"Running into you here too. We really must be fated to meet. How about we find some time to have a drink together? My treat."
The handsome young man slung an arm around Samael's shoulders and dragged him behind a rockery, smiling broadly as he tried to brush the matter aside.
"No need to wait until later. How about right now, Lord 'Lancelot'?"
Samael smiled back and held out his hand toward the extortionist from earlier that day, deliberately emphasizing the name.
Caught red-handed impersonating someone else, with the actual Knight of the Lake and his close friend standing right behind him, the handsome young man weighed his options.
With a thoroughly sour expression, he rummaged through his pocket and reluctantly stuffed five silver coins into Samael's palm.
"I seem to remember giving you ten."
Samael looked at him seriously.
"I..."
The handsome young man's face stiffened.
Just as he was about to lose his temper, Samael pointed toward Lancelot and Tristan, who were still waiting for him in the corridor behind them, and reminded him with a pleasant smile.
"Yes, yes. I remembered wrong..."
The handsome young man finally admitted defeat.
With an utterly miserable expression, he reached into an inner pocket and fished out another five silver coins. His hand was practically trembling as he passed them over.
What humiliation!
What absolute humiliation!
Under the night sky, the man looked torn apart by grief, as though he wanted to beat his chest and stamp his feet on the spot.
As the logistics officer responsible for the army's funds and provisions, he had always been famous for squeezing every last bit of value from anything that passed through his hands. Not even a single nail could escape once it entered his possession.
Yet after meeting Samael only twice, he had already lost five silver coins.
It hurt worse than having flesh carved directly from his heart.
Before the handsome young man could wallow in his misery for long, however, a crisp, heavenly jingling suddenly sounded in his palm.
"This time, the drinks are still on me. That means you owe me two rounds now, Sir Kay..."
Samael patted the handsome young man on the shoulder and whispered into his ear with a smile.
Then he waved casually and disappeared into the darkness.
Kay stared at the five silver coins now neatly stacked in his palm, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
You're using my own money to buy me a drink, and then somehow I end up owing you two more rounds?
Am I supposed to thank you?
After standing there for a moment, Kay finally came back to himself.
He looked toward the figure disappearing around the corner of the corridor and shook his head helplessly.
That bastard really refused to take a loss on anything.
Even so, the corner of Britannia's chief quartermaster's mouth quietly curved upward beneath the night sky.
Following the directions of a servant, Samael walked through the corridors while casually tossing the five silver coins in his hand, recalling what had just happened with a faint smile.
So that was Kay, the foster brother of the King of Knights, Artoria.
He seemed even more interesting than the rumors suggested.
After several turns, Samael soon arrived before the brightly illuminated banquet hall.
Camelot was famed as the city of the Pure White Kingdom. Chalk and marble were among its most common building materials, so white and sky blue dominated its architecture, lending the city a sacred and solemn air.
Its architectural style still bore clear traces of Greco-Roman culture, with arched colonnades, intricate marble reliefs, and decorative patterns, while also incorporating elements of the Gothic architecture emerging within Christianity.
Steep flying buttresses, exquisite stained-glass windows, soaring spires, and the vast, ethereal hall made anyone who entered feel as though they had stepped through the gates of heaven and into the palace of a god, inspiring an instinctive sense of reverence.
After so many years, Samael's eye for art had naturally become quite refined.
As he entered, he leisurely examined the architectural details and evaluated them in his head while simultaneously searching for Morgan and the others.
Inside the hall, white light from fluorite illuminated every corner.
The banners of the various Knights of the Round Table hung along both sides, displaying the merits and honors they had earned in service to their King.
As Samael walked through the crowd, he amused himself by picking out the Knights of the Round Table whose appearances matched his memories.
Even after searching the entire hall and piecing together information from nearby conversations, however, the Ancient Serpent only managed to identify a few members of the younger generation, such as Gareth, Gahoris, Bedivere, Galahad, and Percival.
After all, the true guest of honor, the King of Knights Artoria, had yet to appear.
Most of the famous knights who rarely left her side were probably still backstage preparing for the entrance.
"Samael... Teacher! Over here! Over here!"
Following the voice, the Ancient Serpent looked over.
Baobhan Sith instinctively ducked her head, hurriedly adding the respectful title before waving vigorously at him.
At least you know better.
Samael nodded with satisfaction and walked over to rejoin his employer.
There was no denying that Morgan stood out brilliantly within the banquet hall.
Her natural beauty carried both the allure of Mystery and an innate sense of nobility, constantly stirring the desire for conquest in the men present.
Wave after wave of admirers came over to strike up conversations, each hoping to win the witch's favor.
By now, the tables around Morgan were practically surrounded.
The witch was clearly growing tired of it, her brows furrowing again and again as she edged ever closer to losing patience.
At that moment, a pure-white figure slipped smoothly through the crowd like a fish through water.
A slender yet powerful arm hooked around Morgan's.
The witch stiffened for an instant.
But when her eyes landed on the familiar face beside her, the tension in her body faded, and the crease between her brows gradually relaxed.
"You're late."
A trace of reproach slipped unintentionally into Morgan's voice.
"Sorry. I ran into a little trouble on the way."
Samael gave her an apologetic smile.
Then, without needing to be told, he naturally assumed the role of her escort.
His body became like a wall sheltering her from the wind, subtly separating Morgan from the swarm of persistent admirers and finally creating a small pocket of peace around his employer.
Whether it was flirtatious conversation, toasts offered with ulterior motives, or brazen attempts to force their way closer, Samael defused them all with ease.
Those watching from farther away, hoping to provoke him into making some mistake so they could approach the beauty themselves, felt as though they were facing a human fortress that neither water nor needles could penetrate.
His responses were calm, polished, and appropriate, leaving them no opening whatsoever.
Samael took no particular pride in it.
He had ruled for several generations, after all.
Even if his etiquette and reception skills were not perfect, dealing with a group of nobles from a newly unified Britannia was hardly difficult.
With the banquet about to begin and their dignity at stake, the failed suitors could only return reluctantly to their seats.
Only a handful of the more unwilling ones lingered nearby, glaring at Morgan's escort with such resentment that their teeth practically ached.
Tch. I just saved your lives, and you don't even know enough to be grateful.
The woman behind me isn't some delicate flower you can push around. She's a rose covered in thorns.
If you actually anger her, this time next year people will be visiting your graves.
Under the hostile stares of the surrounding men, Samael silently complained to himself before sitting down without the slightest pressure.
Naturally, protecting his employer meant sitting as close to Morgan as possible.
Morgan remained perfectly composed about it.
And if she was willing to indulge him to that extent, then there was naturally no need to unlink the arm already hooked through hers.
Off in the corner, Baobhan Sith, who had been squeezed aside, ground her teeth together, her eyes blazing.
She deeply regretted letting the wolf into the house.
Why did it feel like this guy was even more dangerous than all those bastards from earlier?
The brief episode did not last much longer.
Soon, a sharp and solemn rasp of armor came from the rear hall.
At last, the main figure everyone had been waiting for arrived at the banquet, accompanied by her entire entourage of handsome Knights of the Round Table.
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