Agravain’s Proposal

After finishing his cookies, Arthur took Kei with him to Avalon. Lately, he had been visiting so often that the guards simply waved him through.

Everyone greeted him with warm smiles for some reason, though Arthur couldn’t figure out why.
If he had thought about it, he might have realized that people simply saw a prince frequently visiting his fiancée and making her so cheerful each time as an adorable couple’s routine. But such subtleties were lost on him. Arthur was, as ever, hopelessly oblivious.

“Ah, please wait! Lady Morgan is in the middle of a meeting right now—”

“Hm? I see. Then, is it all right if I wait here?”

“Would you prefer to rest in her room? We can call for her when she’s free.”

“I’ve heard you all are busy. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Lord Arthur…”

The attendant’s voice trembled, moved by the prince’s thoughtfulness—though in truth, Arthur only wanted to avoid another of Morgan’s biting remarks.

He still remembered what she had said to him in his previous life:

“Oh my, the prince who barely lifts a finger now thinks it’s fine to waste my subordinates’ precious time? Then I expect an incredibly important story to make up for it.”

Still, Arthur had to admit that things were different now. He knew how hard her people worked, and in his own way, he didn’t want to add to their burden.

He was just about to chat idly with Kei while watching the staff at work when the door opened—and a visitor appeared.

“Prince Arthur… What brings you here?”

“Oh, Lord Arthur, it’s been too long. I was just about to ask someone to summon you. Perhaps the Holy King himself has guided you here, urging you—his so-called successor—to lend a hand in this matter.”

Morgan frowned at the man’s smug tone, while Agravain, the visitor, grinned with an unsettling smirk. Arthur felt an ominous chill down his spine.

Arthur and Agravain had never been close. In truth, the old Arthur had never been close to anyone—arrogant and self-absorbed as he once was—but Agravain was someone he particularly disliked.

The reason was simple.

“How unusual for you to seek me out. You usually only favor Mordred.”

“You wound me. Is it so strange for an uncle to wish for his beloved nephew to become king?”

Yes—Agravain was Mordred’s uncle and the leader of his political faction. Though he hadn’t appeared during the revolution, Arthur had long suspected he was working behind the scenes, and that alone made him wary.

“Oh, then why not clean up your own messes? Maybe that would raise Lord Mordred’s chances of becoming king to, let’s say, one in nine thousand.”

Morgan’s sharp retort filled the air with tension, and Arthur silently rooted for her—though he’d never say so aloud.

“Hahaha, that stings. I would if I could, but the soldiers at the front demand healers. Against those vile Desert People, even my dear nephew Mordred’s power is insufficient.”

“The Desert People…? Does this have to do with the golden wheat theft?”

Arthur furrowed his brow. He had come here intending to ask about them anyway.

“Oh? So you already knew?”

“Not only that.”

Morgan added coolly.

“He’s already been studying them—as if he foresaw the trouble that was about to happen.”

Agravain’s eyebrows twitched in surprise before twisting into a crooked grin.

Arthur, who didn’t quite follow the conversation, simply returned a cryptic smile of his own.

“In that case, I’ll get straight to the point. Hervé is furious. He says Britannia’s honor has been trampled, and unless something is done, the surrounding nations will mock us. He’s gathering troops to retaliate. Normally he’s calm, but when food is involved, he loses all reason. If this continues, we’ll be at war.”

“I see… A full-scale war would be troublesome,” Morgan said, nodding. “We’d win, of course—but fighting in the desert would cause heavy losses, and there’s nothing to gain from it. If our neighbors attack during the chaos… there’s a real chance of disaster.”

Arthur had no idea what any of that meant, but he nodded gravely to match their tone.

“Yes… exactly.”

“That’s why,” Agravain continued, “I plan to send a delegation of trusted knights to negotiate peace. However, their leader has one condition—Lord Arthur must accompany them.”

“…Who is this knight?”

Morgan’s frown deepened. The idea that a mere knight could demand the company of a royal was outrageous. Even she, lenient about matters of status, found it unacceptable. Any other noble hearing that would consider it grounds for execution.

But Agravain’s next words froze them both.

“The Sword Demon, Lancelot. That name should ring a bell.”

“What!?”

Arthur and Morgan exclaimed in unison. That knight was said to be the strongest in all Britannia.

He was currently imprisoned for… certain reasons, but his feat of annihilating a bandit fortress single-handedly was legendary.

And in Arthur’s previous life, Lancelot had single-handedly crushed his royal guards and captured him alive.

Frankly, Arthur wanted nothing to do with him.

“Sorry, but I can’t allow that,” Morgan said firmly. “This could very well be your scheme to eliminate Prince Arthur under the guise of diplomacy. No royal would accompany a knight’s request, not for any reason.”

“Then perhaps this will change your mind. In return, I’ll share information about the Holy Sword.”

“…You’re serious?”

Morgan’s eyes widened. Arthur, however, was utterly lost. Holy Sword? He decided he’d ask Marianne about it later.

Still, he hated danger. Arthur was just about to refuse when his Good Deed Notebook glowed at his chest.

“Excuse me a moment…”

Ignoring the atmosphere, he opened it—and the color drained from his face.

Inside was written one unmistakable line:

“Convince the Desert People alongside Lancelot.”