"…And that's what happened."
Recounting her Roman encounter in detail, Artoria was still fuming.
That bastard Sword Emperor of Rome—he actually stole her collection!
Sure, he paid for it.
But so what?
Did he think this could be solved with money?
Insulting! Disgraceful! Measuring her Arthur statue with vulgar coinage?
The more she thought about it, the more she ground her teeth. She very nearly turned around and marched back to Rome to demand justice with her fists.
"I see," Arthur muttered, deep in thought. "The Romans are becoming more vigilant. Hmph, not unexpected. I've been feeding their spies false intel for a while now—by this point, they're bound to grow suspicious. Agrigen, go ahead and capture the remaining Roman spies."
He paused.
"…No, never mind. Just execute them."
He had briefly considered turning them into cheap labor—Rome's spies could at least contribute something useful. But he reconsidered. These weren't ordinary prisoners. Spies were dangerous. They didn't break the same way others did.
If he threw them in with the rest of the slave workforce, they'd probably stir up a rebellion.
And let's be honest: no one wanted to see a fifth-century version of the Spartacus uprising.
"That said, the ones around Lucius need extra attention," Arthur added. "By the rules of the ritual, Servants should draw mana from the land's ley lines. But Rome's veins aren't powering them. They're feeding directly off the Holy Grail."
He frowned. "Seven Servants. Seven classes. Merry—have you identified the woman who was with Lucius?"
To be honest, Arthur was worried.
What Lucius possessed wasn't just any Holy Grail—it was the real deal. Not the system version Arthur knew, but a genuine holy relic. Everything the magical Grail could do, this one could do better—and stranger.
Now, with two major restraining forces and even the God of the Bible staying out of direct involvement, it was clear none of them could act personally.
Which meant their proxies—Servants—would be the ones making moves.
And these Servants… were clearly targeting him.
There could be Anti-Arthur types—like Mordred, who once struck down the King. Maybe even someone with [Special Attack: King Arthur].
Or they could be Roman-aligned heroes with perfect regional compatibility—Nero, Romulus, and the like. All terrifying in their own right.
But Lucius, Arthur knew, wouldn't tolerate Servants who could challenge his throne.
So whoever he summoned had to be fiercely loyal—or tightly controlled.
Besides, given the current level of magical warfare—where star-destroying weapons existed—it wasn't unreasonable to assume the opposing Servants were top-tier.
"Don't worry about the Servants for now," Merry waved it off. "That girl looked like a side project. I don't sense any others. As for her identity…"
She grinned mischievously. "I have a guess~☆."
Translation: I'm not sure.
"Tsk. Useless trash."
"Waaah! Big brother's being mean again!" Merry sniffled dramatically. "But seriously, Lucius is a very eccentric man. Maybe his taste is even worse than yours~!"
She blinked, clearly hiding something.
"In other words," Arthur concluded, "the situation's better than I thought. Good. Let's focus on Lucius himself."
According to Artoria's report, Lucius's attention was fixated on him.
Arthur tapped the armrest, brow furrowed.
"It's not strange that he knows me," he said. "But this 'treasure' he mentioned… what exactly does he mean? Is it some Roman plot? A secret weapon?"
The more he thought about Rome's remaining aces, the more his firepower anxiety—recently in remission—threatened to flare up again.
"…My king, maybe don't overthink it," Merry said gently. "It's probably just… you know. His weird taste. You know how Lucius is."
But her tone didn't ease Arthur's concerns.
After all—it was Rome.
No matter how strong he was, Rome was still a behemoth. A bloated, ironclad monster. Even half-dead, a camel is bigger than a horse.
Arthur knew better than to underestimate that empire.
Rome was terrifying.
And frankly, it wasn't even his fault for being paranoid. Sword Emperor Lucius was so vaguely defined in Type-Moon history that scholars couldn't agree on his power level.
Some said he was an irrelevant supporting character whose only purpose was to show off King Arthur's greatness.
Others claimed Lucius was a nightmare opponent who bodied a sun-buffed Gawain, and Arthur only won by sheer dumb luck.
And this didn't even account for how absurdly OP Roman forces always were.
Arthur's caution was entirely justified.
"Shouldn't you be more concerned about how your faith-spreading campaign has been completely blocked?" Merry tried to redirect him.
"Exactly!" Artoria jumped in. "Lucius isn't as simple as he seems. The legends paint him as a brutal warlord who used foreign enemies to distract from Rome's internal issues, but in my opinion—that's just surface-level. He's a schemer, through and through!"
Her tone burned with righteous fury.
She still hadn't forgiven him for snatching her Arthur statues.
Arthur studied her.
She looked unusually agitated. He smiled to himself.
Ah. So that's what this is about.
She must have seen the harsh treatment of Roman slaves, and—being the kind, gentle girl she was—began to doubt Britain's moral high ground.
It made sense.
"Don't worry too much about it," Arthur said. "Small grains build sand, and sand makes mountains. If we accumulate strength bit by bit, eventually, we'll shake even Rome. Even the Emperor's privilege can be worn down over time. But it takes patience."
He stood up slowly, walked over, and gently took Artoria's hand.
"Come on. Sit."
He pulled her toward the throne.
Only four people were present—Arthur, Merry, Artoria, and Agravain—so there was no need to be formal.
Besides, Arthur had never liked the rigid etiquette of this era.
"Sister," he said lightly, "how does it feel to sit on the throne? It's big enough for two—but why is it that countries always have only one king?"
"Uhh… Arthur, you—"
Artoria blushed furiously and lowered her head.
But she didn't resist.
She scooted closer—almost melting into him.
So warm… So fragrant… So fluffy… Is this the real King Arthur? I'm going to die of happiness!
Trading one statue for this moment? Totally worth it!
Her brain short-circuited from pure joy.
Although Arthur said the throne was large, it really wasn't. With two people squeezed into the seat, their bodies were practically pressed together. Artoria's legs draped over his, her head resting against his chest.
She could hear his breathing… his heartbeat…
And that scent—
Closer… Just a little closer…
Delicious.
Lucius, you're a genius!
"Uh… Sister?"
Arthur blinked.
He'd originally planned to lecture her about winners, losers, and the cruelty of history. Something motivational about justice through victory.
But now?
Wait. Sister, where are your hands going?
Don't keep moving!
Wait—wait wait WAIT—!
-End Chapter-
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