June, Britain.
Even on the island, the weather was beginning to grow hot.
By nightfall, the heat remained relentless, making one wish to abandon all trivial matters and simply rush north—to the far reaches of Scotland, then board a ship and sail even farther north.
On the vast grasslands, an army had set up camp.
A wooden palisade encircled the area, with towering armored warriors stationed every few meters. Beyond that lay a trench several meters deep. A closer look would reveal sharp nails and caltrops scattered at the bottom, their surfaces faintly shimmering with a blue glow.
And past the trench, where the ground appeared flat, countless traps lay hidden. Anyone foolish enough to think they could sneak past the trench unscathed would soon learn the true meaning of pain.
The sight alone was enough to make anyone suck in a sharp breath.
This is just a temporary camp, right?
Way too secure.
Inside the palisade stood rows of tents.
At this moment, within the central tent, a group of burly men surrounded a young man.
Clad in a silver fox-fur mantle and silver armor, the youth gripped a wineskin, tilting his head back as he gulped down mouthfuls of wine.
Golden hair, blue eyes—his features were strikingly refined, with lips red as cherries and teeth white as snow. His delicate, almost feminine beauty was accentuated by the long hair cascading down his back. Even the crude act of chugging wine seemed oddly graceful in his hands.
His name was Lot, the king of these men.
After draining the last drops of wine, he casually tossed the wineskin onto the grass.
Lot cast a sidelong glance at the armored warrior standing before him.
"You're saying… King Uther wants to marry his daughter to me?"
So, the time for King Arthur's appearance is finally approaching?
He pondered silently.
He was not of this era.
Years ago, he had crossed over into this age, arriving in the lands of Britain—and somehow becoming King Lot, a mere background character in the legends of King Arthur.
Much like a certain minor official named Huo Zhongru from the East four centuries prior, he was a man known for nothing but his ability to sire sons.
After fathering a group of extraordinarily powerful children with Morgan, he would eventually be slain by King Arthur.
But even if he did defeat King Arthur and become the ruler of Britain… so what?
England in this era was pitifully small.
Incomparable to the Five Great Powers of the future, let alone the empire upon which the sun never set.
Present-day England was practically the edge of the world—beyond the edge.
In terms of land area? Barely larger than two Tongliaos. Culturally? A backwater. Population? Not even worth mentioning.
Fighting to the death with King Arthur over such a meager territory simply wasn't worth it.
For a transmigrator like him, whose cheat abilities were only good for improving daily life, the wisest course was to lay low and survive.
At least his subordinates were loyal, and he had managed a few small inventions—life was comfortable enough.
"Yes, my lord. King Uther has already commanded his court mage, Merlin, to escort Princess Morgan here for the wedding."
The messenger's reply made Lot pause before finally responding with a complicated expression.
"Hah… Well, that's fine. Of course, we welcome her."
Marrying Morgan would undoubtedly bring future troubles, but for now, it was the best way to strengthen ties with King Uther.
As an ally of Camelot, rejecting the marriage would be a direct insult to the king.
The leader offers you a toast, and you refuse to drink. The leader serves you food, and you spin the table away.
Damn, at that point, the question wouldn't be whether to fight King Arthur—it'd be how to deal with his father first.
Besides… he was also very curious about Morgan's appearance.
As a man, he couldn't help but feel a little… eager.
After years in this world, he had long given up on the women around him.
Where were all the beautiful girls that transmigration stories promised?!
As a shut-in and a virgin, medieval peasant women held zero appeal for him.
Coarse, sun-darkened skin, gaunt faces, misshapen figures—anyone expecting to find gorgeous village maidens like in the novels might as well wake up from their delusions.
Despite being a lord with the privilege to take any woman he pleased, Lot had remained a virgin for years.
That alone spoke volumes about the looks of women in this era.
But Morgan was different.
Born into nobility, she would have been well cared for. Both legends and the intelligence Lot had gathered described her as an exceptionally beautiful woman.
Now that's more like it.
A grin crept onto Lot's face.
Besides, while Morgan might be the catalyst for his future conflict with King Arthur, King Lot's own ambition had also played a significant role.
But now? Things were different.
Stretching out, Lot crossed one leg over the other and gazed leisurely at the starry sky.
I just hope Morgan lives up to my expectations!
…
"They're here, my lord! Merlin and Princess Morgan have arrived!"
Mounted atop a white steed, Lot listened to his subordinate's report.
Having learned of Morgan's impending arrival, he had chosen to wait here for several days.
She's about to become my wife—if I just sat around in the castle waiting for the wedding, that'd be way too disrespectful.
Gentlemen—our Lot family has always been gentlemen.
And so, he had spent these past days anticipating her arrival.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered into the distance.
Soon, a large contingent of knights came into view, accompanied by numerous carriages.
Clearly, King Uther took this marriage very seriously.
At the head of the procession rode two figures—a man and a woman.
Lot's gaze locked onto the woman.
This must be Morgan.
Tall and poised atop her white horse, she wore a black veil that concealed her face. Behind it, lustrous silver hair cascaded down her back, spilling over the horse's flanks. Her black attire occasionally revealed glimpses of snow-white skin, allowing Lot to roughly gauge her alluring proportions.
"That figure is flawless. Even if her face isn't stunning, she's already a goddess."
He couldn't help but stare a little longer.
Yet, the more he looked, the stranger he felt.
Why does she seem so… familiar?
Then, his eyes shifted to the man beside her.
That must be Merlin.
Clad in white robes with snow-white hair, the man held a staff, his lips perpetually curled in a mischievous, almost mocking smile.
He looked exactly like the kind of online scammer who'd swindle people out of their money and emotions without a second thought.
And that face—Lot recognized it instantly.
In his past life, he had been a hardcore otaku.
"Damn it… This is the Type-Moon world!"
He gritted his teeth.