Morgan arrived at the cruise ship where the Knights of the Round Table were before Gwyn and Artoria did.
Upon seeing her, the assembled Knights of the Round Table immediately went on high alert, each assuming a combat stance.
“Heh heh.” Morgan let out two cold laughs, stepping closer to the cruise ship in her high-heeled combat boots.
With each step she took, a ripple of magical energy spread across the sea’s surface, accompanied by a crisp *tap-tap* sound.
Faced with Morgan’s steady approach, not one of them showed fear; they even took a step forward.
Gawain was still at the forefront.
Morgan halted, her tone hostile: “How bold you’ve become, Gawain, daring to point your sword at me.”
Her gaze swept over the Knights of the Round Table one by one, her long spear pointing forward: “And you lot, Agravain, Gareth, Mordred.”
“…” The four—Gawain and the others—remained silent, gripping their swords even tighter.
Fight!
I want to see rivers of blood!
This was the thought running through Gwyn’s mind as he arrived on the scene.
Morgan seemed to sense something, looking over.
The chill on her face completely dissipated as she put away her magic spear.
“Since you’ve returned, why hide?”
Gwyn walked out with a look of regret.
He had thought he would get to see some entertainment.
“Morgan? Have you come now to discuss matters between you and me?” he asked.
“Morgan? So that’s what you call me now? You should call me Celyn.”
“To have forgotten even this… truly sorrowful. It seems I hold no place in your heart.”
A flash of anger crossed Morgan’s face beneath her black veil, instantly replaced by melancholy, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Celyn?” The name felt vaguely familiar to Gwyn.
After some thought, he could only recall the faint outline of a golden-haired girl.
Artoria emerged from behind Gwyn, looking somewhat gleeful.
But her amusement was short-lived.
Morgan asked pointedly, “Teacher, do you remember this little blondie?”
“Little blondie?” Visible anger colored Artoria’s face.
“Don’t ask. The answer is I don’t know.” Sensing the situation turning dangerous, Gwyn decided to exit the battlefield.
“It seems you’re no different. The teacher doesn’t remember you either.” Now it was Morgan’s turn to be gleeful.
Artoria, unwilling to give up, sought an answer from Gwyn.
“What should you call me?”
You’re dragging me back into this fire?
Gwyn changed the subject.
“I don’t know. Anyway, let’s not dwell on this nonsense. I’ll take you all to that restaurant.”
“That place has excellent food. My treat, I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.”
“Eating? I don’t think now is the time for a meal. My knights, are you hungry?”
Artoria swept her gaze over the Knights of the Round Table, her demeanor suggesting she would skin them alive if they dared say yes.
“Not hungry!”
Seeing her like that, how could they possibly admit to hunger?
They could only respond with spirited, synchronized shouts.
Gwyn: “…” I should have just burned you all to a crisp earlier!
How dare you push me into this battlefield that’s shaping up to be a veritable Shura Field (scene of carnage/tense standoff).
“Can’t quite recall… Saber?” He tentatively offered the title that left the deepest impression on him regarding Artoria.
Morgan couldn’t hold back a snicker, breaking into a mischievous laugh on the spot.
“Saber? Perfect! Look at that ahoge on her head. I’ve always wanted to pluck it out and play with it.”
“Wrong. Think again.” Artoria took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure.
“Enough thinking. If you’re not hungry, I am. I don’t care if you eat or not, I’m having a meal.”
With that, Gwyn ran off towards the urban area of Fuyuki City.
“Clown.” Morgan shot Artoria a disdainful glance before following first.
Artoria stood still for a moment, then sighed and let it go.
What was the point of competing now?
She was no longer that girl from the past.
“Let’s go. Follow him for the meal. Remember, eat to your heart’s content, eat heartily.”
“It’s someone else’s treat. No need to hold back.”
“Yes, sir!” The Knights’ response sounded as if they were heading to war.
They ushered Irisviel along, closely following their king.
The large group marched imposingly down the streets of Fuyuki City, swords hanging at their waists, resembling a yakuza gang on their way to a blade fight.
As they entered a restaurant, the receptionist and the few remaining diners immediately shot to their feet.
Especially after the Knights lined up in two rows on either side, taking over the greeters’ job, the yakuza atmosphere became overwhelming.
“We’re taking the place.”
Gwyn placed the bank card given by Tokiomi on the front counter.
Instantly, the restaurant staff’s attitude changed dramatically.
They began clearing the place immediately, helping customers pack up and offering vouchers to see them out.
Of course, given the intimidating presence of Gwyn’s group, the customers would likely have left on their own even without the staff’s intervention.
The waitstaff then ushered everyone to their seats and hung a sign on the door.
“First, bring a round of your signature dishes. Order the rest yourselves.”
The restaurant wasn’t particularly upscale, just a medium-sized family eatery with open seating divided into a few sections.
Morgan unceremoniously sat down beside him.
Without even glancing at the menu, she simply ordered one of everything.
Artoria was even more excessive.
“Keep bringing food until I say stop. Don’t stop the rice either.”
The three occupied one table.
The remaining Knights, knowing better than to intrude, split up and sat at two other tables.
Mordred actually looked at the menu properly, ordering a huge amount and taking the opportunity to Make complaints (roast/tease) Gawain:
“Look at these dishes, then think about your mashed potatoes. You really should learn how it’s properly done.”
“…” Gawain fell silent for a few seconds before replying, “You should be grateful I had anything to give you to eat, and that it filled you up.”
She should consider her own appetite.
In Britain, as the Age of Gods waned and grain production plummeted, simply having enough to eat was a blessing.
Taste didn’t matter; quantity and satiety were what counted.
Besides, he was a knight, focused on battle.
Where would he learn to cook?
It was only natural that forcing a duck onto a perch (trying something he wasn’t suited for) resulted in poor food.
“However, since coming to the present era, I have indeed learned new ways to prepare potatoes through the internet—fries, potato chicken nuggets…”
“When I have time, I’ll make some for you all to try.”
Gawain rubbed his hands together, eager to try.
“Please don’t. With your culinary skills, I’m afraid it’ll give us stomachaches.”
Hearing his words, the other Knights immediately shook their heads like rattles.
This guy’s cooking was only a step away from using Excalibur Galatine as a stirring stick.
His mashed potatoes were merely edible; the taste was absolutely disastrous.
Sometimes, in urgent situations on the battlefield, he wouldn’t even peel the potatoes before boiling them.
Faced with the united resistance of the Round Table against his new potato dishes,
Gawain felt his enthusiasm dealt a severe blow, his face falling.
And here I was, studying potato recipes so diligently.
In the end, Gawain channeled his grief and indignation into his appetite, loyally following Artoria’s command to eat heartily and without restraint, devouring food with a vigor that rivaled the king’s own stomach.
It must be said, modern dishes tasted much better than his mashed potatoes.
With quantity assured, it was indeed quite good.
Gawain thought to himself as he ate.