Upon hearing the reports from Artoria Pendragon, Galahad, and the others, Morgan felt a wave of relief.
This campaign had once again come to an end.
Camelot had achieved yet another victory, expanding its territory significantly and further solidifying its foundations.
She had accomplished what no previous king had ever achieved.
Together with that "Horndog" of hers, she had finally unified Scotland and England.
Though in terms of sheer size, Camelot's current domain was still far smaller than the Roman Empire on the European continent—barely equivalent to a single province—the hardships endured to reach this point were incomparably greater than conquering a Roman province.
After all, in this era, Britain was the last remnant of the Age of Gods. While the Roman Empire faced ordinary enemies, Lot and Morgan had to contend with the fantastical races.
Yet, even against such foes, Lot and Morgan held their ground and emerged victorious.
"Good. You may all rest for now. Your rewards will not be lacking," Morgan said, glancing at Artoria, Gawain, and the others.
"Yes," Kay replied earnestly.
Though he was usually fond of jesting, he knew better than to direct his humor at his superiors.
"Rewards… how delicious will they be?" Artoria murmured dreamily.
Hearing this, Morgan couldn't help but roll her eyes.
"Can't you be a little more ambitious?" she thought to herself.
Morgan had always wanted Artoria to retain her youthful innocence, a form of compensation for the throne she never took. But now, it seemed she might have overdone it—Artoria's girlishness was overwhelming.
Still, Morgan responded in a doting tone, "Don't worry. You'll get everything you want."
Artoria's face lit up with joy.
Meanwhile, Gawain sidled up behind Morgan with a grin.
"Mom, I don't need any rewards from you," she said.
Oh?
Since when is this girl so sensible? Morgan wondered, eyeing her.
Then, Gawain began massaging Morgan's shoulders and added, "After all, all of this will be mine someday."
"…" Morgan turned and smacked her on the head.
"You little brat, your father and I are still in perfect health. If you want the throne, you'll have to wait at least seventy or eighty years."
Gawain's grin didn't falter.
"That's perfect! I'd love to be Crown Princess for seventy or eighty years. Better yet, why don't you and Dad just live forever?"
"Hmph. Seventy or eighty years as Crown Princess?"
Morgan rolled her eyes again.
Dream on.
That husband of hers was lazy and loved slacking off. As for her, she only sought achievement, not power. Once they unified Europe, it would be time for the next generation to take over.
Then, she and Lot could finally rest.
Let the kids handle the work.
Beside them, Lot chuckled.
"I'll do my best to live a few more centuries."
"Hehe…"
Gawain giggled foolishly.
Lot and Morgan exchanged a glance, then simultaneously rapped her on the head—though not too hard. Gawain kept laughing.
Below, Kay and Artoria also smiled.
The atmosphere of this nation might not be the most formal, but it was warm and welcoming.
After a moment, Kay raised another concern.
"Your Majesty, though we've conquered Scotland, many knights of the defeated kings remain at large. Without a strong hand to suppress them, they could easily stir up trouble."
"That is a problem," Lot agreed seriously.
This was indeed a critical issue.
Why was Afghanistan called the "Graveyard of Empires"?
Was it because of its military strength?
No.
In direct confrontations, its forces were no match for superpowers like the U.S. or Russia.
What made it formidable was its guerrilla warfare.
Similarly, to fully subdue Scotland, they needed someone with both formidable strength and extensive experience to oversee the region.
And such a person…
Lot's gaze settled on Kay.
"Kay, this task falls to you. After we return to Camelot, you'll be responsible for holding this land."
Kay nodded with a wry smile.
Of course.
He'd known this troublesome duty would land on him eventually.
But it wasn't so bad.
He was trustworthy.
And this was a chance to prove his capabilities.
Compared to the tedium of guarding an established regime in Camelot, developing new territory sounded far more interesting.
"I have every confidence in you," Lot said, patting his shoulder.
Then, he added with a smirk,
"Of course, if you ever run into something you can't handle…"
His eyes drifted toward the entrance.
"You can always seek help from the Eldest Princess."
Eldest Princess?
The term gave everyone pause.
The "Eldest Princess" wasn't the king's firstborn daughter—that would be the "First Princess."
Rather, it referred to the king's elder sister.
The king's sister?
It took them a second to realize:
Ah, Queen Scáthach!
As soon as the words left his mouth, Scáthach strode into the room.
Lot grinned.
He'd expected this.
His unique nature was torture for those with Clairvoyance. If Merlin had been here, he'd have been eavesdropping—when clairvoyance failed, firsthand observation was the next best thing.
As for Scáthach, Lot had only been half-sure she'd be listening.
But his hunch had been correct.
Scáthach shot him an amused look.
"Lot, I was a queen before. How did I get demoted to 'Eldest Princess' under you?"
Lot whispered back, "Count yourself lucky. Some went from 'Queen Dowager' straight to 'Princess.'"
Huh?
That's a thing?
Morgan, Scáthach, and Artoria were stunned.
Demotion in title?
Lot merely smiled without explaining.
In his mind, however, he mused:
[Compared to China, Western politics is downright amateurish. Though, to be fair, even in Chinese history, cases of a Queen Dowager being reduced to Princess were exceedingly rare.]
Morgan shot him a look.
This husband of hers …
Why does he know more about that mythical land, China, than he does about Britain?
This was something she'd need to investigate later.
But for now, pressing matters took priority.
"One day, you'll have to tell me that story properly," Scáthach said to Lot.
Then, turning to Kay, she nodded.
"I'll stand guard here as well. After all, I am Camelot's Eldest Princess."
She glanced pointedly at Lot.
Then, with a sigh, she added,
"My luck's just rotten. I haven't even achieved my own wish, yet I keep getting dragged into your affairs."
"Think of it as an investment," Morgan said, feeling slightly guilty about exploiting her goodwill.
Scáthach waved a hand dismissively.
"Enough of that. Just make sure your story stays entertaining. Your journey has been a fascinating distraction in my otherwise endless life."
Morgan nodded firmly.
"Of course. But Sister, if you ever achieve your wish… would you still want to die?"
Scáthach had helped them immensely. Morgan didn't want her to suffer endlessly.
A happier ending would be ideal.
"That depends on your performance," Scáthach replied cryptically.
Then, she took a seat, crossing her long, shapely legs—clad in black stockings—and leaning back.
"Carry on. I'm waiting for dinner."
"Dinner!"
Artoria's eyes sparkled at the word.
Morgan sighed at her sister's antics.
"Fine. We've settled most matters anyway. Let's eat. The cooks have already prepared the meal."
"Yay!"
Artoria perked up instantly.
Watching her, Scáthach murmured,
"In this state, even I might not be able to stop her from charging to the dining hall."
With affairs in Scotland resolved, Lot and Morgan planned to rest a few more days before returning to Camelot.
But before that, Lot had one last task.
It had been too long since his last "catch."
Though he never returned empty-handed, his luck had been abysmal lately.
What had he fished up?
Sunflower seeds, peanuts, bottled water, beer, soda, and eight-treasure porridge.
Those hauls had vividly reminded him of his past life's train rides.
No treasures in far too long.
Determined to change that, Lot decided to cast his line one last time in Scotland.
He'd considered fasting and purification rituals—but abstaining from women was part of the deal, so he quickly dismissed the idea.
I'll just mentally fast for a few days.
Thus, on this day, he snuck out with his fishing rod.
Finding a secluded spot, he once again stepped into the River of Time.
The river flowed eternally, unchanging.
The scenery around it seemed even more breathtaking than before.
"The air here is truly refreshing," Lot thought, casting his line into the shimmering currents.
Almost immediately, he got a bite—but the tug was weak.
[Don't tell me another dud…]
Still, he reeled it in.
At the end of the line hung three books.
[Three books? And they look ancient? Ugh, my luck's gotten worse.]
He retrieved them, intending to stash them away after a cursory glance.
But one look at the titles sent a jolt through him.
"Holy—! How are these here!?"
He nearly shouted in disbelief.
"These aren't divine artifacts, but they're more valuable than any treasure! This—this is true dragon-slaying knowledge!"
What were these books?
Lot stared at the familiar Chinese characters:
"The Friend of Military-Civilian Dual-Purpose Talents,"
"The Friend of Military-Civilian Dual-Purpose Talents: Sequel,"
and "The Barefoot Doctor's Manual."
These three books were the foundation of a nation—especially in this era.
Medical knowledge in this age was primitive even for nobles, let alone commoners or the tribal peoples of Scotland.
"The Barefoot Doctor's Manual" had played a pivotal role in New China's founding, saving countless lives.
It was perhaps the most life-saving book in history.
Written for grassroots conditions, it distilled complex medical knowledge into simple, actionable steps—diagnoses and treatments accessible to anyone.
If Lot could spread its teachings across Britain, mortality rates would plummet.
Fewer deaths meant one thing:
Population growth.
More farmers. More soldiers.
And faster integration of newly conquered territories.
In this era, illness was a terror.
Solving that would earn him immense goodwill.
As for the other two books—
"The Friend of Military-Civilian Dual-Purpose Talents" and its sequel—their value was even greater.
If you could take only one thing to a time-travel journey, these books would be the ultimate choice.