The outcome of the battle between Mash and Melusine was naturally obvious.
Melusine's strength far surpassed Mash's.
Moreover, their fighting spirits were entirely different.
Had Melusine been intent on harming Fujimaru Ritsuka or interfering with their mission, Mash would have resisted with unwavering determination.
But in this situation
Facing a girl who simply wanted to pat her head, Mash couldn't muster the will to defend herself.
And so,
Under Melusine's relentless attacks, Mash finally faltered, allowing Melusine to rest her sword against Mash's shoulder.
With her sword in place, Melusine smiled and said,
"Now, will you agree to my request?"
"...Yes, alright."
Seeing the expectant look in Melusine's eyes, Mash could only nod helplessly.
Sigh… Even if I hadn't lost to Miss Melusine, I wouldn't have refused such a small request anyway.
As she walked over, Mash thought to herself.
Once she reached Melusine's side, Mash closed her eyes and waited quietly. Melusine, as if anticipating this moment, cautiously reached out and gently placed her hand on Mash's head.
Mm… So soft. Very comfortable.
Melusine closed her eyes, savoring the moment.
Her actions, however, drew curious looks from the spectators around them.
What, again?
First, we had that match where the loser got dragged away. Now, after a fight, they're doing this head-patting thing?
You people are really strange!
They thought to themselves.
That said, everyone had witnessed Mash and Melusine's strength firsthand, so few dared to voice their complaints aloud.
It wasn't that they didn't want to mock them it was that they didn't dare.
"...Are you done yet?"
After a while of this, Mash opened her eyes and couldn't help but complain to Melusine.
Though she couldn't hear the crowd's murmurs, their expressions told her enough.
"Mm… Just a little longer."
Melusine replied, clearly reluctant to stop.
Mash was, in a way, her daughter. She had been looking forward to this she couldn't just settle for a few seconds of head-patting.
"But… there are still more matches to come, right?"
Mash quickly pointed out.
Yet Melusine still refused to let go.
"Matches? Oh, then come with me. My resting area is quite spacious."
"...Alright, fine."
After a moment's thought, Mash nodded in agreement.
And so, Melusine took Mash's hand and led her away.
As they passed by Lancelot, Melusine shot him a triumphant look.
Heh.
Sir Lancelot, in this regard, I've surpassed you.
With that thought, she hugged Mash tightly.
Mash, resigned to her fate, simply returned the embrace from behind.
Melusine's petite, childlike frame made it effortless for Mash to hold her so much so that the scene looked almost harmonious.
Seeing Melusine's smug expression, Lancelot could only sigh in exasperation.
This was something he simply couldn't do.
And even if he could
He would never do it.
Hugging Galahad?
That was just… no.
As for hugging Mash?
Leaving aside the fact that Mash only inherited Galahad's Saint Graph, the sheer difference in their genders created an insurmountable gap.
Mash was a young woman now.
...
Up in the stands, Morgan watched as Melusine led Mash away, then turned to Fujimaru Ritsuka.
"Aren't you worried?"
"Why would I be? I trust Mash to protect herself if she's ever in real danger."
"You have quite a bit of faith in her, don't you?"
Morgan remarked.
"Of course. If you had seen our journey up to now, you'd understand why I believe in her so much."
"Is that so? How admirable."
Morgan's tone carried a hint of approval.
Then, after glancing at the battlefield, she said to Ritsuka:
"It seems victory will be ours once again. Look the only remaining contenders are from our side. Neither your group nor the Scottish warriors stand a chance against us now."
Her words carried a double meaning.
She wasn't just referring to the tournament.
She was also alluding to Ritsuka's desire to correct this Singularity.
"Setbacks are temporary. We believe the future still belongs to us."
Da Vinci stepped in to support Ritsuka.
Hearing Da Vinci's confident declaration, Morgan replied meaningfully:
"Words are sometimes less powerful than the fists of reality."
She knew exactly who Da Vinci was.
Engaging in a battle of wits with this great artist would be like striking iron with a wooden stick.
"I expected Her Majesty Morgan to debate me further."
Seeing that Morgan wasn't taking the bait, Da Vinci sighed in amusement.
"I'm not a fool."
Morgan retorted.
"Very well. I shall take my leave now. If you wish to continue watching the matches, feel free. Once everything concludes, if you still refuse to abandon your goal of 'correcting' our history, you may depart afterward."
"Understood. Farewell, Your Majesty. The next time we meet, it will be on the battlefield."
Da Vinci replied with perfect courtesy.
"Goodbye, Queen Morgan. We won't hold back."
Ritsuka's farewell was less formal, more like something one would say to an ordinary friend.
Seeing this, Morgan was reminded of her ever-idealistic, equality-advocating Lot.
She looked at Ritsuka.
"I much prefer your way of saying goodbye, Ritsuka."
With those words, she turned and left.
Watching her go, Ritsuka and Da Vinci exchanged glances.
"Just how much knowledge does Queen Morgan possess…?"
They muttered in unison.
After this brief moment of shared exasperation, Ritsuka turned back to Da Vinci.
"Even so, we still need to find a way to defeat her and Lot."
"Indeed. We must discover a means to turn the tide of this war."
Da Vinci agreed firmly.
But
Neither of them had any leads yet.
Their attention returned to the ongoing matches.
...
The following battles essentially became internal conflicts within Camelot
Or rather, clashes among the Knights of the Round Table.
First, Galahad faced off against Baobhan Sith.
Baobhan Sith was no match for Galahad, who had already reached near-perfection in his skills.
Under Galahad's assault, she was quickly forced onto the defensive.
In the next match, Sir Kay who had previously dominated the Scottish warriors found himself pit against Gawain.
And not just any Gawain
Gawain under the power of triple sunlight.
Under these conditions, how could Kay possibly win?
Thus, Kay was defeated as well.
The final match was supposed to be between Artoria and Melusine.
However
When the time came, neither of them appeared.
Artoria was still busy eating, and Melusine was still busy petting Mash.
The referee was dumbfounded.
So were the spectators.
Where are they?!
After multiple calls, the referee finally gave up and declared both contestants forfeited.
Their absence didn't just disappoint the audience
Even Scáthach, watching from above, looked regretful.
Earlier, she had eyed Melusine with the excitement of a hunter spotting worthy prey.
Melusine was a warrior who could truly challenge her.
She had been looking forward to a duel.
As for Artoria if she were to wield the Holy Lance behind her, she too could unleash immense power.
A worthy opponent as well.
But it wasn't urgent.
Camelot's army would remain in Scotland for a long time. She could always seek them out later.
Well then
Since neither Artoria nor Melusine had shown up, she turned her attention to the final battle.
Galahad versus Gawain.
The crowd buzzed with anticipation.
But Gawain merely glanced at the sky
And immediately forfeited.
"Enough. As I am now, I am no match for you."
She said to Galahad.
"Thank you for your graciousness, Princess. The hour is growing late."
Galahad nodded.
Had the Scots heard their exchange, they might have assumed Gawain meant she needed more training.
But the Round Table knights knew the truth
She was referring to the time of day.
Galahad looked up.
The sun was beginning to set.
Gawain's blessing had faded.
If they fought now, she would lose.
Worse, it would expose her weakness.
And if that became known, she could be easily countered.
Thus, forfeiting was the wisest choice.
Seeing their mutual agreement, the referee though disappointed announced loudly:
"Then I declare the winner of this tournament to be Sir Galahad of Camelot's Round Table!"
The crowd erupted in murmurs.
Wait, what?
The quarterfinals were so intense full of incredible techniques and power we'd never seen before.
But now, in the finals…
You just talk it out and call it a day?!
The spectators were displeased.
Had someone taken the lead, they might have even shouted, "Refund! We want a refund!"
But as the crowd grew restless
The Knights of the Round Table stepped forward.
Baobhan Sith, Kay, Galahad, and others all of whom had demonstrated fearsome strength fixed their gazes on the stands.
Under their scrutiny, the Scots fell silent.
They might have jeered under other circumstances, but facing the Round Table's knights who would cut them down was another matter entirely.
At that moment, Lot appeared at the center of the arena.
He surveyed the Scots and smiled.
"Rest assured, we mean you no harm."
Lot's reputation was solid. His words calmed the crowd.
Once silence fell, he continued:
"As for why I've come to Scotland and why I held this tournament you've likely guessed already. Let me be clear: We are here to unite England and Scotland, so we may face the trials ahead together."
Trials?
The Scots exchanged uneasy glances.
Lot pressed on:
"Return to your homes. If you believe our strength is worthy, join us. If not, gather your forces we shall settle this on the battlefield."
His tone radiated absolute confidence.
It left the Scots with one impression:
Even if all of Scotland united, Lot would crush them effortlessly.
And so, many thought:
Wouldn't swearing allegiance to Camelot now be the wiser choice?
Justice lies with Camelot.
Many among them were Scottish nobles. They had already decided:
Once we return, we'll pledge ourselves to Camelot.
The Round Table's might is unstoppable.
We cannot afford to oppose them.
Meanwhile, in the stands
Mash and Ritsuka, who had since returned, watched the scene unfold.
Well…
Scotland's armies might as well be Pendragons now.
They thought simultaneously.
"Still, there may be some lords we can approach. Let's seek them out first."
Ever the optimist, Da Vinci refused to give up.
"Right."
Ritsuka nodded, and the group quietly departed.
...
In the days that followed, Lot and Morgan experienced firsthand what it meant to be flooded with surrenders.
Scotland was small, but its number of petty kingdoms was staggering.
To show respect, Lot and Morgan personally received each surrendering king.
After yet another audience, Morgan wiped her brow and groaned:
"Had I known it'd be like this, I'd have let them stay as enemies."
Hearing her complaint, Lot couldn't help but chuckle.