Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

As yet another seemingly ordinary day drew to a close, the footsteps of the invading Anglo-Saxons steadily approached Maple Ridge.

At most, one night remained—perhaps even less—before seventy thousand Anglo-Saxons would storm into Kaelar's lands.

"Well, there's only one option left," Kaelar murmured, his mind racing with countless thoughts before he slowly exhaled. "I still don't want to kill anyone—not because of any other reason, but because I will not allow any life to be lost before my eyes."

"I want…"

"All people, all of humanity, to live in harmony. Anyone who defies me… that will be their original sin!"

"Because I am absolutely right."

"For this, I shall make a terrible oath!"

The more the wicked oppose me, the more they prove I am correct. If the good oppose me, then they too are wicked.

At some unknown moment, Kaelar's eyes began to burn with an infernal flame.

This flame was completely at odds with the calm and serene expression on his face. Those eyes, so piercing and unnerving, seemed to reflect the great fire of his childhood and the nauseating scent of charred flesh.

Geis One: I, Kaelar, swear never to kill anyone.

Geis Two: I, Kaelar, shall forgive anyone who truly repents and turns to the correct path.

Geis Three: My weapons shall only be raised against those harboring malice, murderous intent, or hostility.

With unwavering determination, Kaelar set down three self-binding oaths, each one drawing his will to its absolute limit. Even if Morgan herself, the True Queen of Britain, were to place a Geis upon him, its power would still fall beneath the priority of these three vows.

Geis—also known as taboo, vow, or strange prohibition.

For a Celtic warrior, taking and adhering to a Geis could grant immense power.

For example, when Cú Chulainn accidentally killed a smith's dog, he vowed to protect the smith in the dog's place and swore never to eat dog meat. By upholding this Geis, he gained a powerful guardianship ability.

But Cú Chulainn, too proud and dismissive of women, was eventually tricked by Queen Medb, who forced him to break his Geis of not eating dog meat. As a result, he lost his protective power and was slain by his own cursed spear.

Similarly, Diarmuid of the Radiant Face fled for sixteen years before Fionn mac Cumhaill forced him to break his Geis against hunting boars, leading to his death under the weight of his own vow.

Despite its dangers, however, Geis was still revered by Celtic warriors as a divine blessing. The method for invoking a Geis was known to only a select few and had all but vanished from history.

This power was immense, seemingly following a principle of equivalent exchange.

The stricter and more demanding the Geis, the more terrifying the power it could bestow.

Kaelar's vow of non-lethality granted him the ability to not be harmed by weapons wielded with malice.

His promise to forgive true repentance bestowed him with the power to sense others' intentions and discern their lies.

The third vow, to never seek conflict, granted him the ability to always shatter the weapons of those who opposed him.

"So this is the power of a Geis… Truly, a blessing from the gods!"

Kaelar's magical energy was drained in an instant. The thin trace of magical blood within him wasn't enough to sustain such vast power. Were it not for the absolute conviction burning within his soul—so intense it nearly consumed him—he wouldn't have been able to bear the cost of swearing three such potent vows at once.

His bare upper body was now covered in strange magical markings. The secrets of the Celtic Geis had been hidden away, known to only a select few practitioners. Celtic culture was steeped in tattoos, so it was no surprise that these marks were now etched upon him. When Kaelar came to his senses, he realized he had essentially become ineligible for government work back in the modern world.

"Oh well, good thing I'm not a Southerner…"

With a newfound sense of clarity, the darkness in Kaelar's heart seemed to dissipate, replaced by a wry humor.

"No matter the burden I carry, no matter if I must protect Maple Ridge alone, I, Kaelar, shall remain undefeated!"

As Kaelar mused, a cool, familiar voice echoed through the room.

"Kael, you don't look particularly worried."

The faint scent of a familiar fragrance filled the room, gentle and alluring. Though years had passed since they last met face to face, Kaelar felt no unfamiliarity with the newcomer.

"Morgan-sensei?" Kaelar stretched his limbs, unperturbed. A smile crossed his lips. "I knew you'd come."

Morgan transformed from her raven form back into her human shape, stepping closer. "My foolish disciple, I knew you wouldn't leave."

"Hmph, you idiot, Kael. You're my only disciple. If you die, where am I supposed to find another one as suitable?"

Though her heart whispered these thoughts, the prideful Morgan could only manage a disdainful tone. "You're too stubborn to run, so I might as well watch and see just how miserably you're going to fail!"

Kaelar didn't let her sharp words bother him. He waved his hand dismissively. "Kill me? These Anglo-Saxons? Please. Even if Vortigern himself shows up, I doubt he could manage it."

Morgan opened her mouth to retort, but her gaze caught on something. Her eyes locked onto the strange tattoos now spread across Kaelar's bare neck and chest.

"Kael! You took on a Geis… such a terrible vow," she said, her voice catching halfway between shock and certainty.

Even without asking, Morgan knew that without such a powerful oath, it would be impossible to stand against seventy thousand Anglo-Saxons. This was the Age of Gods—where even the strongest individuals like Vortigern, Merlin, or Morgan couldn't hold their ground against tens of thousands.

Vortigern's reputation for single-handedly overcoming ten thousand Celtic knights was proof enough of his godlike strength—he was considered the strongest in all of Britain.

If heroes could simply blast their way to victory, then King Arthur wouldn't have needed twelve great battles to drive out the Anglo-Saxons and Romans. A single magical blast would've sufficed.

"You've stepped into the realm of gods?" Morgan's gaze deepened. "Only gods possess the strength to oppose tens of thousands. Only gods can wield such power."

Gods and humans existed on different planes. Whether it was the Lion King in the Singularities or the Fairy Queen Morgan in the Lostbelt, both had transcended humanity's limits, wielding the strength to subjugate millions.

"Almost," Kaelar said with a teasing smile, raising his fingers to indicate a tiny gap. "Just a little bit short."

"...I thought I might be of help, but now it seems I was just fooling myself!"

Morgan reached out her delicate hand, and countless legendary weapons and artifacts suddenly materialized around them…

Moralltach (Great Fury)

Beagalltach (Little Fury)

Caladbolg

Durandal

…

…

The small room was filled with the glittering treasures of Celtic legend, swords and spears with storied pasts. Kaelar couldn't help but laugh. "Morgan, did you go rob Avalon or something?"

In Celtic myth, Avalon was the land of eternal rest, a haven for heroes after death—hence the vast treasure hoard accumulated by the fairies of Britain.

"Something like that," Morgan said, flicking her hair. "I had to brawl with Vivienne to get my hands on these… But unfortunately, the Sword of Promised Victory was too well-guarded. I couldn't secure it."

With that sword…

It might not have guaranteed victory. The Sword of Promised Victory, while a star-forged holy blade, was only truly potent against specific foes, not a universal weapon.

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