A series of explosions
subsequently plunged both sides of the battlefield into silence.
The soldiers atop the castle forgot to defend, while King Rience's forces below the walls forgot to attack.
The troops surrounding King Rience
were utterly bewildered by Lot's grenades.
What in the world was this!?
As the smoke gradually cleared,
a scene of carnage unfolded around King Rience's remains.
This king, who had come solely to seek vengeance against Lot,
was eliminated by grenades without even exchanging a single word with him.
He died horribly...
No one could react.
Lot, having anticipated this outcome, quickly steadied himself despite the initial shock from the gore.
A smile immediately spread across his face as he addressed the Round Table Knights and King Leodegrance's forces:
"What are you all waiting for? The enemy commander is dead now's the time to press the advantage!"
Only after Lot's words did everyone snap out of their daze, rushing out of the castle to pursue King Rience's fleeing army.
With their king slain, his soldiers had no will to fight.
Faced with the combined pursuit of Lot and King Leodegrance's forces, their retreat could only be described as a complete rout.
This was utterly unwinnable.
King Leodegrance, finally regaining his senses, pointed at the devastation on the ground, his jaw slack as he stammered to Lot:
"W-what is this?"
[Killing the chicken to scare the monkeys the chicken is dead. Now it's time to intimidate the monkeys.]
Lot thought to himself.
Hearing this, Morgan fixed her gaze on him with expectant eyes.
Hehe, you.
it's time for your performance.
"This is our secret weapon," Lot replied to King Leodegrance.
King Leodegrance stepped forward, pressing further:
"Secret weapon? Is it difficult to produce?"
[Difficult? I can't make them at all. These are one-time-use items once they're gone, they're gone.]
Thinking this, Lot deliberately adopted a tone of resignation:
"The production process is... indeed challenging."
"Challenging" doesn't mean impossible.
This time, Lot had brought out a substantial number of these weapons to support him. But what if King Leodegrance became his enemy in the future? Would Lot deploy the same arsenal against him?
King Leodegrance was genuinely shaken.
He couldn't help but take a step back.
The destructive power of these weapons was undeniable.
A direct hit reduced men to pulp.
Even against castle walls, their efficacy was terrifying.
If Lot breached the walls, his knights could charge in unimpeded.
In the close-quarters combat of urban warfare, Lot's knights each a powerhouse would dominate absolutely.
Almost no one could stand against him now.
When is a nuclear weapon most intimidating?
Answer: When it's still in the silo.
In this era, Lot's weapons were the equivalent of nukes.
"Thank goodness I'm on his side," King Leodegrance consoled himself inwardly.
Had he opposed Lot, it would be his corpse lying in pieces right now.
At this moment, he no longer resented his daughter for her "extravagance."
Aligning with Lot didn't just offer benefits it virtually guaranteed victory in war.
"Perhaps in the future, my daughter and son-in-law will become far greater monarchs than I ever was,"
King Leodegrance mused in self-comfort.
Little did he know, his prospective son-in-law was actually a beautiful maiden in disguise.
Meanwhile, the pursuing soldiers returned triumphant.
The castle of King Leodegrance wasn't inhabited solely by his men merchants from other kingdoms also conducted business here.
Word of Lot's weapons would spread to every corner of Britain.
No ruler would dare provoke such force.
Morgan watched with a smug expression.
Then, in a voice laced with threat, she added to King Leodegrance:
"This weapon is but the weakest among our arsenal. If we deployed everything we have, the world would tremble. No one we target can escape death."
Yet instead of the expected gasps of awe,
her words were met with stunned silence.
Even Lot froze.
Huh?
What's happening?
Did I misspeak?
Morgan wondered.
Then, she heard Lot's inner voice:
[This is Scotland the land of Ulster legends.]
[And here resides one who yearns for death.]
[That queen is an existence even Morgan couldn't defeat before becoming the Isle's ruler.]
[I can only hope she dismisses Morgan's words as mere bravado.]
"..."
Morgan fell silent.
She, too, remembered.
In this land, one could never claim to possess weapons that could kill anything.
Oh crap.
I oversold it.
Morgan chuckled awkwardly to herself.
As she stewed in regret, Galahad and Artoria returned,
drenched in blood all of it their enemies'.
"Galahad, mission accomplished."
"Artoria, mission completed without issue."
Artoria announced loudly to Lot and Her Majesty Morgan.
Now, she eagerly awaited her reward from them.
What delicacies await me this time?
Artoria nearly drooled at the thought.
Just then, Guinevere emerged,
holding a handkerchief as she approached.
"Are you injured? Let me tend to you,"
Guinevere said, reaching for Artoria's chest.
"I-I'm fine!"
Artoria hastily retreated two steps.
"What's wrong? This is just a comrade's concern. Is there a problem?"
Guinevere pressed, tilting her head.
"Comrade?"
Artoria blinked in confusion.
Morgan interjected:
"Ah, yes. Guinevere has joined the Round Table Knights as a female knight. You're comrades-in-arms now."
Until we secure those 150 knights, we must keep Guinevere appeased.
"Wha ?!"
Artoria's jaw dropped.
Galahad, hearing this, nodded solemnly to himself.
He resolved to reinforce his father's cage with extra bars upon returning.
No chance of him mingling with Guinevere.
Meanwhile, inside his cage, Lancelot shuddered uncontrollably.
He felt the world's malice toward him deepen yet again.
Chapter 88: The Purple-Haired Old Woman Preparing to Kill
Seeing Guinevere once again attempting to wipe her chest, Artoria Pendragon quickly backed away in nervous retreat.
I'm a girl!
Though hers were admittedly on the smaller side, if someone placed their hand on her chest, they'd definitely notice.
Ahem…
Morgan, noticing the situation, swiftly intervened.
"Let's head back now," she said to Guinevere.
"Mm."
Guinevere, observing Artoria's reaction, realized she'd been too hasty. Reluctantly, she lowered the handkerchief and let Artoria leave.
Her eyes lingered with longing.
King Leodegrance watched his daughter's actions and sighed inwardly.
My cabbage is about to be devoured by a pig.
Of course,
if he knew that his "cabbage" wasn't being devoured by a pig but by another cabbage, his expression would undoubtedly be priceless.
...
Victory in battle naturally called for celebration.
This time, however, King Leodegrance wasn't the one preparing the feast.
Lot couldn't stomach the local cuisine, and neither could Morgan, Artoria, or Galahad all of whom had grown accustomed to the chefs Lot had brought from Orkney. Even someone as uncomplaining as Galahad wouldn't refuse a delicious meal when offered.
After informing King Leodegrance, Lot declared that this time, he'd treat him to Orkney's culinary expertise.
With abundant ingredients on hand, the chefs from Orkney prepared a lavish spread.
Given the number of attendees and one particularly ravenous Artoria they stuck to simple cooking methods.
Cumin and chili-spiced grilled meat, two spices unheard of in this era's Britain, were exclusive to Lot's pantry. Alongside other easily prepared dishes, the meal was nothing short of extraordinary.
Even so,
King Leodegrance and Guinevere found themselves nearly swallowing their own tongues in delight.
After all, Lot's recipes hailed from over 1,500 years in the future refined through centuries of Chinese culinary evolution. Compared to Britain's current fare, this was nothing short of dimensional warfare.
The food was divine.
No wonder Artoria refused to defect.
In that moment, both King Leodegrance and Guinevere understood.
Humanity pursues beauty with relentless passion.
Compared to this feast, Guinevere suddenly felt like she'd been eating mud all her life.
"Father, do you still object to me joining the Round Table Knights?"
Guinevere elbowed her father playfully, grinning.
King Leodegrance had no words.
Instead, his attention was fixed on Artoria, who was still eating.
His face paled slightly.
"…Daughter, perhaps consider someone else?"
It wasn't that he didn't want her to find happiness.
But this guy ate way too much!
From what King Leodegrance could see, Artoria had already devoured enough for ten men and she still looked unsatisfied.
If she married into the family, his entire treasury might not cover her meals.
"Don't worry. We'll manage. We won't starve."
Guinevere glanced at Artoria's plate, hesitated, then answered weakly.
"Your voice is shaking!"
King Leodegrance deadpanned.
"..."
Guinevere averted her eyes guiltily.
Even the purest love couldn't mask some lies.
...
"This is how we should live every day."
Though Morgan's appetite paled next to her sister's, her table manners were equally… enthusiastic.
She leaned back, picking her teeth in satisfaction.
"Agreed. Even if we leave everything else behind on campaigns, we're bringing the chefs."
Lot nodded emphatically beside her.
Between bites, Morgan turned to him.
"With King Rience dealt with, our campaign in Scotland is effectively over. Now, we need to consider how to maintain influence here."
"Mm."
Lot acknowledged.
Scotland was vast. With the threat of the Vortigern looming, they couldn't afford to divert forces here permanently.
Moreover, if they pushed too hard, Scotland's kingdoms might unite against them a scenario where even Camelot's armies would struggle.
"So, Lot, figure it out."
Morgan, ever the opportunist, dumped the problem onto him.
"I could devise a solution myself, but this is about nurturing your initiative, right?"
She even justified her laziness internally.
"You're unbelievable."
Lot shot her an exasperated look.
"Is that a no?"
Resting her chin on her hands, Morgan batted her eyelashes, her gaze dripping with allure.
Then, slipping off her shoe under the table (after ensuring no one was watching), she stretched her foot out
and traced slow circles on Lot's calf with her toes.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Stop using that trick."
Lot scowled.
Damn it. Teasing me when you won't even
"Fine. I'll think of something when we return. Happy?"
Morgan beamed, withdrawing her foot.
"Very!"
As expected, the best way to handle her husband was temptation.
...
While the group celebrated, a lone figure stood on the battlefield outside.
Tall, with flowing purple hair, clad in a bodysuit, and gripping a crimson spear
a woman of breathtaking beauty, exuding mature elegance.
Absolutely not an old hag.
Strolling through the carnage, she examined the bloodstains.
She touched a patch, then sniffed her fingers.
"These wouldn't be enough to kill me," she mused aloud.
Yet, her lips curled into intrigue.
"But they are interesting."
She decided to pay a visit to the woman who'd dared to boast.
To see just how much more she had up her sleeve.