Simulator in Type-moon, Starting with becoming Morgan husband!

Chapter 80. The Spread of Pain Must Be Severed in a Deserving Way

[At your request, Artoria, as the king, ultimately decided to forgo thoroughly investigating the matter.]

[However, you knew this wouldn't erase Artoria's worries.]

[This incident still left her with many concerns.]

[But you had no way to change everything. You could only seek to minimize its impact in the future.]

[You urgently dispatched a secret letter to Morgan in Camelot.]

Under the moonlight.

A shadow ran, gasping for breath.

This shadow was none other than Agravain.

He had been fleeing like this for a long time.

He didn't dare stop, nor did he dare confirm his direction.

He couldn't escape the truth etched deep in his mind—he had plunged the dagger into his revered father.

Next, how would he face his mother?

Agravain realized his mind was blank, completely incapable of finding an answer to this question.

This was the most panic-stricken moment of his life.

If possible, he even wished he could die on this very road.

But fate always enjoys mocking people.

Even though Agravain paid no attention to the direction of his way, the road beneath his feet inadvertently led him back to the outskirts of Camelot.

Amid the fields of wheat, he looked toward the sturdy city walls under the moonlight, knowing he could not escape everything.

The knight silently stepped into the familiar yet unfamiliar city under the moonlit sky.

By day, he met his mother. Resolute in facing death, he confessed everything.

"What?!"

Morgan, always elegant and composed, immediately lost her princessly poise upon hearing Agravain say he had plunged a dagger into his father.

A loud "smack" rang out.

A red mark appeared on Agravain's face.

"Ungrateful child!" Morgan screamed, "That was your father! You wanted to kill him?!"

"Mother… it wasn't like that."

"I absolutely had no such intention, it's just…"

"Then why did you do it?!"

Morgan's eyes burned red with rage, her voice beginning to tremble.

"I—"

Before he could finish, a knock at the door interrupted him.

"Princess."

"A letter has arrived for you, sent by Lord Ian from the front lines."

"…"

Hearing Ian's name, Morgan temporarily restrained the fury within her.

She took the letter.

Opened it.

Read it.

It contained only a few brief sentences.

"Princess, I am currently doing well. Please do not scold Agravain too harshly; his efforts are evident to everyone."

"Furthermore, all progress is going smoothly. Please do not worry."

"The throne of Camelot will ultimately belong to you, our noble lady."

"—Your loyal knight, Ian, written from the front lines."

After reading the letter, Morgan remained unsettled for a long time.

Every word in the letter clearly expressed Ian's loyalty to her, yet Morgan felt that something was missing.

What was it?

Morgan repeatedly examined the letter in her hand, but she couldn't pinpoint an answer to explain this feeling.

"Mother..." Agravain softly spoke from behind her.

"Although it may be too late, I am ready to bear all consequences for my actions."

"..."

Morgan remained silent for a moment before responding in a cold tone.

"No need."

"Your father has already forgiven you."

"Agravain, leave now. I wish to be alone."

"...Understood."

Agravain turned back to glance once more, afraid he might have misheard something.

Only after confirming that Morgan had truly forgiven him did he quickly leave the royal palace.

The noble princess once again found herself in solitude.

The words of the letter remained vivid before her eyes.

But the more she tried to understand, the more the proud princess felt that something was slipping further away from her grasp.

[You did not know Morgan's feelings after reading the letter.]

[You could only hope that your efforts would yield results, sparing Agravain from an unreasonable disaster.]

[Even though you rarely spoke with him, you did not wish for him to live his entire life in darkness because of this matter.]

[After all, he was your and Morgan's child.]

[Standing atop the hill, you looked toward Camelot, hoping that your wishes would come true.]

[And at that moment, Gawain approached you.]

"Father."

"It's you, Gawain."

Ian turned around.

"What's the matter?"

"Uh..." Gawain's expression looked troubled. "Father, how is your wound?"

"Oh, that."

Ian, using the same hand as the one wounded by the dagger, drew Excalibur Galatine from his waist.

Under the sunlight, the sword of the lake was drawn, its silver light shining brilliantly.

"My son, do not worry about me."

"I told you, I won't fall so easily."

"..."

Gawain remained silent for a moment, then forced a faint smile.

"That's good to hear."

"But—"

"But what?"

Ian looked at Gawain, his tone turning serious.

"My son, I believe I've emphasized this many times before."

"As a knight, you must not hesitate—battles change in the blink of an eye, and your hesitation will become your greatest weakness."

Gawain hesitated briefly, then nodded.

"Father, I actually want to ask about that assassin."

"Who exactly is he?"

"…"

Ian let out a wry laugh and patted Gawain lightly on the shoulder.

"Just an overly loyal assassin."

"He won't appear again, so there's no need for you to worry."

"…"

Hearing these words, Gawain seemed to have realized something.

But his thoughts were quickly interrupted by a smack from Gareth.

The girl, slightly shorter than Gawain, jumped up and hit her brother on the head.

Standing with her hands on her hips, she scolded with a bit of exasperation:

"Hey! Brother Gawain! The king asked you to come here, not to sit around chatting with Father!"

"What?"

Ian looked slightly surprised.

"What's this about?"

"It's this."

Gareth pointed toward the barracks in the distance.

"The king said today is a day for honoring the knights and hoped Brother Gawain would bring Father back."

"But it seems like he forgot!"

"I definitely didn't forget," Gawain, rubbing his head where Gareth hit him, muttered in annoyance. "You little shorty, I was just asking Father a few things!"

"You're the shorty! No, wait! You're a gorilla!"

"Gareth! Say that again!"

"Gorilla!"

"Gareth, I think today I need to teach you a lesson!"

"Come on, catch me first and then talk!"

[Watching the siblings bicker noisily, you found it both amusing and heartwarming.]

[Your mood lightened a little.]

[You decided to return to the barracks with them.]

Under the shining sun, back in the barracks.

The knights were busy preparing everything for the celebratory feast.

Seeing the smiles on their faces, Ian realized this was the first time Camelot's finest had been properly honored.

For so long, they had been in a state of high tension, constantly on the brink of being torn apart by external pressures.

Hosting such a feast was indeed necessary.

"Sir Ian."

Artoria approached Ian, speaking in a voice only he could hear.

"You've returned."

"Yes," Ian replied in the same tone.

"I didn't expect you to arrange a day like this."

"Well, it's been a long time since we've done something like this."

Her cheeks flushed slightly.

"The knights have fought so hard; they deserve a chance to enjoy themselves like this."

"And also—"

"And also?"

"Sir Ian, you seem reluctant to talk about that assassination. So, isn't it necessary to let the knights forget a matter you don't wish to mention?"

Artoria spoke seriously, as if this was her true intention.

Ian clearly hadn't anticipated that she'd think of this, and could only respond with a smile.

"Yes, you're right."

"If everyone gets lost in the joy of the feast, no one will think about it anymore."

"That would indeed be beneficial for the stability of the army."

"Umu!" Artoria nodded.

"I feel the same way."

"Then let's begin."

"Alright."

[This is a banquet to honor the knights on the frontlines.]

[The knights, charmed by the aroma of the food spreading throughout the barracks, began to indulge in the feast.]

[This joy also stirred their aspirations for the future.]

[You took a moment to listen quietly and discovered that most of their desires were centered around victory in war.]

[You knew that this campaign was incredibly important for Camelot.]

[You could sense that Excalibur Galatine: Sword of Revolving Victory was ready to serve this purpose.]

[And at that moment, Gawain appeared once again before you.]

"Father."

Gawain handed Ian a wooden board, which had a portion of mashed potatoes on it.

"Please try my cooking."

"Oho?"

Ian looked surprised.

"Gawain, you really know how to make this?"

"Yes."

Gawain rarely showed such a proud expression.

"I believe that as a knight, one should learn as many skills as possible."

"Only in this way can I help others when they need it."

"Umu." Ian nodded approvingly.

"Your thinking is commendable. This is indeed an excellent quality for a knight to possess."

"Then—"

"Please try my cooking."

[You took the mashed potatoes from Gawain's hands.]

[It was a very simple dish—just potatoes as the main ingredient, with a few suitable seasonings, cooked in a pot, and then mashed with a utensil.]

[Even in the barracks, where time was precious, this dish was worth trying.]

[You had prepared a compliment for Gawain—after all, he seemed eager to receive your praise.]

[But the situation turned out a little differently than you expected.]

The dish looked quite appealing;

The smell was also quite reasonable for a delicious meal.

Ian gently scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and put it into his mouth.

Swoosh—

Ian felt his brain vibrate.

How could it… taste so awful?!

If I were to describe it in words, it would be the smell of cheese that had been expired for a month, chewed on by rats, then thrown into a food waste bin, soaked in rancid oil for a few days, and mixed with rotten eggs beaten into a paste—forming a grotesque dish.

Enduring this taste was a monumental challenge, as if facing a divine curse.

Had it not been for Ian's unwavering will, he would have certainly vomited right then and there.

The sound of swallowing.

With the attitude of confronting a curse, Ian struggled to swallow the mashed potatoes, only to be surrounded by Gawain's expectant gaze.

"Father, may I ask how the dish is?"

"…"

Ian didn't know how to respond.

Should he tell the truth?

It might crush Gawain's confidence.

But if he lied, would that mean he'd have to finish the entire plate of mashed potatoes?

It was a tough choice.

And Ian didn't want to choose either.

Seemingly sensing Ian's dilemma, Artoria, who showed no emotion, spoke up:

"This mashed potato looks quite tasty."

"Ian, let me try a bite."

"…"

"Can't I try?"

"Oh, no, of course you can."

Ian hesitated for a moment, then finally handed the plate of mashed potatoes to Artoria.

As he did so, Ian felt a pang of regret.

If he himself had said that the dish was awful, then the damage to Gawain's confidence would be something a grown-up could handle.

But if Artoria said it, it could mean the entire Camelot might reject the dish altogether.

The difference in how Gawain's confidence would be shaken was immense.

Yet once again, the situation developed in a way Ian hadn't expected.

Artoria took the mashed potatoes and immediately tried it.

Unlike Ian, she didn't hesitate at all and finished the entire portion.

Then, she gave her opinion.

"Hmm… It can truly be called 'food.'"

"Let's keep it like this."

Upon hearing that, Gawain was overjoyed.

"I understand now!"

"I'll go make another plate right away!"

As Gawain happily walked away, Ian finally dared to speak up:

"How could you eat that?"

"With the level of a regular dish, it was really hard to swallow."

Artoria furrowed her brows.

"But that's your son, and our knight. I didn't want to hurt him."

"But Artoria, I think if it goes on like this... we might end up with a Curse Chef."

"Well, it doesn't matter."

Her face turned slightly red.

"As long as it's a dish that Sir Ian has tasted, I can eat it as if it's a delicacy."

"…"

Ian didn't know how to respond to that—if he agreed, surely some misfortune would come of it.

Just as the two of them were silently facing each other, a report came:

"Your Majesty, there's a knight from France outside who wishes to meet you!"