84 Chapter 83: Morgan's resolve
(Titus's POV)
After our initial clash, Morgan refrained from challenging me for a week. I proposed sparring sessions, but she insisted on strategizing for our ultimate showdown. I respected her need for preparation and patiently awaited the designated time.
Finally, the day arrived, and there I stood, facing my wife, Morgan Pendragon. Her hair, tied in a ponytail, danced in rhythm with the grass, creating the sole melody on the battlefield. The determination in her firm gaze spoke volumes about her confidence in claiming victory.
"Milord, you've driven me to the edge. Today, you shall taste defeat!" Morgan declared with resolute determination, brandishing her sword.
"Is that so?" I smirked, unsheathing my own sword. "Prove yourself, Morgan Pendragon—the rightful ruler of the British Isles!"
Morgan reciprocated the smirk and, after a deep breath, launched herself at me.
*Cling!*
Our blades clashed, but in the next moment, my sword yielded ground.
*Clang!*
My eyes widened as Morgan effortlessly redirected my sword with astonishing strength. The force required to counter my strike was comparable to that of a bear, and Morgan's seemingly delicate frame concealed the perfect amount of power.
Underestimating her proved to be my folly, but I regained control of my sword. However, when my attention returned to Morgan, all I saw was the front of her boot.
*BAM!*
In mid-air, I questioned my situation. "What the…?" I didn't even know when her kick connected my face.
"Wohoo! Sister looks awesome! Go sister!" cheered Artoria. Admittedly, Morgan did exude a certain coolness.
Yet, I was a Viking through and through. Flipping my massive body in the air, I landed on my feet, sending tremors through the ground.
"I am not easy prey!" I roared, charging at Morgan.
"!!" Morgan's face shifted to panic. It was understandable facing a charging rhino of my stature.
However, her lips curled into a small grin, and by then, it was too late. She swiftly slammed her foot, causing a plank to rise just before my feet. Unable to sustain my momentum, I stumbled but rolled to avoid falling. Dust enveloped me, revealing that I had unwittingly ended up in a dusty spot intentionally led by the cunning fairy.
Instead of charging at me, Morgan opted for a different strategy, throwing a cloud of dust into the air. Reacting swiftly, I raised my sword to disperse the dust, only to notice a disturbance in the haze—a blade aimed directly at my neck.
"Heh!" I smirked, attempting to block the blade, but to my surprise, there was no one behind it. "What the…"
"So, this is her trick," Understanding her ploy, I quickly grabbed what seemed to be Morgan's leg, anticipating a kick from behind. However, it turned out to be a clever ruse—a decoy with a widened plank, Morgan's trouser sleeve, and boot.
"HA!" Not from the front, nor the back, but from above. Morgan descended like an eagle, her sword poised for a decisive strike.
*Chin!*
The sword in my hand was swiftly cut, and I felt it drop.
On the other side, Morgan gracefully stood, raising her sword triumphantly. "You lose."
I smiled and nodded, conceding, "Yes, I lost."
Despite employing only the strength and skills of a slightly above-average warrior, it was undeniable that Morgan had defeated me fair and square. For a young girl who had never wielded a blade before, it was an impressive achievement.
Approaching Morgan, who wore a proud smile, I couldn't help but tease, "Hehe, my wife looks really cute. How about smiling more often? I might consider lowering the difficulty level."
"Hmph, I shan't be underestimated. There's no obstacle I cannot overcome," Morgan huffed, looking away with rosy cheeks.
"Finally catching on to the hints, eh?" I smirked.
No magecraft, no traps—those were the rules. I made it clear to Morgan that pre-battle traps were off-limits. Traps usually came second in the arsenal, requiring knowledge of the enemy's weaknesses. However, I never specified anything about leveraging the surroundings to set up a trap. Morgan, cunning as ever, led me to a dusty spot in the midst of a grassy plain, turning the very ground beneath me into a strategic disadvantage.
The ban on "Apparent Magecraft" was in place too. Flashy attacks were out of the question. Yet, my stipulations didn't cover enchanting limbs for enhanced strength and agility. After all, if it wasn't visibly shown, how could one know? Morgan exploited this loophole with finesse.
"It wasn't that challenging to figure out. I just crafted enhancement spells for my limbs and delved into dueling strategies," Morgan explained.
In terms of magecraft, Morgan, if not superior, was on par with Merlin. With a bit of guidance, she could elevate her skills at will—a testament to her intelligence.
A silence settled between us as our eyes locked. The wind tousled our hair, yet it failed to disrupt our connection.
I gently placed a hand on Morgan's head, stroking her hair. "Morgan Pendragon, you've performed admirably. I'm proud of you for passing this test."
"Un," Morgan blushed and nodded in acknowledgment.
Praising a child for their achievements is crucial—no room for dismissal or attributing success to mere luck. Morgan deserved this compliment, a boost to her confidence. In that moment, I glimpsed a reflection of my younger self, passing Scathach's tests.
I even pondered Scathach's possible existence in this era, given Scotland's proximity to Orkney. But for now, my focus remained on Morgan.
"What's wrong?" I inquired, noticing her immobility. Her legs trembled, on the verge of giving way.
"Milord, truth be told, these enhancements have taken their toll on my body. I... I can't move," Morgan confessed, her embarrassment evident as her face flushed. "C-Can you assist me?"
"Of course," I nodded, preparing to lift her when a storm approached.
"SISTER! UNCLE!!!!!!" A small child dashed toward us.
"Artoria, you fool! Don't run— UGH!"
"You're awesome, sister!!!!" Ignoring Morgan's predicament, Artoria launched herself at her big sister.
The little one intended an affectionate embrace, but her tiny dragon head collided precisely with Morgan's belly, spearing Morgan in the air and inadvertently defeating the fairy lady.
KO!
"HEHE! Sister! You were so cool! My sister is awesome! My sister is the best!" Artoria continued to shower her sister with affection, unaware of Morgan had already passed away.
"These two are an odd pair," I chuckled, shaking my head. With a smile, I decided to carry both of them back to my castle. It was time to head home.
---
(3rd Person's POV)
Seated at the table, Morgan found herself sharing space with her two-year-old sister, the enthusiastic Artoria Pendragon.
"UNCLE, FOOD!! UNCLE, FOOD!!" Artoria shook utensils in her tiny hands, a fervent chant accompanying her antics.
Morgan felt the urge to scold Artoria for her inappropriate behavior, but she decided to let it slide for now. Not out of fear or trauma; she just didn't want to spoil the festive atmosphere. Following the successful completion of the first test set by King Lot, her husband had promised a feast, one that he personally prepared.
King Lot's culinary skills were commendable. Morgan, who had previously sampled only bread and porridge, found herself surprised by the exquisite taste. However, Morgan wasn't a huge fan of human-prepared meals. Usually, she'd either summon a local fairy for culinary assistance or handle the cooking herself. Enduring her husband's meals had, to some extent, heightened her tolerance for human cuisine.
Lost in thought, Morgan was suddenly assaulted by a captivating aroma.
"ASFASDGDSGF!" Artoria already turned retarded, mirrored the excitement, vigorously shaking her head.
The room transformed as King Lot made his entrance, carrying a substantial tray. Morgan's eyes widened in disbelief as he laid out the feast—a spread of chicken, beef, mutton, salad, fish, and an array of desserts adorned the table. The desserts, in particular, looked as if they were adorned with gold and jewels. Morgan questioned if she was dreaming; could food truly be this enticing?
Shaking her head to clear the fantasy, Morgan wiped off a droplet of drool.
"B-But milord, this is rather excessive. We cannot possibly consume all of it," she expressed her concern, fixated on the abundance before her.
The feast appeared designed for 13-15 people, with a variety to satisfy each palate. Morgan couldn't fathom the need for such extravagance unless King Lot had plans to eat for nine people himself, resulting in unnecessary food wastage.
"Heh! My dear wife, I know you Pendragon sisters more than you know yourselves," King Lot grinned, "Let's talk after the meal."
Nodding, Morgan took a cautious first bite. What followed was a blur as she lost herself in the flavors.
<<MINUTES LATER>>
"What in the world just happened…" Morgan held her head, trying to make sense of the whirlwind that had been the last few minutes.
She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she and her two-year-old sister had nearly polished off the entire feast. Artoria, despite her tender age, ate like a maniac.
Morgan couldn't deny it either; she had indulged like a hungry pig. Reflecting on her own voracious appetite made her wish she could vanish into the depths of the ocean.
BURPPPPP!
"!!" Morgan's widened eyes betrayed her deep embarrassment. If there was ever a moment to disappear, this was it.
"Hahaha! See, I told you! I understand you beauties better than you do yourselves," King Lot chuckled.
Morgan averted her gaze, unwilling to concede defeat. He was right—King Lot had accurately gauged the capacity of their appetites. On the contrary, he barely grazed his own meal. What's more, he maintained an elegant composure throughout, transforming what seemed like an appetite for elephants into a display of sophistication. He was far more complex than his appearance suggested, and Morgan felt an added layer of embarrassment.
"Anyway, Morgan, about the duel. Do you understand why I asked you to best me in a sword fight?" King Lot's tone shifted to seriousness.
Morgan glanced down and nodded, acknowledging his intent. "It's to demonstrate that, as a woman, I can hold my own in battle."
Morgan belatedly understood the underlying motive behind her husband's and teacher's insistence on her defeating them in combat: to garner followers.
As a king, Morgan Pendragon would lead an army primarily comprised of men. To earn their respect and allegiance, she had to exhibit dominance in physical prowess.
Consider this scenario: if someone bested Morgan in physical combat, would it be considered fair? Would it be fitting for Morgan to follow such an individual? However, if the same person were to triumph in a magical battle, Morgan would be inclined to look up to them, potentially standing beside them without hesitation. Furthermore, being a woman, she realized that unless she asserted dominance, men would be hesitant to follow her.
She grasped that to earn followers, she needed to surpass them in their own domains.
"Exactly. The people of these isles won't readily follow a woman unless you consistently prove yourself, especially in tests of sheer physical strength. Despite your heritage, you must think and act as a human being," King Lot explained.
"But milord, I am…"
"Have you seen a colony of ants led by a cockroach or a pride of lions commanded by a dragon? You are to rule a human country. Why would they follow a fairy?" King Lot interjected. "Though you're of mixed race, even if the human side is less dominant, consider yourself primarily human. Success will inevitably follow."
Morgan smiled, understanding the wisdom in his words. Her fairy heritage wasn't apparent on her face. To make humans heed her, she had to think and behave as one of them.
"Anyway, you must be tired. Go to your room and get some rest," King Lot suggested with a smile before turning his attention to the slumbering Artoria.
Gently kissing her forehead, he lifted her into his arms. Even in her sleep, Artoria instinctively reached for him. With a final smile, King Lot left the dining hall, leaving Morgan alone to contemplate the lessons of the day.
Morgan was well aware of King Lot's deep affection for Artoria, treating her like his own child. However, as his proper wife, she couldn't help but yearn for a share of that attention.
"Cheh! What's wrong with him?" The frustration spilled out of her mouth, and in that moment, everything seemed to darken as she found a twisted pleasure in cursing King Lot.
'Who does he think he is? How dare a mere human try to teach me, the personification of the Great Mother of fairies? How dare he show affection to others! He belongs to me! I'm the only one entitled to his needs and wants! I should curse him! Kill him! Destroy him!!!' Her thoughts spiraled into a vengeful abyss.
GASP!
Morgan took a deep breath, snapping out of what seemed like a nightmare. "What just happened? Was I hallucinating?"
She questioned herself, grappling with the disconcerting images that had invaded her thoughts.
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