Aside from recruitment, there was another way to increase the number of members in the Knights of the Round Table producing them internally.
Gawain, who was destined to grow up and become a member of the Knights of the Round Table in the future, could even be said to hold an extremely important position within the order.
But according to Lot's thinking,
having just one Gawain was far from enough.
In addition,
the "production" of Agravain, Gareth, and Mordred also needed to be accelerated.
(At this time, Morgan still didn't know that little Mordred wasn't actually Lot's child.)
They had to keep working hard.
Aim for one child per year, steadily strengthening the Knights of the Round Table's power.
Morgan rubbed her belly and thought to herself.
But for now, successfully recruiting Bedivere as one of her subordinate knights was already a significant achievement.
Bedivere's background was relatively clean, and there were no messy emotional entanglements to worry about.
The next step was to figure out how to solidify his loyalty.
Only then could he be used to her advantage.
In the future, he would become a solid brick in the construction of a great empire centered around Queen Morgan and King Lot, encompassing all of Britain, the Irish Isles, and the European continent.
Morgan did her best to mimic Lot's tone as she thought this.
"Hehe…"
Returning to the palace from the examination hall, Morgan couldn't help but break into a smile.
Her laughter made Lot, who was standing beside her, feel a bit uneasy.
Unable to hold back any longer, Lot finally asked Morgan, "What are you laughing about?"
[Has my wife been working too much lately, gotten too stressed, and now she's having a mental breakdown? That can't be the case, right?]
You, you're the one having a mental breakdown!
Your whole family's crazy…
Oh, wait, I'm part of that family.
Never mind.
She rolled her eyes at Lot and said, "Oh, I was just thinking about a certain bet I made with someone. Looks like I'm the winner. Now I'm trying to decide what to claim as my reward."
"I've got nothing to my name no money, and I'm not giving up my life either."
Lot spread his hands and replied to Morgan in an almost shameless tone.
Morgan's eyes widened.
"If you've got nothing, then what can you give me?"
She pressed him.
"What can I give…?" Hearing Morgan's question, Lot thought for a moment, then declared boldly, "All I've got is my body. Go ahead, ravage me. Don't hold back just because I'm the most handsome man in all of Britain."
"..."
Morgan couldn't take it anymore. She reached out and smacked Lot hard on the forehead.
Coincidentally, at that very moment, Artoria walked in, leading Gawain by the hand.
The three of them Artoria, Gawain, and Morgan locked eyes.
As Morgan's gaze grew increasingly dangerous, Artoria wisely chose to pretend she saw nothing.
"I didn't see anything."
With that, she let go of Gawain's hand and hurried out of the room.
She had made a tactical retreat.
This was not a fight she could win.
She hadn't seen anything.
And even if she had, she wouldn't dare say a word.
If she did, she'd be done for.
At the very least, Queen Morgan would lock her in a dark room for three days without food.
That was far too terrifying.
So she absolutely hadn't seen anything.
Meanwhile, Gawain, witnessing the scene, pointed at Morgan and then at Lot with a puzzled expression.
"Ohhh, so Daddy and Mommy like playing this game! How exciting!"
She giggled in her childish voice, covering the lower half of her face with her hands as her eyes darted around mischievously.
But as soon as she finished laughing, both Lot and Morgan turned to look at her.
Gradually, warm, benevolent smiles spread across their faces.
They approached her from both sides, blocking off all possible escape routes.
"Gawain, do you know how many wolves a child of mine should be able to handle at your age?"
Lot asked with a faint smile.
"H-how many?"
Sensing the danger in her father's tone, Gawain's voice trembled.
"Seven, of course!"
Lot declared.
And then…
What followed was the legendary parental double-team.
On this day, Gawain grew just a little bit wiser.
Outside, Artoria, who hadn't gone far, could still faintly hear the heart-wrenching cries of a Girl carried by the wind.
It sent shivers down her spine.
Faced with this situation,
the ever-righteous knight Artoria immediately chose to quicken her pace.
"My disciple… it's not that I won't save you, it's just that your master's abilities are insufficient."
She muttered silently in her heart.
Burdened with guilt, Artoria arrived at the knights' cafeteria and saw that today's lunch menu featured braised pork. With tears in her eyes, she ordered an extra-large portion.
As for why she needed an extra portion…
Well,
"Sir Gawain has been working hard on her swordsmanship and needs the nourishment."
As for why Gawain needed the nourishment but the meat ended up in Artoria's stomach instead
that was a question the cooks didn't dare ponder.
...
In the end, Morgan never did collect on that bet.
After all, Lot really had nothing to give her.
Fine, if you can't think of anything, you can just hand over our daughter as payment.
"And then, long before dinner, I'd get so annoyed that I'd send her right back to her father."
Morgan rolled her eyes as she responded to Lot's suggestion.
But compared to worrying about childcare right now,
what mattered most to Morgan was establishing a proper grassroots political system.
The personnel were already prepared.
Though Lot's "chickens and rabbits in the same cage" problem had been extremely difficult, some candidates had still managed to solve it.
And judging by their answers to the subsequent questions on local governance, they seemed reasonably competent.
So now, they had enough officials for the grassroots level.
With enough personnel in place,
what was left to wait for?
It was time to swiftly convert the nobles' territories into local administrations directly under the central government.
Morgan and Lot dispatched large numbers of examination-passed candidates to begin governing the regions.
As for higher-ranking officials, they couldn't be appointed so casually.
Fortunately, Lot had another source of bureaucrats
the officials from his former territory, Orkney.
Promotions everyone got promoted.
Lot hadn't ruled Orkney for just a day or two. He had long since molded the nobles and officials under him into his own image.
If Lot ordered those nobles to hand over their family fortunes now, these officials wouldn't hesitate much.
Why?
Because they knew that following Lot would bring them even greater rewards.
With these officials and the examination-selected candidates working together, the crisis caused by Morgan's purge of the nobility was successfully weathered.
At the same time,
thanks to the nobles' stockpiles of grain and wealth, Morgan and Lot now had a substantial amount of capital for development.
But that didn't mean there were no problems at all.
On the contrary, as time passed, the issues only grew more pressing.
And when it came to development, the most critical factor was food.
But in this era, Britain's agricultural output was steadily declining.
Even if they started reclaiming wasteland now, it would be too late to make a difference.
Relying on fishing was nothing more than a drop in the bucket.
After all, Britain's fishing fleet was limited, and the seas were filled with untold dangers. Venturing too far into the deep ocean risked encounters with monstrous creatures. The catches from fishing could only serve as a supplement they could never fully replace farmland.
"We must find a way to secure enough food."
Morgan sat in her office, deep in thought about how to proceed.
When assigning Orkney's officials, Lot had handled the governance. But now that the Orkney officials were in place, it was Morgan's turn to take over administrative affairs.
Morgan had an intense desire to rule, but Lot did not.
He was a staunch believer in the principle of minimal effort.
Dealing with government affairs day in and day out was far too mentally taxing he wanted no part of it.
If possible, he'd much rather spend his days cuddling with Morgan in bed.
He never wanted to leave the bedroom.
Handling politics was far too draining on the brain cells.
Us menfolk simply aren't cut out for this kind of work.
Faced with her lazy husband, Morgan felt both exasperated and fondly indulgent.
In the end, she had no choice but to personally oversee the government affairs herself.
Worry, nothing but worry.
Watching as food production plummeted across the regions,
Morgan grew increasingly anxious.
Right now, she was half-tempted to tear down the royal palace and turn it into farmland, just to squeeze out a little more grain.
Though the officials had been dispatched and were following Lot's plan to redistribute the nobles' lands to the peasants for cultivation,
it still wasn't enough.
Hurry up and figure out a way to solve this problem!!!!
Morgan screamed internally.
At the same time, she pondered:
What would that Lot do in this situation?
Morgan thought to herself.
Then, almost instinctively, she glanced over at Lot to see what he was up to.
And what she saw was Lot casually strolling past her window, a fishing rod slung over his shoulder.
It looked like
the man was going fishing.
How leisurely.
"..."
Morgan's expression turned peculiar.
This damn husband of hers!
As if sensing Morgan's gaze, Lot, who had been walking outside with his fishing rod, suddenly froze.
[A murderous aura!? Don't tell me there's an assassin in the palace!?]
His heart skipped a beat.
Then,
he saw Morgan's face, radiating such killing intent that it seemed she wanted to devour him alive.
Lot glanced at the mountain of documents piled in front of Morgan, then back at himself fishing rod on his back, a bucket in hand, the very picture of a nobleman enjoying a leisurely afternoon.
The way Morgan was looking at him now suggested she was seriously considering where to take her first bite.
Under that gaze, Lot weakly said, "Honey, you're not your sister. Cannibalism really isn't your style."
If Artoria had heard Lot and Morgan's conversation clearly, she would've vehemently protested.
These rumors are getting more and more outrageous.
At this rate, thanks to your slander, I a perfectly ordinary Knight of the Round Table will go down in history as a man-eating demon king.
"Then, Your Majesty Lot, would you care to explain what exactly you plan to accomplish with that outfit? Is it for the development of Camelot, perhaps?"
Hearing his wife's pointed question, Lot thought to himself:
[Of course it's for the nation's development! If I reel in something good, won't that propel the entire country forward by leaps and bounds?]
Morgan, who had been resting her chin on one hand, nearly faceplanted into the desk upon hearing Lot's inner monologue.
This husband of hers.
He actually believes it.
If Lot had said this out loud to Morgan, she wouldn't have batted an eye. After years together, she was long since used to his nonsense. If he claimed fishing was for the good of the people or even that it could destroy the world she wouldn't have been surprised.
But the fact that
he genuinely thought this in his heart
was what truly shocked her.
For a brief moment, Morgan even wondered if Lot had somehow figured out her ability to read his thoughts and was deliberately messing with her.
But upon reflection, that seemed unlikely.
She hadn't given herself away at all. If Lot had known, he wouldn't have been able to hide it from her.
So…
he really did believe it.
Fishing can save the nation?
Morgan didn't even know how to react.
Even if he went out and had the luckiest fishing trip imaginable, hauling in catches until nightfall, how much could he possibly bring back?
Enough to save the country?
He couldn't even feed a single family with that.
Of course,
by "family," she was including her little sister in the count.
Morgan sighed internally.
Seeing Morgan's speechless expression, Lot spoke up:
"Don't worry, when I come back tonight, I'll give you a surprise."
"Fine, let's see what surprise you bring me tonight."
Hearing Lot say this, what else could Morgan do?
She let him go.
After saying this and watching Lot walk away, Morgan wondered if she had been putting too much pressure on him. She quickly added:
"At least bring back enough fish for dinner."
The moment Morgan said this, Lot stumbled mid-step.
As everyone knows,
anglers can catch anything.
Even if Lot were to haul back an entire cow, it wouldn't be too difficult.
But the one thing an angler absolutely cannot catch is fish.
Even last time,
Lot didn't actually catch any fish.
What he hooked was just a plastic bucket.
As for how fish ended up inside that bucket well, that was anyone's guess.
Watching Lot leave, Morgan muttered under her breath:
"I'll just work a little harder later. Who told me to love you so much?"
Can't stay mad, can't hit him.
"Fine. After I finish handling these documents, I'll take my frustration out on his child."
Morgan thought to herself.
At that very moment, Gawain, who was practicing her swordsmanship, suddenly shivered.
"Why are you shivering?"
Artoria asked, eyeing Gawain curiously.
"I feel like something truly terrible is about to happen to me."
Gawain replied in a pleading tone.
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that."
Artoria said bluntly, relying on her instincts.
"Why not?"
"Because… the source of your danger can only come from one place."
When parents are present, all dangers are shielded by them.
Unless, of course, the danger comes from the parents themselves.
...
Let's not dwell on what suffering Gawain would endure that night.
Instead, let's focus on Lot.
With his fishing rod slung over his shoulder, he headed straight for the outskirts of the city.
The timing was about right he was hoping for a good haul this time.
Before stepping into the River of Time, he fervently prayed:
"Heaven and earth, God and Satan, Messiah, Buddha, Jade Emperor, Confucius bless me with a miracle this time."
Since it didn't cost anything, he figured he might as well cover all his bases.
Besides, invoking multiple deities might spark some healthy competition among them.
It was like how, in his past life, using Thunder download alone was slow.
But if you also opened Baidu Netdisk at the same time, Thunder's speed would suddenly skyrocket.
Once again, he stepped into the River of Time.
Its unchanging hue stood in stark contrast to the turbulent world outside.
Lot walked to the riverbank.
This time, he wanted to do things with a bit more ceremony.
Setting up a makeshift stool by the river, he skipped the baiting process and cast his line directly into the River of Time.
"Fishing requires proper form the cast must be perfect."
Saying this, Lot swung the rod and let the line fly.
Steady…
Steady…
No need to rush now.
Just wait patiently for something to bite.
Lot focused intently.
After a few seconds, he felt the rod grow heavy in his hands.
Good
Something's hooked.
Let it struggle a bit longer.
After a brief pause, Lot braced himself and hauled the rod upward with one arm, pulling his catch from the River of Time.
He closed his eyes,
savoring the anticipation of his own surprise.
Three…
Two…
One.
Eyes open.
Lot blinked, eager to see what he had caught.
In his hands
a sword dangled from the hook.
Not gold, not silver.
A blade with a black hilt, blue crossguard, and a blade that looked like it had been reforged from a spearhead.
At a glance, it wasn't particularly ornate.
Yet it exuded an overwhelming sense of grandeur.
"What kind of sword is this?"
Lot muttered, puzzled.
It looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.
Definitely not from Arthurian legend he knew all those blades.
So what was this?
He pondered deeply but still couldn't recall.
Then, he stepped forward and grasped the hilt.
The moment his fingers closed around it, ownership transferred to him.
Anything Lot pulled from the River of Time counted as his catch.
No matter who once wielded this sword, it now belonged to him.
As he lifted the blade, he froze for a few seconds.
Then, his expression shifted dramatically.
"Of all things this sword?"
Lot held the blade up to the light.
Joyeuse.
One of Europe's three great holy swords.
A peer to his sister-in-law's Excalibur and the hero Roland's Durandal.
The legendary weapon of Charlemagne, king of the Carolingian Empire
renowned as the "Golden Sword," the "Sword of Joy," the "Sword of the Earth."
But its most terrifying aspect?
Its blade was forged from the tip of the Holy Lance the spear that pierced Christ's side during the Crucifixion.
So while the sword might look unremarkable, its power was undeniable.
Legends claimed its wielder could conquer all of Europe.
(Of course, Charlemagne's greatness stemmed from his own prowess not just the sword.
But the blade was still a formidable artifact.)
Lot remembered another timeline where this very weapon, in Charlemagne's hands, could split into the arms of the Twelve Paladins.
"This might be the second-best thing I've ever fished up."
Lot mused silently.
As for the best?
That would be Galahad, of course.
No weapon could compare to a person's worth.
Slotting Joyeuse into a scabbard, Lot strapped it to his waist.
In this timeline, the sword lacked its continental symbolism
but the mere fact it housed the Holy Lance's tip would shock anyone who learned of it.
"Heh. Just wait until Morgan sees this surprise."
Lot grinned, patting the sword at his hip.
Sometimes, a weapon like this could tip the scales.
"Maybe I'll establish this blade's legend before Charlemagne even gets the chance."
With that thought, Lot withdrew from the River of Time.
He packed up his stool and rod.
No angler worth his salt would abandon gear, even after a legendary haul.
Time to head home.
Lot set off briskly for Camelot.
...
When Lot returned to the palace, Morgan was still agonizing over paperwork.
"So annoying~"
She was starting to regret becoming Camelot's queen.
Just then, she spotted Lot sauntering back in, fishing rod in tow.
The sight of his carefree demeanor made her grind her teeth again.
[Huh? Why do I still sense killing intent?]
Lot glanced warily at Morgan, who was glaring daggers at him.
"Back so soon?"
Morgan asked, her smile razor-thin.
This was far too quick for a fishing trip.
Had he given up and returned empty-handed?
"So? How was your haul today?"
She casually scanned his person.
Not a single fish in sight.
See? Slacking off gets you nowhere.
You should've stayed and helped me with these documents.
"I didn't catch a single fish."
Lot admitted freely.
Morgan's smile widened victoriously
until he continued:
"But I did find something far more valuable."
[Heh. Just wait for Morgan's reaction.]
Hearing his thoughts, Morgan's curiosity piqued.
"Oh? What could that be?"
If he thought it would shock her, she'd play along for now.
Lot proudly raised Joyeuse.
"Take a look, dear."
"This… sword?"
Morgan eyed the blade skeptically.
At first glance, it seemed unimpressive.
The craftsmanship was decent, but the design?
That blade looked like a repurposed spearhead.
"Did you pick this up off the ground to save face?"
She barely held back the jab, settling for:
"The blade's… unique. How does it handle in combat?"
"Exceptionally well despite looking like a spearhead."
Lot explained cheerfully.
Morgan rolled her eyes.
At least he's self-aware.
"Actually, it is a spearhead."
"…What?"
"But not just any spearhead."
Lot's tone turned solemn.
"Then whose spear?"
Morgan asked absently.
Some noble's heirloom?
Camelot's armory had plenty of those.
"It's the Holy Lance's tip."
"The Holy Lance? Pfft "
Morgan's dismissive smirk vanished mid-laugh.
Her eyes bulged as she stared at the sword.
"That's the Holy Lance's tip!?"
Her voice jumped an octave before she hastily lowered it.
"Keep your voice down. Yes, this blade houses the Holy Lance's tip.
Now tell me was this trip worth it?"
Lot basked in Morgan's stunned expression.
She huffed at his smugness but couldn't deny the sword's value.
"Worth it? This is beyond worth it!
Wow, you've outdone yourself."
Neither Lot nor Morgan were particularly devout
but they couldn't ignore the power behind relics tied to Christ.
A blade forged from the weapon that pierced Him?
That was priceless.
"So this sword is yours now?"
Morgan eyed Joyeuse hungrily.
"Absolutely. No take-backs."
Lot offered it to her.
"But if you want it, it's yours."
"Please. I'm a mage what would I do with a sword?"
Morgan declined, then frowned.
"Wait how did you even get this?"
"That's a secret."
Lot winked.
[I'll tell her about my 'cheat' when the time's right.]
Cheat?
What's that?
Another cryptic term to file away.
Shaking off the distraction, Morgan's eyes gleamed.
"Speaking of which… can you fetch more relics like this?
Gungnir, the Spear of Cassius I'm not picky.
Imagine equipping our entire inner circle with them."
Lot nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Are you treating divine relics like cabbages at a market?
If it were that easy, I'd have done it already!"
"…Right."
Morgan conceded the point, then grew serious.
"Still guard this sword well. And keep it quiet for now.
Let's save the surprise for our enemies."
"Obviously. You're the only one I'd tell."
Lot loved nothing more than an ambush.
This blade would likely be reserved for Vortigern.
A single strike when he least expected it
far deadlier than last time's bullet.
With their scheme set, Morgan's frustration over Lot's excursion melted away.
But as her excitement faded, the mountain of documents reclaimed her attention.
"Still… none of this solves our immediate problems.
The paperwork won't finish itself."
She sighed, leaning against Lot.
What were husbands for, if not to complain to?