After a night's rest, Arthur washed up and was led to the dining hall by Lancelot in his usual daze, waiting for breakfast.
I have to say, last night's experience was truly memorable.
After their victorious return yesterday, the nobles had spontaneously organized a celebration banquet to reward the soldiers. Even the civilians, who had little to do with the battle, sang and danced in praise of Arthur's strength, celebrating this significant victory. The entire city of Camelot was in a carnival-like mood.
Arthur, however, didn't think a small victory warranted such celebration and remained indifferent at first.
Until—Gawain handed him a glass of ale with a silly smile on his face, and things quickly got out of control.
Knights and nobles came up one after another, continually refilling Arthur's cup. It wasn't a big deal—Arthur could drink well and keep his sanity even when drunk—but the smell of the beer made him seriously question his life choices.
Had he not confirmed several times that this was truly Camelot's finest ale, he would have sworn they were trying to poison him.
That was why he looked so ill early that morning.
After a while, a golden-haired servant entered with breakfast and respectfully placed the plate in front of Arthur. His face turned completely dark.
"Mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes again!" he groaned and collapsed back into his chair.
It had been a month, right?
After dismissing the unreliable servants, Gawain had volunteered to serve as "royal chef." Breakfast was mashed potatoes. Lunch was mashed potatoes. Dinner was mashed potatoes again.
Even the simplest roast—burnt or otherwise—was nowhere to be found.
For a whole month, Arthur repeated to himself, "I am poor, I am poor, I am poor," and bore it. But after last night's hellish brew, his patience finally snapped.
"No! No! I don't want mashed potatoes aaah..." His tone was so sorrowful that anyone hearing it would cry.
Since Arthur took over Camelot, he had invited close knights, Morgan, Artoria, and others to every meal, along with Merlin, who often came uninvited.
So Arthur's reaction immediately drew everyone's attention.
"Little Arthur…" Morgan's heart broke.
She remembered when Arthur was with her—no matter what they ate, wore, traveled in, or where they lived, it was always of the highest standard. Now, thinking back, it seemed her long-cherished wish had come true. Since entering Camelot, her standard of living had dropped significantly. She was no longer as well cared for as she had been at her private castle.
Most importantly, she had been eating mashed potatoes alongside Arthur for every meal this past month.
Looking at the mashed potatoes and Gawain, she felt a wave of nausea.
What a rebellious son!
Not to mention the other knights. It's one thing to endure a little grievance, but to let the king suffer such treatment—though an honor—was a shame. And Gawain, you (British swear word), actually dared to make the king show such an expression? You (British swear word)!
For a moment, Morgan and the other knights formed a rare united front, casting murderous glances at Gawain.
Even if Gawain was slow, he could sense their anger.
Actually, he wasn't slow—just a little stupid.
Raising his hands awkwardly, he said, "Well… if that's not enough, there's more in the kitchen. I made a lot. You can eat as much as you want. Um, mashed potatoes."
Fuck your mashed potatoes!
We want bread, we want barbecue!
Probably the only one who didn't complain much about mashed potatoes was Artoria.
The princess was a big eater. A very big eater.
"Ahem! Sorry, I said something out of turn just now. Don't mind it—just sit down and have your meal." Arthur's face was pale as he took a bite, suppressing his nausea.
Seeing this, though everyone was sad and angry, they had no choice but to let Gawain go for now.
However, Gawain noticed something unusual about Arthur.
"King Arthur, you don't seem to be in good shape today. Would you like to take a day to rest?"
"No, I just drank too much beer yesterday. If there's a next time, drink as much as you want. Don't worry about me," Arthur waved him off.
In truth, when he woke up that morning, he felt as if his brain had been stabbed by a sword multiple times. He vaguely remembered having a troublesome dream the night before—not a nightmare, but deeply uncomfortable.
But after waking, he couldn't recall the details.
Oh, a dream?
"Merlin, did you sleep well last night?"
Could it be that guy?
It shouldn't be. Merlin usually visited Artoria every night. How could he have time to bother me?
"I'm sorry to trouble you, my king. After hearing the news of yesterday's victory, I felt more at ease than ever before and slept very soundly," Merlin answered, smiling with an unusual lightness.
"..." Arthur was speechless for a moment, then suddenly came to his senses and said unhappily, "I've already told you—just call me by my name. Hearing you call me 'my king' makes me sick."
"Oh my, you say such sad things again. King Arthur is really heartless. Sob~ Sob~"
"It's just words... Are you kidding me? If you want to pretend to cry, at least squeeze out two tears! And even 'King Arthur' can't do that!"
"Eh? You're so willful, then—Your Majesty?"
"Shut up!"
——————
One week later.
Swish—swish—
In the garden of Camelot Castle, the sound of slicing air continued steadily.
Artoria, dressed in a princess gown and wielding an iron sword, was doing her daily exercises. However, she seemed more absent-minded than usual.
The main distraction was Merlin, who sat on a broken stone not far away, leaning on his wand with lifeless eyes.
She recalled that a month ago, although Artoria had not drawn the Sword of Selection, Merlin still trained her with the strictest standards. She put all her effort into each session, while the magician watched with a gentle smile until training was complete.
Occasionally, Merlin would spar with her in actual combat practice.
But ever since Arthur's triumphant return a week ago, Merlin's state had declined.
Though he still accompanied her in training, his attention no longer focused on her.
He sat quietly in a daze, occasionally breaking into a disgusting, silly smile.
"Merlin, what's wrong with you lately? You seem like a different person. No magician in this era could influence your spirit so easily."
"Ah? I'm fine, don't worry, Artoria. Just train on your own. I've found something more interesting lately, and I'm obsessed with it," Merlin answered mysteriously.