Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

Kaelar frowned at Artoria's words. "If even you feel that way, then something truly must have happened among the Anglo-Saxons."

If it were anyone else speaking about their intuition, Kaelar would dismiss it. But this was Artoria, the future King of Knights, a hero of the Age of Gods with A-Rank Instinct.

"Kael, do you have any idea what's going on?" Artoria hesitated for a moment, then added, "Well, if you don't know, then my feeling wouldn't be so faint."

If even Kaelar couldn't deduce the situation, her intuition would be far sharper and more alarming, not this vague and uncertain sense.

"I have a guess," Kaelar sighed. "But Hengist isn't an easy man to deal with... We need confirmation first. Let's wait for news."

In times of crisis, one must remain calm. Once Morgan returned with more information, Kaelar would know how to proceed.

As the saying goes: Know yourself, know your enemy. Without a clear understanding of the situation, rash action would be foolish.

Having made up his mind, Kaelar turned to Artoria. "Lily, you should get back to your duties. If today's formation training isn't up to standard, you'll get half rations!"

This tactic, which might not work on others, was always effective on Artoria.

Sure enough, the little knight's worried expression turned to one of shock. Her delicate face grew serious, and her usual stern demeanor became even graver.

Artoria nodded solemnly, saying, "Understood, Kael... I'll give it my all!"

"Good, I trust you!" Kaelar casually waved off the earnest young girl, then returned to his chambers to draft a plan.

"Consider defeat before thinking of victory…" Kaelar pondered seriously. "If Vortigern himself intervenes, I won't be a match for him. What will I do then?"

Although he doubted Vortigern would go to such lengths for a mere minor lord, anything was possible. What if Vortigern truly lost his mind?

Even if Vortigern didn't come, Hengist's silence for so long meant he had been up to something. Whatever it was, it had to be stopped!

---

"Take this letter to my father."

Kaelar thought carefully, then wrote a letter detailing the stakes. He asked his father, Sir Ector, to present it to King Uther—even if it meant risking war, he would do so.

But... was it really that simple?

Was war truly something to be decided on a whim?

Coming from the 21st century and having received a higher education, Kaelar was acutely aware of a single truth—War can be started by anyone, but no one can single-handedly decide when it stops.

The end of a war comes only when both sides, from kings to commoners, can no longer afford its cost.

War wasn't just a handful of lines in a textbook or numbers on a page. It meant death—countless deaths.

"Killing brings misfortune. War... is the most calamitous misfortune under heaven."

As Kaelar sent the letter off, his expression twisted with bitterness. His rational side told him this decision was right; using the orthodox to crush the unorthodox was a grand strategy.

If the Celts initiated war, all of Hengist's schemes would be rendered useless.

But another part of Kaelar felt an intense unease. Once war began, death would become an inevitability, and the blood of both peoples would flow until one side could no longer bear the toll.

He knew it. He knew it all too well.

"This isn't what I wanted…"

Kaelar's eyes grew distant. What had he just done?

He had urged Uther to wage war. Did he truly believe this was the path to enlightenment?

Was this truly righteousness?

No, this was driven by his fear of the unknown, by his frustration over plans disrupted by unseen obstacles.

Kaelar's fear stemmed from his inability to control the Anglo-Saxons' movements, to uncover Hengist's schemes. That was why he had rushed to break the deadlock, seeking to bring events back under his control.

Whatever the justification, waging war was not an act of virtue. No matter what Hengist had done, it was no excuse for Kaelar to initiate bloodshed.

If Hengist used cruelty, violence, and the ignorance of religion to control the minds of the Anglo-Saxons...

Then Kaelar's duty was not to wage war to stop Hengist's schemes, but to persist in his own ideals—to bring true virtue and enlightenment to all who lived on Britain's soil.

Just as he had once told Artoria: If they resorted to violence to conquer violence, they would never be able to surpass Vortigern.

For truth remains truth, no matter how many times a lie is repeated. A lie never becomes the truth, no matter how often it is told.

---

"I almost fell into darkness…"

Kaelar snapped awake after a sleepless night, his body feeling unusually fatigued—an odd sensation for a warrior capable of fighting tirelessly for days. In just one night, his face had grown gaunt, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"I am no saint, yet I have long walked the path of the saints."

"I may have been wrong, but now I understand more—I have seen my own heart."

"I, Kaelar, will never succumb to corruption!"

There are people in this world who cannot be bought or compromised. They live by their convictions, unwavering in their ideals, only growing stronger in the face of adversity.

Kaelar was undeniably one of those people.

No one is born infallible. To acknowledge one's mistakes and strive to correct them is a great virtue. After a long night of reflection, Kaelar's resolve hadn't crumbled; it had grown more steadfast.

"Killing brings misfortune. There is no just war in this world." Kaelar's eyes were deep and resolute. "I must correct my mistake."

The letter had likely already reached Camelot, the capital. It was time for him to visit the capital himself.

But before he could depart, the heavy thundering of hooves resounded outside the castle. The familiar sound brought a strange expression to Kaelar's face.

Like cars, different breeds of fine horses had distinctive hoofbeats. This particular sound was unmistakably the hoofbeats of Sir Ector's beloved steed.

Kaelar had sent his letter just the night before, and Ector had already arrived the following morning. Even though Camelot was less than seventy kilometers from Maple Ridge, the journey would still have taken at least a few hours.

It seemed Ector had departed the moment he received the letter.

Perhaps those extra few hours had been spent giving Kaelar a chance to sleep.

As Sir Ector entered the castle, the maids and knights discreetly withdrew—even Artoria did the same.

The relationship between this father and son was notoriously rocky. Nearly every encounter ended in a heated argument. Out of respect for both lords, the servants chose to remain out of sight.

Kaelar sighed, feeling a headache coming on. If anyone were the greatest obstacle to his philosophy of enlightenment, it was certainly Ector.

Kaelar believed he could eventually enlighten every barbarian in Britain—Ector would undoubtedly be the last to yield.

That was the curse of parenthood. A parent would never bow to their child.

And Ector had long sought to teach him how to be a "proper" Celt.

Though he disapproved of Kaelar's leniency toward the Anglo-Saxons, the prosperity of Maple Ridge—unaffected by these "enemy-supporting" policies—was undeniable. Under Kaelar's leadership, the territory had thrived and become the richest land in Celtica. For this, even a stubborn Celt like Ector couldn't voice too many objections.

In particular, Kaelar's methods of centralizing power had solidified the lord's authority above the knightly class, granting the lord full control over the territory—a feat that even Ector, who had spent years in Uther's court, found impressive.

Even Uther, that old conservative, had stopped criticizing Kaelar's policies. He even expressed hopes that Artoria might learn from Kaelar's centralizing tactics.

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