"We've eaten, we've fought, so it's about time we left."
Having finished dealing with the overly helpful Knights of the Round Table who had so kindly given him an excuse to escape dinner, Samael casually tossed aside yet another ruined knight's greatsword. After briefly informing the King of Knights on the second floor, he took Morgan, who rose in perfect understanding, and headed straight for the exit without the slightest hesitation.
The three little ones at the table immediately brightened when they realized they were leaving.
After staring miserably at the food before them for so long, their scrunched-up faces suddenly blossomed with joy. They threw down their knives and forks and shot after the adults at astonishing speed, responding to the retreat with remarkable enthusiasm.
The table full of palace delicacies remained almost completely untouched.
Only after Morgan's group had disappeared into the distance did the assembled lords of Britannia finally recover from their shock.
Their eyes remained fixed on the figure who had shone so brilliantly beneath the night sky. Whatever contempt they had shown earlier was now completely replaced by awe.
That man's strength had likely surpassed the limits of humanity by a considerable margin.
If someone like him appeared on a battlefield, he was no longer the kind of opponent that could simply be overwhelmed through sheer numbers.
He had nearly challenged the entire Knights of the Round Table by himself, yet afterward he remained calm and composed, clearly with strength still to spare.
In a sense, that one man was worth more than half the Round Table.
With such a formidable swordsman standing beside Morgan, a witch born with extraordinary talent, the strength of Orkney, the Land of Terminus, had risen dramatically. It was even beginning to show signs of being able to stand against the Holy City of Camelot on equal footing.
It seemed they would have to reconsider their relationship with that princess.
The lords each had their own thoughts, exchanging subtle glances whose meaning was difficult to put into words.
"Old man, we really did let a huge fish get away."
At some point, Sir Kay had sidled up beside Ector. With his arms folded, he nudged his father from behind with one shoulder, his sharp eyes sweeping across the surrounding lords as he spoke with teasing amusement.
"Show some respect!"
The old knight immediately slapped his unruly son across the shoulder.
That large hand, hardened by years of farm work, made Kay grimace in pain.
Rubbing his shoulder, Kay looked toward the entrance, where the departing figures had already vanished into the darkness, and sighed.
"But there's nothing we could have done. She was willing to stake everything on it, even herself."
Sir Ector, who had likewise noticed the thoughts stirring among the surrounding lords, frowned slightly and nodded helplessly.
If he had known things would turn out this way, perhaps he should never have agreed to the princess's request and sent that nameless swordsman who had appeared in Cornwall directly to Morgan.
Now certain restless lords had once again caught sight of possibilities they should not have been considering.
Still, one had to admit that the proud and aloof princess had truly been willing to go all in.
"Then again, if you're fishing, shouldn't you use proper bait? Not like this bunch of beasts, charging straight in and muddying the water. Even the biggest fish would be scared off, right?"
"..."
Ector paused.
Then he slowly turned and gave his rather shifty-looking son a long stare.
"You've been circling around the point this whole time. What exactly are you trying to say?"
Caught immediately, Kay gave an awkward smile.
His eyes drifted casually toward a certain direction as he tried to sound indifferent.
"Artoria isn't exactly young anymore, is she?"
"Mm... Mm?"
Ector nodded almost reflexively.
Then the meaning sank in.
His tone changed instantly, and killing intent flooded his eyes.
But when he turned around, Kay had already sensed danger and slipped away, disappearing into some unknown corner of the hall.
The old knight was left simmering with fury.
You unfilial brat. Gossiping about your ruler behind her back?
If I catch you, I swear I'll beat you half to death!
By this point, the disturbance inside the hall had mostly subsided.
Although everyone involved in the duels had shown considerable restraint, the banquet had still inevitably suffered.
Even with both sides controlling their Strength as much as possible, the shockwaves from the fighting had overturned quite a few tables and dishes.
And as time passed, much of the remaining food had gone cold.
The King of Knights looked down from her throne at the disorder on the first floor and frowned slightly.
Then she turned toward the silver-haired, one-armed aide standing straight beside her.
"Sir Bedivere, do we have a contingency plan?"
Bedivere placed a hand against his chest and nodded.
"My King, there is no need for concern. The kitchen prepared for unexpected situations in advance."
"Mm. Good. Continue the banquet and bring out the food."
The King of Knights nodded slightly.
Then one hand drifted toward her lower abdomen.
As though suddenly remembering something, she asked almost instinctively.
"By the way, who is responsible for tonight's meal?"
"Sir Gawain."
"..."
Bedivere answered immediately.
The hand with which the King of Knights had just picked up her knife and fork trembled slightly.
For once, she fell into complete silence.
A short while later, the cold dishes were removed.
Then the warm and dependable-looking Knight of the Sun called over a group of Enforcement Knights wearing rather ridiculous aprons and had them quickly bring out the emergency meal.
Large bowls of mashed potatoes.
If nothing else, they were certainly filling.
Under the light of the fluorite lamps, the faces of the assembled guests developed a faint green tint.
It was worth mentioning that throughout the Twelve Dynastic Wars, Gawain had also been responsible for the King of Knights' daily meals.
His extensive cooking experience had allowed the Knight of the Sun to take "efficiency" to its absolute limit.
There was essentially only one dish he liked making.
Mashed potatoes.
Highly filling, easy to carry, and simple to prepare.
While Artoria fought campaign after campaign, she had eaten mashed potatoes prepared personally by Gawain for more than a decade.
And out of habit, no matter how much Gawain made, the King of Knights, who hated wasting food, would silently finish every last bite without changing expression.
Now the assembled lords were fortunate enough to receive the same treatment as their King.
Of course, a proper meal could not consist entirely of mashed potatoes and vegetables.
There had to be meat as well.
And so, when the lords dug into the little mountains of mashed potatoes on their plates, chunks of Magical Beast flesh emerged from underneath.
They had been scalded in hot water, yet streaks of blood and connective tissue were still clearly visible, producing all sorts of bizarre arrangements as they pushed through the potatoes.
The lords' faces became even greener.
Upon the throne, the King of Knights speared a purple-red Magical Beast eyeball from the mashed potatoes.
She lifted the lower portion of her faceplate, placed it in her mouth, and began chewing with a faint crunch.
The eyeballs protruding one after another from the mashed potatoes created a considerable visual and culinary impact.
When they burst, the liquid inside produced the same soul-shaking sensation in the mouth as always.
Following their King's example, one trembling hand after another picked up a fork and began attacking the food.
Bedivere speared a blood-streaked chunk of Magical Beast flesh and placed it into his mouth.
Then he looked toward the mountain of mashed potatoes before the throne, whose height was rapidly shrinking, and a trace of tenderness and satisfaction appeared in his eyes.
The eyeballs were one of the King's favorite parts.
Fortunately, he had specifically asked Gawain to prepare this portion separately.
Elsewhere in the hall, Sir Ector's teeth were beginning to ache, yet the blood-streaked chunk of Magical Beast meat in his mouth still refused to break down.
After a moment of silence, he set down his knife and fork.
Then he looked toward Artoria, who was rapidly demolishing the mountain of mashed potatoes in front of her, and at the aide and Knights of the Round Table beside her, all wearing expressions of inexplicable satisfaction.
Ector sank into thought.
The scene reminded him of the slop in the trough back on his farm.
And of the farmwife who rose early every morning to feed the pigs, hoping the piglets would eat more and grow fat.
Then, almost without warning, a thought entered the old knight's mind.
Artoria really wasn't getting any younger...