"So, have you finally adapted to living like a country bumpkin, my lady?" The boy with the sun-kissed blonde hair and piercing blue eyes asked, his voice laced with playful teasing as he settled onto the grass beside her.
Stephanie was no longer barking orders or lashing out at commoners. Instead, she was focused, a fishing rod held in her hands as she sought to catch her own meal under the bright, warm gaze of the morning sun.
Both she and the boy, Arthur, appeared to be of the same age, both currently twelve years old, perhaps nearing thirteen.
"Are you absolutely certain you are not a prince in disguise, Arthur?" Stephanie asked, her tone serious and contemplative as she expertly reeled in a fish and dumped the wriggling creature into her wooden bucket. "You're way too different from the villagers here. And your friends. God, they treat you with so much respect. Seriously, the chief village guy and that weird man in the fancy mage robe? They greet you like you're their monarch or something."
"No," he replied, his grin an infuriating and familiar enigma. "I'm still just a boy."
One day, she swore she'd peel that mystery apart layer by layer.
She vowed it to herself with burning determination.
"Then what about all of this?" she pressed, gesturing broadly at the landscape around them. "Why have these lands suddenly grown so fertile? And why are so many villagers suddenly growing a spine and training like crazy? This place was previously so barren and..."
She didn't need to finish her sentence.
Arthur, as always, seemed to read her thoughts, answering the unspoken question.
"Poor and weak," he stated calmly, finishing her thought for her. "Is that what you were going to say? That this place was poor and weak? You're right. It was."
He chuckled playfully, then turned his gaze fully on her. "It's the same as you, Stephanie. Previously, you were weak and cowardly, hiding behind your name and your cruelty. Look at you now."
Her face flushed a deep, beet red, a potent mix of humiliation and anger heating her skin. "Hey, Arthur! Has no one ever told you that you are a complete and utter bastard? That is not how a gentleman speaks to a lady!"
"I only meant that you look like a strong and capable noble lady now," Arthur clarified, his teasing shifting into genuine praise.
The anger in her expression instantly melted away, replaced by a flustered blush that crept up her neck.
"Do... do you really think so?" she asked, her voice suddenly smaller.
"Obviously," Arthur nodded in firm affirmation, his blue eyes holding hers for a meaningful moment before he turned back to his own fishing line.
"Well..." Stephanie found herself at a loss for words, the unexpected compliment leaving her flustered.
A soft, happy hum escaped her lips instead as she looked out over the water, a small, genuine smile playing on her face.
Arthur simply stayed beside her, the two of them fishing in a comfortable silence that spoke volumes about how far they had both come.
"Anyway, what made you come find me here, Arthur?" she asked, turning her head to look at him directly.
"I came to tell you I'll be leaving this village soon," Arthur stated, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "Myself, Merlin, and my sister, Olivia. We're heading out. The question is, do you want to come with us or not?"
"Of course I want to!" Stephanie replied without a moment's hesitation, rolling her eyes at what she considered an absurd question. "Who in their right mind would want to be stuck in this backwater place forever? It's a prison, just one without visible bars."
"I need to be clear about what that means," Arthur added, turning to meet her eyes with a serious expression. "We aren't going on a noble's holiday. We'll be adventurers, taking on any job we can find to survive. Many of those tasks will be hard, physical labor—the kind the nobles in the capital would sneer at and consider utterly beneath their station."
"Humph," Stephanie scoffed, crossing her arms. "And do you think being imprisoned here, rotting away with no purpose and no future, is somehow more 'befitting' of a noble? I would rather go out into the world and reclaim my own freedom through my own two hands, even if it means my hands get dirty, than sit here waiting for a rescue from a family that clearly views me as a disposable pawn."
A genuine smile of gratification spread across Arthur's face.
He was seeing real growth in her, a maturity that had been forged in the fires of her exile.
"Well then," he said, "if that's your decision, I'll help you."
Just seeing that approving smile directed at her made the young girl's heart beat a little faster in her chest.
She nervously fiddled with a strand of her blonde hair, looking down shyly. "Well… if you put it that way… this young lady officially allows you to be her escort on this journey…"
Arthur was momentarily speechless.
Is this girl really that easy to persuade?
He wondered internally.
No questions about the dangers? No doubts about my intentions?
For a brief moment, he wondered if his natural charm was simply too powerful.
Then he remembered the stark reality of her situation.
Moreover, a specific detail surfaced in his mind: she already had a fiancé, if he remembered correctly.
This level of immediate, trusting compliance was… unusual, to say the least.
"Since you trust me that much," Arthur said, deciding to roll with it, "start packing your bags. Take only what you think is absolutely necessary. We need to travel light."
He stood up, giving her shoulder a firm, reassuring pat. His own fishing rod was left forgotten, still stuck in the mud by the lake's edge.
But in that moment, who really cared about a fishing rod?
"Yes, Arthur," Stephanie nodded, a new sense of purpose forming her features.
Then, she quickly reached out and grabbed his hand.
"Well," she began, her voice suddenly adopting a feigned, breathy weakness. "I am also feeling quite tired from all this fishing and the strain of so much manual labor lately. Surely you have the heart to help this weak young lady? You wouldn't make her walk all the way back to her house by herself, would you?"
She even brought a hand to her forehead for dramatic effect, pretending to have a sudden headache.
Arthur saw right through her utterly lame and transparent acting skill.
However, instead of calling her out on it, he simply smiled indulgently and turned around, offering her his back.
"Alright, come on up."
Stephanie smiled in clear relief and victory, wasting no time in letting him carry her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and snugged herself comfortably against his back, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you, my kind and chivalrous knight."
"You're welcome, my young lady," Arthur responded in a perfectly gentlemanly tone, carefully adjusting his grip as he began to escort her back to her simple wooden house, the unspoken bond between them strengthening with every step.
...
As Arthur sat down and ate his fill of the meal prepared by the former noble brat, a girl who was no longer spoiled or bratty, who had genuinely learned the arts of cooking and managing a household with impressive skill, he couldn't help but smile in deep gratification at her profound change.
This, he thought, is what a true noble should be. Not a parasite, but a pillar. Graceful without being haughty, gentle without being weak, and empathetic to the struggles of others. It was a stark contrast to the spoiled, rotten daughters of privilege that clogged the royal court, girls who understood privilege but not duty.
A flicker of an idea crossed his mind: perhaps he had a talent for this. Maybe he should tame more villainesses and brats like her, teaching them what it truly means to bear a noble title.
If not for the heavy weight of the Camelot System and his inescapable destiny as a king, he might have even enjoyed applying himself as a teacher, personally instructing all those disgraceful nobles on the actual meaning of responsibility and duty.
"How is it, Arthur?" Stephanie asked softly, breaking him from his thoughts.
Her eyes were hopeful and sparkling with anticipation, desperately seeking his approval.
"Good. Really good," Arthur grinned, giving her the validation she craved. "I should call my sister to join us next time. Olivia would love your cooking, too."
"Please do," Stephanie beamed, her smile radiant at the compliment, and they began to eat their shared meal with gusto.
It was a simple, humble dish, the fish she had caught herself in the lake, cleaned and fried by her own hands. It was a far cry from the lavish banquets of her past, but it was honest, and they enjoyed it together.
While eating, Arthur's mind, never truly at rest, began to chart the treacherous waters ahead. His first major obstacle was Luxion, the supremely powerful ancient weapon.
It was out of the question for now; he had no concrete leads on its location.
Even though, from the perspective of the "mob protagonist" Leon, it seemed Luxion was destined for his sister, Arthur knew that was a superficial reading of the situation.
In the original otome game's logic, Luxion obeyed his sister only because her body was permanently hijacked by the "original saint."
This fact alone told Arthur everything he needed to know: this so-called original saint was a malicious entity, a direct threat to his sister's very existence and her future as the true candidate for sainthood.
His decision was cold and final: I shall eliminate her the moment I meet her.
That left the problem of Luxion itself. The only way to secure the AI was to sneak in behind the back of whichever "Leon" ended up claiming it.
But which Leon would that be? Leon Sara Rault? Or Leon Fou Bartfort?
Their fates were intrinsically connected by the reincarnated "mob soul."
In the canon he remembered, it was a binary outcome: if Leon Sara died, then the mob soul would inhabit Leon Bartfort. If Leon Bartfort lived his original life, then Leon Sara would perish.
The wandering consciousness would enter the body of the one who lived.
Arthur's entire strategy for securing Luxion hinged on correctly identifying which boy had survived and arrived, so he could meticulously plan his moves around him.
So, after finishing his meal, he bid farewell to Stephanie and summoned Merlin.
"Investigate the basic information of Leon Fou Bartfort. I want to know whether he's still alive or not. Report everything to me, Merlin."
"Yes, my king." Merlin bowed with exaggerated grace, his cloak fluttering as petals bloomed around him before he vanished completely, leaving the scent of flowers hanging in the air.
With the intel soon to be in his hands, the next phase of his plan was already forming in his mind. This time, he wasn't just thinking—he was going to act.
First and foremost, spreading his fame and growing his personal base was the most important step.
Without a reputation, he was just another nameless adventurer scrabbling for scraps.
Secondly, he and his party needed to climb the ranks of the kingdom and become nobility themselves. As much as he despised it, he couldn't deny that this world ran on the logic of a strict hierarchy.
Birthright and title dictated everything—who could own land, who could command troops, who could even speak in certain rooms. And it wasn't just this world. Arthur's previous world had operated on the same brutal arithmetic.
When he had accumulated enough prestige, enough political weight, he would buy this very village from House Redgrave itself.
He would claim it as his territory legally without leaving room for dispute.
And then he would transform this nothing patch of dirt into the foundation of Camelot—an unbreakable fortress set upon a floating island.
Not just any floating island, but a kingdom-sized stronghold reminiscent of the Garden of Babylon from Fate/Apocrypha, fused with the overwhelming grandeur of Camelot from FGO.
A fortress worthy of a king—not just in name, but in presence, in legend, in fear.
After all, a king without a territory is just a pretender with a title.
For the time being, playing the part of a loyal noble within this kingdom's structure was a necessary disguise.
He would work for the Holfort Kingdom. He would personally lead the charge to defeat the hostile Principality, crushing their military and eliminating the threat they posed once and for all. His sword would carve peace into the land, and the kingdom would owe that peace to him.
And when they were even—when the kingdom had its security and he had his legitimacy—that was when Camelot would go independent.
The kingdom would have gained its freedom from the constant shadow of the Principality.
He would have gained the capital, the recognition, and the unshakable foundation he needed.
After that, both sides would be even, with no further obligations binding him.
No debts. No chains.
Everyone would get what they wanted. That was the art of the deal.
Only when everything was completely cleared could he leave with a clear conscience, free to finally establish his own sovereign kingdom, unshackled from the past and built entirely upon his own will and vision.