”

“Y-yes, please leave it to me, Lord Hervé!”

The young man with an eyepatch over his timid-looking left eye—Bors—answered in a slightly high, strained voice. And at last, the carriage reached Carmine’s castle.

Hearing of the disturbance, Arthur quickly regrouped with Morgan. Tristan and Lancelot had headed out with the Desert People to grasp the current situation in the sands.

“Britannia is attacking us!? Don’t tell me it’s Hervé!?”

“This is bad… I knew Prince Rod was shaken after falling behind you at the Founding Festival, but this is much faster than I expected. At this rate, they may very well try to erase all of us.”

Morgan frowned; as a noble supremacist with a reckless streak, Rod was fully capable of such a thing. Arthur, however, scolded her as if to say, What are you talking about?

“No way, Big Brother Rod and I get along great. That’s not going to happen.”

“Is that so…? Even so, if this turns into a battle with the Desert People, it will be a disaster. The nobles who follow him won’t show any mercy to foreigners. The desert will be dyed red with blood.”

Of course, Britannia would not escape unscathed either. Their national strength would inevitably decline.

“I don’t like the sound of that…”

Arthur’s expression darkened at Morgan’s words. The Good Deed Notebook still had not shone. You could say he had reconciled with Lancelot, but now a new crisis loomed. And more than that… if this became a full-scale battle, many people would be hurt. Seeing the Desert People—the girl who had been delighted with his cookies, the ones dancing happily with the ones they loved, those who had rejoiced over their once-a-year feast—Arthur had come to understand they were no different from the people of Britannia. Seeing them wounded… would not sit right with him, even aside from the Good Deed Notebook.

The entrance to the tent opened, and Tristan entered.

“I have returned.”

“Welcome back. So, what is the situation?”

Morgan offered words of thanks to Tristan, who was breathing hard, likely from having rushed back. But his expression was not encouraging.

“Let’s see… From what I saw at a distance, they are using quite a large number of knights to search this village. It is only a matter of time before they find us. We must decide what to do before that happens.”

“I see… If we had settled things a bit sooner and gone through Baron Carmine, it might have worked, but at this point, they’ll just suspect a trap. So—what do you think we should do?”

“Huh, what do you mean, what should we do?”

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Arthur let out a foolish-sounding reply; Morgan pursed her lips in a slightly sulky pout.

“Honestly, you know perfectly well… Either we evacuate now and persuade Lord Rod and the others through Carmine, or we remain here and persuade them directly on the battlefield. Lord Rod will almost certainly be at the front lines.”

“In other words, we must choose between a safe but time-consuming method, and a dangerous one that will let us speak with them right away.”

Adding to Morgan’s explanation, Tristan smiled for some reason, looking quite amused. Understanding what they were really asking, Arthur replied without hesitation.

“Of course we talk to them directly. The longer this drags on, the more people will die.”

“I knew you’d say that. Tristan…”

“I understand, Lady Morgan. By now, Sir Lancelot should be tracking down the location of their main camp. We’ll borrow the Desert People’s strength to get close.”

As the two of them discussed their plans, still wearing wry smiles, Arthur raised his voice in surprise.

“Wait. I’ll be fine even if I get hurt—I can heal—but the knights of Britannia might attack you. This is my selfish decision. So you two should…”

“We’re coming with you, of course. I am your fiancée, after all.”

“I am your knight, after all. And in return—if I may call it that—please allow me to put this story into song. As long as I can weave the tale of you two, that will be reward enough.”

Their attitude, as if it were only natural to go with him, made Arthur’s chest grow hot. Even though he had called it his selfishness, they believed in him and acknowledged him.

“You guys… thank you.”

He remembered Mordred once telling him in his previous world, “You don’t understand people’s hearts,” feelings he had never grasped back then.

Ah, I really was an idiot. Everyone is thinking about different things, trusting in people and supporting each other.

“Let’s go. We’re going to stop the war between Britannia and the Desert People.”

At Arthur’s words—stronger than ever before—the other two nodded happily.