Previously, Lot had never considered this possibility.
After all, when he first opened his eyes in this world, he found himself in a sturdy, dimly lit medieval castle. Even in the lord's chambers, the stench of livestock lingered. The peasants in his territory were frail, dressed in tattered clothes—oppressed feudal serfs through and through. As for the castle's maids? Each one was a burly woman with arms nearly as thick as Lot's thighs, the very picture of hard laborers.
This was the unvarnished reality of a feudal lord's life in the past!
It was only through years of effort that Lot had managed to make things somewhat bearable.
Otherwise…
He wasn't sure if he'd have ended up as some foul-smelling, unkempt brute.
But now, he was being told that this was the Type-Moon world?
Instantly, Lot sensed trouble.
What was Britain like in this era under normal circumstances?
The edge of world civilization—a land where civilization and barbarism clashed, practically a wasteland.
Even on the European continent, the remnants of the Roman Empire weren't much better.
As someone from the future, Lot still had some cultural pride.
But if this was the Type-Moon world…
Then Britain wasn't just Britain anymore.
It was the birthplace of the franchise's most famous export: Saber-faces. Every single Saber-face originated from here.
…Well, that was just a joke.
The real significance of Britain in this world was its status as the last remnant of the Age of Gods.
Sure, the Far East had its own remnants (like Japan), but they paled in comparison.
And now, with the era of King Arthur approaching, this was the final moment of the Age of Gods. All manner of mythical beings would soon stir chaos across this island.
There was more than one dragon here.
Hell, even Alaya might take notice.
Under these circumstances, Lot's hopes of changing his fate had just become far more complicated.
…Headache.
But those were worries for later. Right now, his priority was greeting his bride.
Whatever came after could wait.
At the very least, Morgan was undeniably alluring.
From now on, she would be his wife—and he wouldn't let the tragedies of their original fates come to pass.
…
"Your Highness, it seems King Lot holds you in high regard. Look—he's come all this way from his castle just to welcome you."
Perched casually on his horse, Merlin spoke with that infuriatingly amused grin of his.
Morgan glanced at him from behind her veil.
"Hmph! If not for Father's orders, I would never agree to this."
Beneath the veil, her nose wrinkled slightly in displeasure.
This Morgan was not yet the sorceress who would plunge Britain into chaos—she was still just a teenage girl.
She had once dreamed of love, of a future filled with romance.
But then, just days ago, her father, King Uther, had abruptly informed her that she was to marry King Lot, Camelot's ally.
Morgan knew nothing about Lot—whether he was tall or short, handsome or ugly. It was like opening a blind box: until the moment of revelation, she had no idea what awaited her.
And the worst part? She had no say in the matter.
So, expecting her to be happy about this?
That would be the real surprise.
"Princess, rest assured—King Lot's appearance is beyond reproach."
As if reading her thoughts, Merlin chuckled.
Morgan shot him a look before dryly remarking, "My father once told me that if a woman ever listens to Merlin, she shouldn't trust a single word he says."
"…"
A pained smile crossed Merlin's face. "His Majesty's words can be… somewhat one-sided at times."
Morgan said nothing, simply watching as Merlin scratched his head in mock distress.
She turned her attention back to the approaching knights, silently awaiting Lot's arrival.
What kind of man is he?
Her heart was a mix of anxiety and dread.
Closer… closer…
Soon, she could make out the figures of the knights—and among them, a strikingly handsome young man.
…Ahem.
It seems Court Mage Merlin does occasionally tell the truth to women.
Then again, as Father's only child, Merlin will one day serve under me. He wouldn't dare lie to me.
Unconsciously, the corners of Morgan's lips curled upward beneath her veil.
…
"Greetings, Princess Morgan."
As the two parties met, Lot's voice—rich and magnetic—reached her ears.
"Mm…"
Morgan gave a slight nod behind her veil.
But then—
A strange voice echoed in her mind.
[So this is Morgan? I've finally met her in person.]
[What a shame… If not for her sister, she would have become the ruler of Camelot. Maybe then, none of the tragedies would have happened!]
…What was that?
Beneath the veil, Morgan's brow furrowed.
Where did that voice come from?
Who dares speak to me like this?
And what does he mean by… my sister?
Since when do I have a sister?
Why would her existence prevent me from becoming Camelot's queen?
Even if the nobles oppose me because I'm a woman, how could my sister possibly become king?
What is this person trying to imply?
Her fingers subtly twitched, preparing a spell.
Morgan was a prodigious mage, and despite her youth, her skills were formidable.
The faint pulse of magical energy radiating from her did not go unnoticed.
"Your Highness, is something the matter?"
Merlin's voice snapped her back to reality.
Even if you're dissatisfied with your future husband, you don't need to attack him with magic!
And honestly, his looks are impeccable—more striking than even mine. The Lady of the Lake herself would be entranced. There's no way his appearance is the issue.
Morgan's sudden tension left everyone bewildered.
"Merlin… you didn't hear someone speaking just now?"
Merlin glanced around, frowning slightly before replying, "Your Highness, aside from King Lot, no one else has spoken."
"Indeed, I heard nothing either," Lot confirmed.
…Then what was that?
Merlin smoothly interjected, "Perhaps the journey has fatigued you, Princess. Let us proceed to the camp."
"My apologies for the oversight."
Lot smacked his forehead in a show of regret.
[What's going on? Did Morgan take a dislike to me? I'm this handsome, and she still isn't satisfied?]
The voice returned—but this time, Morgan realized something.
This tone…
It sounds like King Lot.
…Him?
Her frown deepened.
Why would he say such things to me?
But then, she noticed something odd.
He didn't move his lips.
And if he had spoken those shocking words aloud, Merlin wouldn't have remained so calm.
So what is this?
Did he use magic to communicate secretly?
Yet, her prior investigations had revealed that Lot was a peerless knight but utterly inept at magecraft.
He shouldn't possess any form of mysticism.
Then… what is this?
As she pondered, Morgan discreetly studied Lot.
Through the veil, her lake-blue eyes locked onto him—a gaze sharp enough for even Lot to notice.
[Huh? She's staring at me. Seems like I've caught her interest!]
[Not bad. Guess my good looks are universally appealing—not just to my subjects, but even to Camelot's princess!]
Hearing this, Morgan nearly laughed.
This man… is unbelievably vain.
Handsome? Undoubtedly—the most striking youth I've ever seen.
But this level of narcissism? Unmatched.
She scrutinized him further, confirming that his lips never moved.
No incantations, no magical traces…
Which means…
These are his thoughts.
His inner voice.
How amusing.
Beneath that dignified exterior lies such shameless self-admiration.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
I never knew I had this ability.
Why didn't I notice before?
Wait—no. I don't hear anyone else's thoughts.
Merlin is an exception, but even my handmaidens' minds are silent to me.
So… it's only Lot?
Is he unique?
Did this start when our engagement was finalized?
A soft blush crept onto Morgan's cheeks.
Fate works in mysterious ways.
A strange sweetness blossomed in her chest—but it was quickly overshadowed by doubt.
What was the first thing Lot thought earlier?
"If not for her sister, she would have become Camelot's queen."
What sister?
She stared at Lot, hoping to hear more.
But then—
A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes. Fatigue washed over her, as if warning:
"Enough for today. The rest can wait."
…Tch.
For now, she could only speculate.
What is happening?
Why does Father have another daughter—one I know nothing about?
And why would her existence block my path to the throne?
If the nobles oppose a queen solely because of gender, why would they accept my sister?
Does discrimination vanish for her but not me?
This makes no sense.
And how does Lot know any of this?
Even if I do have a sister, it would be a tightly guarded royal secret. Where did he get this information?
She itched to grab Lot and demand answers—but how could she explain that she'd heard his thoughts?
Ugh, this is maddening!
For now, she could only turn the puzzle over in her mind.
…
Watching Morgan and Lot, Merlin felt a strange unease.
This encounter has already strayed from the future I foresaw.
Their first meeting was never like this.
Morgan has been under my watch—she hasn't acted unusually.
So the anomaly must be Lot.
His gaze sharpened as he studied the king.
…Unreadable.
A rare thrill coursed through Merlin.
Lot's future has become a complete enigma.
"How fascinating. Perhaps the fate I once saw… can indeed be altered."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
This level of obscurity… is exhilarating.
For the first time in centuries, something had genuinely surprised him.
…
Oblivious to the turmoil around him, Lot was preoccupied with a far more pressing matter:
"What's for dinner tonight? I'm so sick of roasted meat after days in the wild."
And thus, the man who held the key to Britain's fate…
…Was busy thinking about his next meal.