With the death of Vortigern and the reclamation of Camelot, Artoria was finally acknowledged by all as the true King of Britain.
Yet for me, the victory tasted only of ash—specifically, the ash of my burnt-out sanity. Why? Because the workload had increased beyond all reason.
I had to oversee the reconstruction of Camelot, handle delicate diplomatic envoys, and personally ensure that the hands of those who sought to embezzle funds in the wake of the war were figuratively, and sometimes literally, severed. Then there were the nobles, who took every possible opportunity to stir up trouble.
To handle the embezzlers and the overstepping nobility, I requested the aid of Sir Agravain. He struck them down with the iron hammer of interrogation and seized their assets for the crown. They should have lived more virtuous lives; they brought this upon themselves.
At any rate, with the work more than doubling, I found myself chained to my desk in the solar just two days after the Vile King's demise.
The line between a Knight of the Round Table and a Chancellor of the Round Table was beginning to blur. I feared I might follow in the footsteps of a certain Sage King and perish from sheer exhaustion.
However, my body, now housing a Magic Core, seemed determined to deny me the sweet release of sleep. It boasted a resilience that kept me perfectly functional despite consecutive nights of labor.
Thanks to this, I found myself keeping a solitary vigil over the parchment every night. I had received so much assistance from Sir Bedivere that I reached a point where I felt too guilty to ask him for more.
And so, I turned to the other Knights of the Round Table for aid. If I had been the only one toiling until now, surely it was time they shared the burden?
But the responses of the Round Table were as follows:
***
"Ahem... this Lancelot has an engagement with someone I simply must meet..."
"Ahem... I have promised to grace someone with my song..."
"Ahahaha! I, too, have pressing matters. My apologies, Elius!"
"I—I must prepare mashed potatoes for the King!"
Lancelot, Tristan, Kay, and Gawain spoke in quick succession. My, my... these fellows?
"...By 'someone you must meet,' you wouldn't happen to mean you're going out to woo various ladies, would you, Sir Tristan, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Kay?"
"O-Of course not!"
"Wh-What a preposterous accusation!"
"Y-Yes, exactly!"
They all stuttered, their guilty consciences on full display, but they feigned innocence just as I had predicted. Is that how it is?
"Then you should have nothing to fear. Sir Galahad? If you would be so kind. Could you accompany these three on their journey today?"
I looked toward Galahad, Lancelot's son, who had recently joined our ranks as a Knight of the Round Table.
Galahad, who harbored a distinct distaste for his father's philandering, was a godsend. He made it his mission to catch Lancelot in the act of flirting and drag him back to his duties, significantly reducing my headache. Truly, a treasure among knights.
Because of Galahad, the paperwork regarding Lancelot's various scandals had decreased to a manageable level. He was my lifeline.
At my request, Galahad gave a polite smile and nodded.
"Of course, Sir Elius. I shall follow them closely and ensure they remain on the path of righteousness."
"""Wha—?!"""
"Why such long faces? You are merely gaining one more companion. Unless, of course, you have something on your conscience that makes his presence... uncomfortable?"
All three were rendered speechless. Precisely. They couldn't refuse, for to do so would be to admit they were heading out for a tryst. Yet, if they took Galahad along, any hope of wooing a lady would be utterly crushed.
"Then, please, be on your way. I am sure your 'appointments' await."
"""...."""
Their minds raced to find a counterargument, but I had sealed every exit. In the end, the three of them were forced to depart the castle with Galahad looming over them like a silent judge.
Now, how should I deal with Gawain...?
When I turned around, however, the Knight of the Sun had already vanished into the wind.
***
After this cycle repeated about three times, I realized something: if I waited for the Knights of the Round Table to change their ways, I would likely reach the end of my lifespan first.
I pondered: what is the best way to reduce this workload? The answer came to me with surprising clarity.
I needed to transform the workspace into an environment of peak efficiency. And for that, there was only one path.
I had to implement a modern administrative system. I would standardize all document formats and systematize the hierarchy.
In this medieval era, the administrative structure relied on a central power where the King had to decide everything personally to maintain control. The problem was that the King had to decide every trivial detail. This concentrated power, yes, but it also concentrated a monstrous amount of labor.
Surely the King shouldn't have to decide on the small things. If so, what was the point of having civil servants?
Furthermore, the formatting was abysmal. Every report read like a personal diary. It was maddening.
Unlike the organized, logical documents of the modern era, these papers had introductions and conclusions that had nothing to do with each other. I often doubted whether a grown adult or a small child had penned them. It gave me a chronic migraine.
And so, I resolved to overhaul the inefficient administrative system and the archaic documentation.
At the time, I had no idea what consequences this would bring.
***
Three years have passed since I made that fateful resolution.
To start with the conclusion: I succeeded in restructuring the system and its formats.
The high-efficiency administrative system reduced redundant tasks, allowing saved time to be reinvested into more important matters. However, I failed to foresee the ultimate outcome.
Artoria, witnessing the sheer efficiency of the new system I had built, decided to delegate almost all administrative duties to me, save for the absolute essentials required of a Sovereign.
As a result, my workload actually increased. In a miraculous display of cosmic irony, my workload resulted in a net change of zero. The labor never diminished.
What was even more infuriating was that the Knights of the Round Table had unanimously agreed when Artoria announced she was entrusting the administration to me.
I lost my speech as I watched the knights nod as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Really? Is this right? Shouldn't at least one of you have tried to stop her?
Is it even sane to concentrate this much authority into a single knight? I am a knight! Not an accountant, not a clerk, and certainly not the Grand Vizier. I am just a knight!
But no matter how much I protested, the Round Table simply gave me non-committal hums of agreement and moved on.
I felt a deep sense of despair. Did I become a Knight of the Round Table just to solve a never-ending mountain of paperwork? It's miserable...
Living with the Round Table truly feels like a trial intended to bring me to enlightenment. I wonder, if I ever become a Heroic Spirit, will this suffering qualify me for the Ruler class due to my forced state of worldly detachment?
As I looked at the literal mountain of documents before me, I could do nothing but weep as I moved my pen.
I curse you, past self! You and your 'administrative reforms'!