A Villainess pulled out the Sword instead of the Hero.

Guinevere picked up a flower from somewhere on the floor and tapped the vase.

 

Morgana watched as it twitched and sparks flew.

 “Maybe the herbs kept him from stealing it, but if he’d just touched it, it would have left a mark.” 

The tip of the flower branch Guinevere was holding also smoldered with a small burn.

 

A bare hand would have left a small cut, and a gloved hand would have left a charred glove.

 

Realizing this, Lancelot whistled softly,

“Okay, I see where you’re going with this, Morgana, but can I ask you something?” “Yes, go ahead.” “Why did you set the trap on your own, instead of leaving it to the knights? What if the Princess was injured?” “The Princess won’t touch them, she doesn’t like things that are gifts, and.” 

Over the years, Guinevere has suffered numerous assassination attempts.

 

Everything from her food to her clothes to her living arrangements was a sensitive subject for the royal court.

 

It was a sharp, yet most fundamental question.

 

Morgana’s answer was serious and decisive,

“The Princess has agreed to give me the vase.” 

Lancelot’s head tilted sideways at the casual answer.

 

The royal knights, who had been listening intently, glanced at Morgana with questioning eyes.

 

Beside her, Guinevere merely nodded in agreement.

 “That’s right, I said I’d give it to her.” “And, of course, my loyalty to capture the man who dared to sully Britain’s reputation!” 

Morgana added, throwing her hands up in the air in a gesture of determination, but Lancelot’s soulless grin had already concluded his mind.

 

‘You’ve prepared yourself for the possibility of the theft stealing this vase of yours.’

 

Rather, convinced by the argument, they did not pursue it further.

 

Instead, Lancelot instructed the other knights.

 “From this day forward, round up every man who has a scar on his hand or a new pair of gloves.” “Yes!” 

As he watched the knights file out in a stately motion, he sneaked a glance at Morgana.

 “Miss Morgana, we’ll have to speak again later. Oh, and don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not asking you out.” “…I didn’t?” “Even when I say that, there’s always someone who gets the wrong idea. I’m just being upfront.” 

One of his eyes narrowed.

 

Morgana nodded shakily, wanting to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

 

‘You’re pretty good at making it look like you’re going to ask more questions.’

 

Not that she didn’t understand, given the time of year.

 

It would all be settled when Moonwort arrived. We’d know who the culprit was, the evidence couldn’t be clearer.

 

‘The problem is, how do we get the Moonwort around Lady Guinevere’s neck?’

 

It was hard to ask her to carry it around. They might think it was cursed or contained something harmful.

 

Especially since Guinevere had suffered from poisoning for so long, the royal family was likely to be sensitive.

 

If anything, it would seem even more odd if Morgana asked for it.

 

‘Well, then, we’ll just have to make sure she can’t…’

 

Suddenly, Morgana felt something heavy in her hand. She instinctively tightened her arm and looked up to see Guinevere brushing her hand away.

 “You protected the vase, so you get to keep it.” 

With a look of relief, as if she’d just thrown off a troublesome burden, she put her hands on her hips and looked around, then pointed to the crystal statue on the nightstand.

 “Do you want that, too, or do you want to take some of the things I got that I haven’t opened.”“There were so many gifts. 

Guinevere was desperate to get one more thing in, any way she could.

 

Fearing that if she was too cold, her feelings for Britain would be questioned, she declined out of politeness.

 “My lady, what’s left of your gift?” “A man.” 

Guinevere flashed a mischievous grin as she rummaged through a chest of drawers, searching for a storage key.

  

With a loud thud, a document was tossed onto the desk in Avalon’s office.

 

Covered in a foul-smelling, translucent green liquid, Gawain wiped his face roughly with his hand and spat out the liquid in his mouth.

 “Tsk. I’ll just follow the route that wizard took.” 

Kellive flipped through the crinkly papers he’d tossed over.

 

It retraced the path the dead mage had taken.

 

Along the way, it had taken him to the demon-infested mountains, and Gawain’s knuckles were covered in demon blood.

 “There was a village in the mountains along the way that even remembered the wizard.” 

Kellive asked, flipping through the papers where he’d scribbled short notes on each location.

 “Are you sure it’s the same person?” “I recognized them when they told me their faces, but they don’t get many outsiders because the mountains are so rugged. Once you come, even a newborn deer fawn will know you’re coming.” 

Gawain rubbed his chin to clear the creature’s blood.

 “Anyway, she was originally raised in an orphanage, but she showed a talent for magic, so a man named Master taught her.” “Who is the Master?” “I don’t know that. They said the Master had traveled to the mountains and was lost, and they thought he was deranged because they saw madness in his eyes.” 

He stared off into space, frowning in all sorts of ways as he tried to remember.

 

Before he could answer, Kellive closed the papers and replied,

“It’s a curse.” “What? Like what? A mountain range?” “The mage is cursed.” 

Usually, those under a curse are obsessed with one thing.

 

Like Caradoc clung to his family’s honor. That he turned to Morgana’s instead of the thing he sought could only mean one thing.

 “The caster of the curse is quite unhappy with the future of Avalon.” 

When the caster moved the object of the curse themselves.

 

At that moment, the cursed’s goals are lost, and the caster’s goals take precedence.

 

‘King Vortigen.’

Caradoc and wizards.

 

King Vortigen was the only point of overlap between them.

 

At the memory of Morgana’s, Kellive quickly pulled on his cloak.

 

It was time to go to Britain. But Morgana was inside the royal palace, a space he couldn’t enter.

 “Wandering into a dangerous place.” 

Gawain asked, watching him move about,

“Where are you going? Can I rest?” “Yes, of course. Well done, you and Raves.” “He passed out when I got back to the portal from the mountains.” “That’s a trick, you worked late last night, so you pretended to faint and wanted to rest.” “Somehow, as soon as he saw the demon’s blood, he grabbed it from the forehead. It’s supposed to be the mouth first.” 

Shrugging off Gawain’s grumblings, Kellive finished preparing his gear and picked up his transportation gem.

  

The carriages of every family lined up in front of Tir na Nog’s shop.

 

It was no exaggeration to say that all of Britain’s great houses were represented.

 

Passersby rolled their eyes at the endless parade of carriages.

 “Isn’t that Tir na Nog? What kind of carriage is that?” “I heard my master talking about it yesterday, and he said there was some kind of secret banquet going on.” 

VIPs were not allowed to be transferred or substituted, except by a single servant.

 

After disembarking from the carriage, the young ladies, recognizing familiar faces, chattered among themselves.

 “For days now, we’ve been postponing today’s teatime and invitations to the conclave. I guess everyone was trying to get here.” “Yeah, we’d be in trouble if we missed it.” 

In social circles, no one mentioned herbs to each other. This was because herbs were still viewed as inferior in quality to priests.

 

Those who did buy herbs were invited to the VIP level.

 

Some of them felt betrayed at the entrance and shouted at each other.

 “No, you. Why are you here, and what good are the herbs?” “You sneered at my Young Lord for spending money on futile things. Are you a fool?” 

Despite their disdain, the door that separated the herb shop from the first floor was different from its height.

 

The statues on the massive pillars, the kind you’d expect to find in a royal palace, bear the names of Britain’s most famous sculptors.

 

The masked staff were polite, but without any hint of selflessness or emotion.

 “Let me show you around.” 

They said the bare minimum was necessary.