"Ahem, Your Majesty Scáthach, we are civilized people. Our way isn't about violence it's about connections and mutual understanding."
Seeing Scáthach raise her spear, Lot hurriedly spoke up.
If it were anyone else daring to point a weapon at Morgan like this, Lot wouldn't have hesitated.
He'd have already drawn his sword and fought back.
But
This was Scáthach!
A woman who had slain gods.
Who wouldn't be terrified?
If Lot's combat prowess was a one, then Scáthach's martial skill was easily a five or higher.
And that wasn't even counting everything else.
If you factored in her magecraft, her runes, and all her other abilities…
The gap became even wider.
Lot was far from being a match for Scáthach.
Even with Morgan at his side, it wouldn't be enough.
Maybe a Morgan who had become the true ruler of Britain could stand a chance but not the current one.
So, Lot opted for diplomacy.
"Oh? I don't know much about connections or mutual understanding."
Scáthach smiled faintly.
Then
She swung her spear, attacking both Lot and Morgan in one fluid motion.
Seeing that crimson lance thrust toward them, Lot knew he stood no chance but to protect Morgan, he charged forward anyway.
He raised his sword to block.
Yet, in the next instant, the scarlet spear tip was already at his throat.
"I'll give you one more chance to react."
Scáthach withdrew her spear and spoke calmly.
Then
She attacked again.
No time to think. Lot slashed toward the arc of her sweeping spear.
This time
His sword did clash with her spear.
But the impact sent a sharp pain through his wrist, nearly making him drop his blade.
"Pathetic. Your skills are too crude you're not even a true warrior."
Scáthach retracted her spear and shook her head in disappointment.
[Even a real warrior wouldn't stand a chance against you, you old ]
Hearing Lot's inner monologue, Morgan nearly laughed.
This woman had terrified her Lot so much that he didn't even dare think too disrespectfully.
But her amusement lasted only a second before she turned back to Scáthach, her expression hardening into hostility.
How dare this woman treat my husband like this!
I won't let this slide!
Even knowing she couldn't win, Morgan refused to hide behind Lot.
Just as she was about to retaliate, Scáthach raised a hand.
"Don't interfere. In your current state, if we really fought, I might accidentally harm the child in your womb."
Scáthach's gaze shifted back to Lot.
"Now, pick up your sword again. I do care about what was said earlier. If you can't prove yourself worthy, I won't let you off so easily."
"Tch…"
Lot gritted his teeth and lifted his blade.
Now wasn't the time to argue that it was Morgan who'd made the remark, not him.
Whatever trouble his wife caused, he'd take responsibility for it.
[But once this is over… I'm definitely spanking Morgan's ass when we get back to our room.]
As he gripped his sword, that thought flashed through his mind.
"Even in a situation like this, this is what you're thinking about!?"
Morgan didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Then, watching Lot who was less fighting and more getting beaten up she grew frantic.
I need a plan.
Running? Impossible.
Even if she weren't slowing him down, there was no way Lot could escape Scáthach.
Calling for help?
Morgan considered it.
Alone, they stood no chance.
But if they gathered reinforcements Galahad, Artoria, even that old swindler Merlin they might just be able to take on the Queen of the Land of Shadows.
But then she realized
It's impossible.
Scáthach's runes had already sealed off the area.
No distress signal would get through.
While she was still thinking, Lot and Scáthach exchanged two more "exchanges" if you could even call them that.
The first time, his sword was knocked from his hand before he could even react.
The second time, he lasted two moves before his blade was deflected, and the spear slammed into his shoulder.
After being humiliated twice, Lot couldn't help but feel disheartened.
[What the hell do you want!? If you're going to kill me, just get it over with! Stop treating me like a punching bag! I'll have you know, Scáthach, there's never been a sandbag as handsome as me. Keep this up, and I will get angry!]
[You just want to die, right? Fine, I admit I can't do that now! But just you wait once I get my hands on something that can kill you, you'll regret this!]
Gritting his teeth, he picked up his sword again.
Meanwhile, hearing his thoughts, Morgan's eyes lit up.
He's right.
There's no way Scáthach would come after us for no reason.
Just because of what I said earlier?
Unlikely.
People in Scotland probably say worse things all the time.
It's like how back in England, I've heard folks curse God without consequence.
If she punished every insult, she'd have no time for anything else.
And according to rumors, the Queen of the Land of Shadows isn't that petty.
So
She must think we can give her what she wants.
Yes.
That has to be it.
With that realization, Morgan called out to Scáthach, who was preparing to strike again:
"Stop! If you keep this up, you'll never get your wish!"
Hearing this, Scáthach lowered her spear, intrigued.
Lot, of course, had no intention of provoking her further.
"You claim to know my wish… and that you can grant it?"
Scáthach's voice was calm, but her interest was clear.
Truthfully, that was why she'd come.
But upon seeing Lot a man with potential yet wasted talent she couldn't resist teaching him a lesson.
Call it… professional curiosity.
Lot's natural aptitude was better than even he realized.
After all, Gawain and the others inherited their gifts from him.
He just lacked a proper teacher, a worthy weapon, and thanks to his unremarkable place in history a subconscious belief that he was inferior to others.
That was why he couldn't fully utilize his potential.
Scáthach had enjoyed correcting him.
But now that Morgan had brought up the real matter, she set it aside.
"Yes. I know your wish."
Morgan stepped forward, meeting Scáthach's wine-red eyes.
The pressure was immense, but she endured it.
So what if you're the Queen of the Land of Shadows?
One day, I'll be the Queen of Britain and I'll be far greater than you.
As Lot would say… It's time to go all in.
Win, and we live like kings.
Lose, and we serve like kings.
Though she still wasn't entirely sure what "serve like kings" meant.
Steadying herself, Morgan spoke.
"You want to die, don't you?"
Her bluntness made Lot wonder if she'd just teleported in from Zaun.
But to Scáthach, it wasn't an insult it was the truth.
"Indeed. I've never hidden that."
Scáthach nodded.
"Then if you keep attacking my husband, I guarantee you'll never get what you want."
Morgan's voice was firm.
"Oh?"
Scáthach's interest deepened.
Lot, meanwhile, stared at Morgan in shock.
[Is she saying that once she becomes Britain's ruler, she'll have the power to kill Scáthach!? If so, Scáthach would spare us her only desire is death. If we can offer that, she'd agree to anything.]
[But becoming Britain's ruler… won't be easy.]
Ah, thank you. I didn't even realize I could be that strong.
And Scáthach would agree to anything, huh?
Good to know.
"Right now, Lot and I are just starting out. We have endless room to grow. If you kill us now, you'll never see the version of us that can fulfill your wish."
Morgan's declaration made Scáthach smile.
"Go on."
This was exactly what she'd hoped to hear.
Morgan's potential was undeniable. If she truly became the Isle's ruler, her power would eclipse even Scáthach's maybe even enough to kill her.
And then there was Lot.
There was a mystery about him she couldn't fathom a sense of "time" clinging to him.
His martial talent was decent…
But that mystery made his future limitless.
"Once I become Britain's ruler, killing you will be trivial."
Morgan stepped closer.
"Queen of the Land of Shadows… Let's make a bet."
"What kind?"
"Spare us now. Help us unify Scotland. And when I do become Britain's ruler… Lot and I will fulfill your wish. Deal?"
[Damn, Morgan. You're scamming Scáthach!]
[Truly, my wife is brilliant.]
Lot could only marvel at her audacity.
His wife's shamelessness was… impressive.
"Very well."
Scáthach's smile widened.
She knew what Morgan was doing.
But to her, it didn't matter as long as she got what she wanted.
Once Morgan ruled Britain, she wouldn't refuse Scáthach's death.
(And if she did? Well, Scáthach had waited millennia. A few more decades meant nothing.)
"Now, how exactly should I help you control Scotland? Surely you don't expect me to fight for every castle?"
Perfect!
Morgan seized the opportunity.
"Oh, nothing that troublesome."
"Then what?"
"How about… you become my sister?"
Morgan grinned.
"In the distant East, there's a tradition called sworn siblinghood where people vow to become brothers or sisters, even without shared blood. So, Your Majesty… shall we swear an oath?"
The idea came from one of Lot's stories. Now, it was paying off.
"An… interesting proposal."
Scáthach considered it then smiled.
"Does that mean you agree?"
Morgan barely contained her excitement.
We won.
Lot and I are going to live like kings.
…I'll ask him what that means later.
"Of course."
Scáthach's acceptance left Lot stunned.
[Holy hell. She actually did it.]
…
With most of the gods dead (thanks to Scáthach), the oath-swearing ceremony was brief.
Once it was done, Scáthach dispelled her runes.
Morgan and Lot were safe.
And now that they were…
"Sister Scáthach, have you ever tried Orkney's cuisine? Let me treat you!"
Morgan wasn't about to let the Queen of the Land of Shadows slip away that easily.