A Round Table Conference where everyone spoke freely ended without result.
Samael and Morgan unhesitatingly declined the Camelot court banquet's hospitality, immediately boarded their carriage back to the estate, and prepared to make something fit for human consumption themselves.
"About today..."
On the road, the ancient serpent turned to Morgan with some concern. He could not help opening his mouth, trying to find the words to offer a few comforting remarks.
"What is there to be surprised about? Isn't this perfectly normal?"
Unexpectedly, the Witch remained remarkably calm. Her expression was unchanged, and she even had the leisure to drink tea while admiring the scenery along the way. Beneath her veil, the corners of her lips curled slightly into a chilly, meaningful arc.
"How could a witch possibly make a well-intentioned proposal?"
Samael froze slightly, then after a moment of thought, gave a self-mocking smile.
He had thought Morgan did not understand politics. As it turned out, he was the one who did not understand the Round Table.
Prejudice in people's hearts was a mountain. No matter how hard one tried, it could not be moved.
Just as he had seen and felt in Cornwall, it seemed that only knights would draw their swords for justice, punish evil, and create the tales sung by bards.
And witches surely harbored resentment toward this country and their own fates.
The ancient serpent looked at the figure sitting alone before the curtains and felt that intense loneliness.
During a quiet moment, Morgan casually asked,
"What do you think of these people?"
"Forget it. How can anyone govern well with a bunch of vermin like this?"
The ancient serpent straightened his expression and denounced them with a look of heartfelt anguish.
Hearing her husband say something so witty, Morgan could not help but smile.