Temporary camp of Arthur's Army.
They were currently laying the foundation for a new kingdom called Logres, constructing Castle Camelot, which would one day be the glorious capital.
But until the castle was completed, they had to constantly patrol the surrounding plains and forests, hunting down remnant Saxon forces and continue living in tents.
Of course, there was an actual town, so living outdoors wasn't strictly necessary. But the Saxons wouldn't let that stand, so they had to take the lead and fight.
Evening meal time, after a bloody battle had ended.
In the center of the clearing lit by hundreds of torches, several huge iron cauldrons hung, ready to serve the soldiers.
Only the crackle-crackle of burning firewood filled the quiet camp; no one showed the usual expectation or vitality before a meal.
Instead, the smell rising from the pots didn't whet the hunger of the famished soldiers—instead it prompted deep, heavy sighs.
"Alright, today's rations! Fresh eel dishes, just caught from the nearby river! Don't leave a scrap—clear your plates!"
The soldiers who cooked shouted in lifeless voices, shoveling the contents of the cauldrons with ladles and dumping them into the soldiers' bowls.
Calling it a dish was an insult to the ingredients: whipping out eels crawling on the riverbed, barely removing their entrails, chopping them into large chunks, and then boiling them in plain water with a handful of salt—that was the horrific result.
Moreover, due to the delay in large-scale distribution, the eel skins and bones had burst in the pot, releasing collagen.
As it cooled in the cold night air, the broth had turned into a grayish, translucent, gooey eel jelly.
"...Haah."
In front of the king's tent.
Artoria looked down at the eel jelly, glossy and reeking of river slime, and at the roughly salted whitish lumps of potatoes on her tray, and let out a deep sigh.
Originally, Artoria had been a divine gourmand, a food streamer goddess who could effortlessly devour the share of ten Knights of the Round Table.
Back when Kay would cook mountain-high piles of juicy wild boar barbecue, spicy, rich meat stews, freshly baked bread redolent of butter, and fruit tarts slathered with honey—at that table, she would always sparkle-eyed finish three bowls, four bowls, and smile in bliss.
But in the past five years since he disappeared...
Britain's barren wartime rations had completely destroyed her delicate palate and the joy of eating.
'It tastes horrible. Like chewing on a fishy eraser. And the texture—why is it so slimy...'
Artoria poked at the eel jelly with a wooden spoon, squeezed her eyes shut, and forced a chunk into her mouth.
With nothing to chew, it slid slimily down her throat, and her stomach let out a small scream.
She couldn't show weakness by leaving food on her plate before her soldiers as king, so driven solely by obligation to survive, she moved her jaws mechanically.
Beside her, Lily was in the same state: her usual polite, bright smile gone, she picked at the dust-dry mashed potato lumps with the tip of her spoon, swallowing tears.
"Ugh..."
"Clamp your nose and swallow it without chewing. Don't let your tongue touch it."
At this gruesome table scene, the soldiers were enduring torture, not savoring food.
A little distance away, Bedivere watched this scene with a bitter expression and downed a glass of sour ale in one gulp.
"Khrg... Who knew this nasty cheap ale would become my only salvation."
To wash down the foul-tasting food, the soldiers and knights gulped down the bitter, acidic ale—as they would otherwise never touch it—like they were drinking life itself.
Any laughter or harmony that should have filled a meal had long since vanished from this table.
"Tch, this isn't a meal. It's just fodder."
"If only Lord Kay were here... he'd have filleted and fried these muddy-tasting eels, tossed them in amazing seasonings... I miss it so much."
"He did it before, remember? That eel roast. It was a delicacy you couldn't find anywhere in Britain. I miss it more than ever today."
The few veteran mercenaries who had fought alongside Kay since his time chewed the hardened eel jelly quietly and called out his name.
"Sir Bedivere! Here, don't just drink alone—try my special dish too!"
At that moment, Gawain, oblivious to the gloomy mood of the camp, came bounding over to Bedivere with a bright grin, proudly carrying a huge pot piled high with some white mashed potato concoction.
"Today it's Gawain's own mashed potatoes! I've carefully mashed the potatoes and added just the slightest pinch of salt to maximize the sublime, natural flavor of the potato—a top-tier nourishing meal! How is it? His Majesty never leaves a grain behind when it's my cooking. Ha ha ha ha!"
Gawain firmly believed—without a shred of doubt—that his cooking skills were the best among the knights.
The oblivious Knight of the Sun didn't realize that Artoria emptied her tray through tears solely out of duty to the crown and starvation.
Bedivere looked at the dry, flavorless lump—a mass like flour—and forced a hollow laugh.
Sadly, Gawain was the only one in Arthur's Army who could bring ingredients to the table without burning them into unrecognizable form.
Other knights, including Bedivere himself, were masters of the blade on the battlefield, but total disasters in the kitchen—so they didn't dare complain about Gawain's cooking.
"...Thank you, Sir Gawain. But every time... I can't help but ache with longing for Sir Kay."
"Hmm? You mean the one you said vanished into that other world?"
Gawain took a big bite of his own stodgy potatoes and cocked his head.
"I hear he performs incredible magic when he picks up a kitchen knife. Was he really better at cooking than my perfect mashed potatoes?"
Gawain's innocent, proud question.
Bedivere was nearly speechless, but he couldn't say the brutal truth that Gawain's dish was below wartime rations.
He took a silent swig of sour ale and began to speak softly.
"Sir Gawain's cooking... is excellent fuel for the soldiers to swing their swords tomorrow. I don't deny it. But... in Sir Kay's cooking, there was emotion."
Bedivere's gaze drifted up to the star-strewn night sky. Faint memories from five years earlier shimmered before him like a mirage.
"At the table he set... fear melted away from the soldiers' eyes in front of Saxon spears, and everyone could laugh like one family. It wasn't just taste. The warmth of the stew that thawed frozen hands, the scent of crisp meat pies that carried them through hard training... his kitchen was the only sanctuary allowed in this hellish Britain."
Bedivere's mournful voice rode on the smoke of the campfires, dispersing into the heavy night air.
"Perhaps... the true golden age when our Army of Arthur was happiest and strongest isn't now, when we build a vast kingdom and a grand castle... but those days when Lord Kay whistled by the cauldron, cooking for us at the sight of Britain."
Having heard Bedivere's soliloquy, Gawain set down his spoon in a daze.
Silence settled over the camp.
Though they were building a great kingdom called Logres, the knights and soldiers were going through the longest night with emptier stomachs and hollower hearts than ever.
All too painfully aware of only one absence: the one cook who had filled their souls.
Meanwhile, at the same time, a very different bloody drama of passion was unfolding in the royal court in North Wales.
Lancer Alter, her reason lost, pointed her spear at Kay and issued a savage declaration.
"Fine. In that case, Brother Kay! I formally challenge you to a duel! If you can't conquer me by force, go at once and quietly accept me as your lover in the bedroom!"
Lancer Alter was secretly confident of victory.
Five years ago, Kay's strength was respectable, but nothing compared to hers, and he'd always been endlessly gentle and soft with his younger sisters.
She doubted he would ever truly harm her, so she made a flimsy calculation that he'd give up fighting and accept her demand.
But.
"Is that so? Let me test exactly how strong you've become leading a mercenary band."
"Huh...?"
Kay's gaze hardened, returning to that cold warrior look he'd had while training under Scáthach.
In the next instant, a colossal golden axe appeared in Kay's hand.
Too huge and brutal to merely call an axe—a legendary golden axe said to be used by the Amazon queen, measuring nearly two meters long, a massive, fearsome weapon.
It was Hippolyta's Axe.
The brutish lump of metal slammed into the ground of the training field, cracking the earth with a tremendous tremor.
"...?! O... brother? That monstrous axe, what on earth..."
Lancer Alter stumbled backward in confusion.
At that moment, a tale she'd heard from her mercenary subordinate flickered through her mind.
'Chief. Have you heard that story? I heard from an acquaintance knight that after decisively defeating a proud female knight in a duel, he took that knight as his wife. They say defeat is a humiliation, but through that defeat, it led to love.'
'Right! That's it!'
Lancer Alter cheered inwardly.
Kay stood holding the brutish golden axe. What if she fought just enough to collapse pitifully?
He'd worry, scoop her into his arms, and at that moment, tears in his eyes, declare that her body and heart were his.
She'd outshine those pesky fox sisters and, as the perfect, tragic heroine of defeat, monopolize Kay's love.
'Alright. I'll give you a perfect, seductive defeat.'
Grinning, Lancer Alter deliberately relaxed the magic on her spear and charged at Kay with delicate grace.
"Come on, brother! And take my body—at your pleasure—!"
But.
Kay didn't notice the cutesy honey trap tactic from his sister at all.
All he saw was his younger sister's valiant effort—the daughter of Celtic blood who had honed her skills in the north of Britain.
Kugugugugu!!!
Kay's muscles bulged, and the golden axe tore through the air as it swung down.
There was no mercy, romance, or compromise in that strike—only pure, unadulterated violence, like a massive mountain falling from the sky.
"…Huh?"
The instant Lancer Alter saw the overwhelming, remorseless trajectory of the axe descending toward her.
Her romantic defeat scenario vanished completely.
'Oh no. If that hits me, I'm dead.'
No tragic yielding—if she took that blow, her upper and lower body would be parted forever.
Sensing her life at stake, Lancer Alter instinctively drew upon the Dragon's Heart to its limit and channeled all her magic into her spear to form a defense stance.
"Wait, wait, brother!! Are you serious?!!"
"Well if you're Celt, answer properly!!!"
Kwaaahhhhh!!!!
A colossal golden explosion rocked the North Welsh palace.
It was the moment Brother Kay's merciless full swing shattered his sister's adorable courtship (sparring) with pure force.
Kukuu, kukugugung!!!!
"Hmph, what insane strength is this?! Rivaling or even surpassing mine?!"
Lancer Alter barely managed to block his strike with her spear. But the power behind Kay's downward swing made her arms and legs tremble.
Purely in terms of raw physical prowess, she outclassed most, and among the sisters was the best. Yet in strength, she was being outmatched by Kay.
Then Kay's eyes flashed, and his hefty knee kick struck.
Wham!!!
"Kugh!?"
Lancer Alter was driven backward by the blow. Kay tossed the axe over his shoulder and regained his stance.
"Wait, wait! Are you planning a real life-or-death decision?!"
"Recently."
In response to Lancer Alter's question, he answered earnestly.
"After seeing that fellow Taquin violate Alter... I felt like I'd spoiled you too much. No matter how precious family is, I should have raised you tougher. I left your training entirely to Merlin, so I think I was too soft. You Celts, Britons by blood, should have been raised as warriors, not lambs. Merlin is just a mage who can swing a sword."
"What does that—"
"I understand now why Scáthach trained me so harshly. It's because I couldn't stand seeing someone dear to me get hurt by others. So I'm going to do the same. I can't bear watching you geniuses be beaten by people you don't even know. If you're truly gifted, shouldn't you be stronger than me?"
Kuguguguk...!
His grip on the axe grew tighter; his body began to swell as his muscles bulged. Heat and steam emanated from him.
He was raising his heart rate, accelerating blood flow, generating heat, boosting his physical abilities; the constitution manifested through long effort, hormones secreted by his brain causing his muscles to temporarily swell.
"So I won't treat you softly anymore. Don't worry. Even if you get hurt, Tamamo can heal you instantly. Of course, you'll still be hurt, but I won't sever any of your limbs—don't worry. I'll control the strength."
"What the heck—?"
Then Kay's eyes glowed red.
'There's a wall you can't surpass with just fundamentals...'
'So what? Instead of an original technique, you're saying you'll teach me another art?'
'Exactly. It's a technique even the gods praised. My specialty is spear, so it never suited me, but for you using axe and sword it'll fit. A martial art that's both a Noble Phantasm and a skill. Of course, even if you work all your life, it's doubtful you can use more than a fragment. You probably can't.'
'Then it's pointless.'
'Kay, I gave you wisdom. Use that wisdom, and you'll be able temporarily to manipulate that fragment. I don't like loopholes, but I'll permit it for you.'
'A special allowance, huh.'
'Instead, don't go get hurt in Britain. This is a promise akin to Geass.'
"...Do it with all your might, and sincerely. If you don't, something awful will happen."
Creeeep!
Kay's entire demeanor shifted, and Lancer Alter's senses screamed...
If she couldn't block or dodge, she'd die.
Then he charged. That massive axe was swung.
"[Gashky: Nine Lives]"
Almost simultaneously, nine strikes whirled like a dragon.