Led by Samael, the group made their way through the city and soon noticed quite a few unfamiliar faces among the crowds. These newcomers spent lavishly, dressed in expensive clothes, and carried themselves with obvious arrogance.
The attendants following them were all tall and powerfully built. Beneath their robes and cloaks, their bodies looked bulky without seeming fat. Their steps subtly matched one another, and each of them gave off the dangerous air of someone accustomed to violence. Their knuckles were thick, and their hands were covered in calluses.
Every sign pointed to the same conclusion. These were professional retainer knights carrying concealed weapons and, in some cases, wearing armor beneath their clothes.
Judging from the accents, manners, and bearing of the people they protected, they were obviously feudal lords from various parts of the country.
The reason so many of them had gathered here was simple.
Tomorrow, a grand coronation ceremony would be held.
Artoria had technically already been crowned after drawing the Sword of Selection.
But only now, with Vortigern dead and the Northern and Southern Realms united, could Britannia truly be called whole.
A ceremony proclaiming legitimate rule and celebrating royal authority was naturally indispensable.
For that reason, lords great and small from every corner of the country had shown remarkable enthusiasm, pouring into Camelot to attend tomorrow's coronation.
Of course, the motives of these lords varied considerably.
Some were die-hard supporters of the King of Knights who had chosen their side early. Most of them came from the Southern Realm and had countless ties to the Knights of the Round Table. Their main purpose was to receive their share of the spoils and secure new titles and fiefs.
Others were former rebels who had been secretly aligned with Vortigern. Most came from the north and had traveled to Camelot to pledge allegiance to the now-ascendant King of Knights, hoping to avoid being purged after the war.
Still others were fence-sitters who had played both sides. They had come early to offer goodwill, acknowledge the new ruler, choose their future faction, and make sure they would have a place in the next round of power-sharing and rewards.
Britannia had spent the past century tearing itself apart over people, money, and territory. As a result, most local lords had old grudges against one another, layered with hierarchies of prejudice based on bloodline, family, and region.
For example, southern royalists looked down on local fence-sitters, while the fence-sitters looked down on Vortigern's northern remnants.
Among Vortigern's northern followers, those who surrendered only after fighting bitterly looked down on those who surrendered without resistance. Those who had fought the Saxons looked down on anyone who had collaborated with the Anglo-Saxon barbarians.
Old, prestigious families looked down on newly rich upstarts. Those who prided themselves on pure blood looked down on anyone who had intermarried with commoners or lower-born families.
In short, with such a mixed crowd and so many old grudges, all it took was one exchange of "What are you looking at?" followed by "What if I am?" to start a full-blown brawl.
After crossing only three streets, the group had already witnessed at least seven fights.
Three of them had started purely because northern and southern accents caused misunderstandings that somehow escalated into fistfights.
Samael, walking along while cracking open a packet of sunflower seeds, could only marvel at the extraordinary martial spirit of Britannia's people.
In his opinion, the Holy City of Camelot might as well be renamed "Los Santos."
It suited the local culture much better.
The Ancient Serpent entertained himself with the thought.
Fortunately, the Knights of the Round Table were not sitting idle.
Ever since they entered the city and took over its defenses, security along Camelot's streets and major roads had been reinforced considerably. Patrols now included not only ordinary lightly armored soldiers, but fully armed Enforcement Knights as well.
Whenever they found a crowd causing trouble, the Enforcement Knights responsible for maintaining order showed no mercy and hauled the offenders away.
The moment the northern lords saw these walking tin cans appear, they expertly put their hands behind their heads, dropped their weapons, and crouched on the spot, meek as sheep.
Some southern lords, however, were used to throwing their weight around in their own territories. Confident in their contributions to the King of Knights' cause, they refused to swallow the humiliation. Some shouted their titles, while others raised their fists.
They soon learned exactly what the iron fist of justice felt like.
They also finally understood why those northern bumpkins, usually so loud and foul-mouthed, had surrendered so quickly this time.
Tsk, tsk.
Getting punched by an Enforcement Knight really hurt.
And the one leading them was Gawain, the man known among the Round Table as the "Gorilla."
Listening to the repeated clang of metal echoing through the streets and alleys, Samael watched the spectacle with obvious delight.
Despite all the small disturbances, the Enforcement Knights' heavy-handed suppression somehow made the festive atmosphere in Camelot even livelier.
Some spectators who loved watching chaos unfold were practically hoping the usually arrogant nobles would hold a few more "friendly matches."
After all, no lord dared openly draw steel within the city.
Most fights were limited to bare-knuckle brawls, which kept the damage relatively minor.
And if they were caught, they generally had to pay full compensation for whatever they broke.
Naturally, the simple and honest citizens of the Holy City tended to inflate those prices whenever possible, quietly squeezing a little extra money out of the obscenely wealthy nobles.
The little fairies, who had rarely seen such bizarre large-scale human behavior, followed the terrible example set by their caretaker. They munched on dried fruit and snacks while watching the fights with great interest.
Baobhan Sith shouted the loudest, sneering under her breath at the various "contestants."
Barghest, meanwhile, was so fired up that she nearly joined whichever side looked more appealing.
The whole spectacle gave Samael plenty of entertainment.
But the longer they stayed, the more trouble began quietly drifting their way.
Several unfriendly gazes within the crowd gradually settled on the little fairies beside Samael.
Then those people began following them.
Tch.
And here I am, someone who clearly hates violence...
Samael sighed helplessly as his mood soured, cracking his knuckles one joint at a time.
"We're back!"
Half an hour later, after taking a somewhat roundabout route home, the caretaker and the fairy girls rushed excitedly into the manor.
Morgan happened to be carrying a plate of biscuits into the courtyard.
The chattering little ones immediately crowded around the stone table and began fighting over the snacks.
Morgan's eyesight was exceptionally sharp. She pointed toward a red stain on the Ancient Serpent's clothes and asked casually.
"There's something on your collar."
Samael turned his head and looked at the bright red mark on the right side of his collar, blinked once, then answered without the slightest change in expression.
"Oh, that? Probably strawberry jam."
"Mm. Be more careful next time. Don't stain your clothes."
Morgan caught the faint metallic scent still lingering in the air, but merely nodded and asked no further questions.
She stepped forward, extended a thumb, and erased the stain with a cleansing spell.
"By the way, when did we get a stone statue in the courtyard?"
Samael snatched a biscuit and munched on it while looking curiously toward the gray-black statue in the garden.
It depicted a hooded woman holding a staff.
But the closer he got, the stronger an inexplicable sense of familiarity became.
When Samael finally walked around to face the statue directly, he froze for a moment.
Then his expression turned strange.
"Uh... why does this look a little like Mari? Did you buy it?"
"I made it."
Morgan took a sip of hot tea and answered as if it were nothing.
"Beautiful work!"
Samael paused for a beat, then immediately brightened and gave her a heartfelt thumbs-up.
A moment later, he added with a smile.
"I mean artistically, of course..."
"If you like it, we can leave it here for a few more days."
"Something this exquisite deserves more than a few days. At least a few months."
As for how Morgan had managed to create such an incredibly lifelike stone statue, Samael vaguely remembered reading in the fairy clans' records about a kind of magical powder capable of petrifying living beings...
The Ancient Serpent and the Witch exchanged a glance.
They both nodded in quiet satisfaction.
Neither of them mentioned the certain someone who had mysteriously disappeared from the household.
Under the sunlight, the two of them walked toward the kitchen together to prepare lunch.
Seen from behind, they looked very much like a married couple.
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