To Britannia

Arthur urged the carriage onward at full speed, the holy sword in hand, racing toward Britannia.

“I wonder if Brother Rod will be alright…”

“His life isn’t in danger, is it? Besides, I think it would be better for those two to have a proper talk in a place where lies can’t be told.”

Because every second mattered, the only ones riding in the carriage were Arthur, Morgan, and Tristan.

As the carriage thundered forward, Arthur gently stroked the scabbard of the holy sword, which was radiating an overwhelming amount of mana.

“Still… I never imagined I’d be the one to wield the holy sword. It’s almost like I really am the successor to the Holy King.”

The “Holy King” was remembered as the ideal ruler. Even if the image had changed somewhat over time, could someone like Arthur—who had only been acting to escape execution—really shoulder the role of successor…?

Even Arthur, usually oblivious to worldly matters, could tell from the trial, the legendary holy sword, and the reactions around him that this “Five Great Plague Beast” was on a completely different level from anything before.

Noticing his uneasy expression, Morgan spoke up.

“Perhaps… but I’m sorry for Prince Rod, yet I’ve always believed you were the one who should obtain the holy sword.”

“Well, sure, I’ve got healing abilities… but that’s all I have, right?”

Arthur let his weakness slip, immediately regretting it, expecting the usual teasing.

But contrary to his expectations, Morgan reached out and took his hand, as if to reassure him.

“That’s not true. That isn’t the only reason I thought you were worthy of the holy sword. You used your healing abilities correctly—to save nobles, commoners, dwarves, all kinds of people. That way of living itself proves you are fit to be the Holy King’s successor.”

“I told you before, didn’t I? All that was just coincidence… I only happened to save people.”

“Yes, you’re right. Perhaps saving them was coincidence. But acting in a way that made people admire you wasn’t. People don’t follow you because you saved them—they follow you because they care about you.”

“Morgan…”

To be honest, Arthur didn’t really understand what she meant by “actions people admire.” But after the trial, he could at least understand that she liked him.

‘But why…?’

“Hehe, let me tell you something interesting, Arthur-sama. Ordinary nobles—especially royalty—don’t casually chat about love with a mere knight. You don’t have that wall typical of the privileged class. Some might call it ignorance, but you listen with genuine interest when you don’t understand something, you speak without caring about status, and you complain when something bothers you. That alone is enough to make people like us happy—and devoted.”

“Is that how it works…?”

Hearing Tristan say this with a shy tone while handling the reins left Arthur bewildered. From his perspective, he was just trying to actively learn because he regretted never trying to understand others before.

Still… if everyone thought that was a good thing, it somehow made him happy.

As he smiled unconsciously, Morgan beside him puffed out her cheeks in displeasure.

“Why do you look so grumpy…?”

“It’s nothing.”

She turned away with a sulk, leaving Arthur puzzled. After a moment’s thought, he decided to ask Tristan—since Tristan had just praised him anyway.

“Hey, Tristan, why is Morgan in a bad mood?”

“Hehe, you really are straightforward, Arthur-sama…”

Smiling wryly, Tristan answered.

“She said almost the same thing I did, but you accepted my words more readily. That probably annoyed her.”

“Eh…?”

“Tristan!! Don’t say unnecessary things.”

Glared at by Morgan, Tristan quickly raised his voice and changed the subject.

“We’re getting close to Britannia… and something seems off.”

“Are the people of the capital evacuating outside the city?”

Their confusion was understandable. The scene coming into view showed the distant silhouette of the symbolic castle—and countless people and carriages streaming away from the capital.

Britannia was already in motion.