My Mother, King Arthur

All manner of supernatural powers capable of inflicting pain, killing people, and grinding them into dust ran rampant across the battlefield. Yet in this mad magical war, the Romans still held a slight advantage.

Corpses continued to pile up before the formations.

If this continued, the Visigoths would surely be the first to break.

But Arthur did not want to wait any longer.

"It's our turn."

He raised Clarent high and roared at the knights of Britannia.

"Look at what stands beside me?!"

"Yes! That's right, four hundred and thirty-three Britannian knights!"

"Can I use them to conquer the world?!"

"Of course! Of course I can!!"

"Long live Artorius!!"

Mordred, closest to Arthur, shouted back in the same fanatical tone, raising her lance in response.

Driven by unparalleled confidence and arrogance, Arthur's knights charged the Visigoth army from the flank with a madness that seemed capable of crushing everything in their path.

At the same time, perhaps by coincidence, Lucius Tiberius was also preparing to enter the battle himself.

"It's about time for yours truly!"

Seeing the frontline locked in a stalemate, the Roman Emperor flung aside his cape, leaped down from his chariot, and prepared to join the war.

As the foremost expert of the Roman Empire, a Sword Master blessed by the gods and gifted with the Arm Strength of a Giant, Lucius believed he would surely seize victory.

But before that—

"Your Majesty, look!"

Sigrius shouted in alarm beside him. "Those are the knights of Britannia!"

As he spoke, Arthur and the Britannian knights had already surged forward like an unstoppable torrent, smashing through one corner of the Visigoth legion before them.

Arthur led the charge. A storm formed from incomparable magical power enveloped him, and every sweep of his lance and the Demon Sword Clarent cleared away the enemies ahead.

The Britannian knights were like monsters. Victory had been completely secured.

"Those Britannians actually possess such terrifying combat strength?!"

Sigrius's voice trembled. "I had always heard that King Arthur had many extraordinary people under his command, but..."

"Hahaha, isn't that a good thing?"

Unlike Sigrius, the Roman Emperor laughed happily.

"But, Your Majesty..."

"I know what you're going to say, Sigrius." Lucius spoke casually. "But don't worry. They have no chance—if that man, that Artorius, dares betray me, I'll twist his head right off."

"Of course. You are the strongest."

Governor Sigrius was a loyal minister today as well.

At the same time, Arthur found the Visigoth king amid the chaos.

"I surrender!"

As the man cried out in panic, Arthur cut off his head without hesitation.

Watching the headless corpse slowly collapse, he wiped the blood that had splattered across his face.

"This is a pretty good start," Arthur muttered, then looked around.

The Britannian knights were pursuing the enemy. The Visigoths were fleeing. He had won this war.

Author's Note:

An update, la la la.

Arknights has a new event on May 1st. Please support me so I can bring my wife W home.

I agonized over the novel's cover for ages before deciding to go with a comedic route. I wonder what everyone thinks.

And lastly, most importantly, please support a newcomer's new book! Please vote, aaaah!

Postwar Revelry

As the greatest contributor to the victory in this war, Arthur was naturally the star of the postwar celebration banquet.

Second only to the Roman Emperor himself.

"I think highly of you, Lord Artorius."

Though he was a vile and brutal emperor, Lucius was extremely generous when rewarding his troops. Or rather, every emperor who was not generous had long since been killed in Imperial Guard rebellions.

"Enjoy yourselves. Rome has always been generous to brave warriors, hahahaha!"

Laughing merrily, the Emperor left with a pair of scantily clad, voluptuous noblewomen in his arms—one in each hand.

Compared to stern, chivalrous Britannia, Rome was more "romantic."

Or rather, more decadent.

At the banquet, Roman generals and barbarian chieftains from the Allied Nations skillfully flirted with the noblewomen, enjoying the service of these seductive, sexy women. Immersed in the sensory pleasures brought by Fine Wine and beauty, they temporarily forgot the chaos and war.

This was Rome's courtly trick: using women to seduce and ensnare valuable targets. Sugar-Coated Bullets steeped in Latin Aura.

"Mm... huh?"

Arthur turned to look at his subordinates, checking whether they had been corrupted.

Lancelot, who had only just arrived and joined up with the Knights of the Round Table, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He looked thoroughly accustomed to such scenes, moving among the noblewomen like a fish in water. He must have had plenty of dealings with Rome in Gaul, and had clearly played these sorts of games before.

Then, just as Lancelot was about to take the noblewomen into a corner for some profound yet simple cultural exchange, he was knocked unconscious.

The one carrying out the ambush was Assassin Galahad, who had snuck up behind him.

He swung an iron bar and smashed it viciously into the back of Lancelot's head. His movements were extremely practiced; Arthur believed this was not his first time doing it.

The Knight of the Lake, knocked out cold by his own son, did not make a sound as he promptly hit the floor and was dragged away by Galahad.

"My apologies for disturbing everyone's enjoyment."

The white-haired junior smiled brightly.

"I'll immediately dispose of this pile of non-recyclable trash. Please pay no attention to it."

His smile was refreshing, but his Aura was terrifyingly strong, leaving the surrounding social butterflies who had been salivating over the bishounen too afraid to make a sound.

"Well, he brought it upon himself. This is why family factors are so important. Our Pendragon family is different. In the Pendragon family, brothers respect one another, and fathers are kind while sons are filial."

Filled with a powerful Sense of Superiority, Arthur watched the father-son showdown between Lancelot and Galahad. After Galahad beat Lancelot until he called him Daddy, Arthur looked elsewhere.

Today, Agravain was still an asexual misogynist and woman-hater, the kind of existence that could make Fist Masters tremble, rage, cry, and collapse. There was absolutely no need to worry about him.

The Roman noblewoman assigned to care for him wore an awkward expression. It seemed she could not find a topic to talk about.

Further off, on the other side... the only one truly enjoying all this was their cousin Gawain, known as Prince Charming.

Given how skilled he was, it was less that the Roman noblewomen were seducing him and more that he was seducing those court ladies. After all, he was one of the four great scumbags of the Knights of the Round Table alongside Tristan, Lancelot, Kay, and Merlin. Ordinary Roman noblewomen were simply nowhere near his level, so Arthur did not bother with him.

After confirming that his core group of subordinates was fine, Arthur turned his attention back to himself and discovered that the situation was not good.

At some point, the number of Roman noblewomen around him had already exceeded the Alert Level.

Two hundred, three hundred, four hundred... and still rising.

The women's eyes gleamed as they constantly swallowed, twisting their ample breasts and shapely asses as if they could no longer resist putting their hands all over Arthur.

This was partly a matter of power and duty, but Arthur himself also came with a bonus buff.

It had to be admitted that the barbarian bigshots normally served by Roman noblewomen were mostly unkempt, foul-smelling old men.

Compared to someone as slender, refined, and beautiful as Arthur, those men were more different than dark rye bread mixed with far too much sawdust and sand was from a little cake of cream and honey.

"Don't look somewhere else, okay~ gulp Look at your big sister, okay? gulp"

"Little brother, you're so cute gulp~ Can you tell your big sister your name? gulp"

"Don't worry about so much, little brother. Let's go do something fun together~~ an enormous gulp"

Arthur: "...!!!"

Artorius's head felt a little dizzy.

The undefeated general who could ride unhindered across the battlefield was still a novice in matters of romance. Fooling around with level-zero players like Little Mo and Gareth was naturally no problem. But against Elite Monsters like Roman noblewomen—and a whole group of Elite Monsters at that—he was somewhat outmatched.

It was the classic scenario of older sisters encountering a young bishounen. Before long, the helpless bishounen would probably be dragged away by cruel enemies and ravaged until both body and mind were scarred.

"Yes, that's right. Another man captured by Rome's romance and splendor."

Watching this scene, Lucius Tiberius's lips curled upward. "This way, he will bow before Rome's greatness and become part of Rome. Hmph... no matter how capable you are, you will ultimately become my weapon."

In high spirits, the Roman Emperor picked up a grape and placed it in his mouth. Then he chewed it heavily. His sharp, sturdy teeth quickly crushed the soft grape flesh before he swallowed it whole.

Logically, one should not eat such soft fruit as grapes this way, but that was simply what he liked.

However.

Just as Arthur was considering, Maybe I should do that a little, just to broaden my experience and horizons?

At that moment, an utterly unromantic armored figure shoved through the crowd and dragged Prince Artorius away.

"Move aside! You witches!"

She shouted angrily, showing no one the slightest bit of courtesy.

"..."

"Mordred?!"

As his sister pulled him away from the banquet, Arthur's emotions rose and fell wildly. At the fastest possible speed, he came up with an explanation to deal with Little Mo.

However, what happened next was somewhat different from what he had expected.

"Are you okay, Arthur?!" Mordred asked anxiously. "Those women didn't do anything to you, did they?"

Artorius: "..."

Hearing the nervousness in Little Mo's voice, along with a faint hint that she was seeking credit, Arthur was speechless.

So, judging by what you mean, I'm supposed to thank you, Little Mo?

Author's Note:

An update, la la la.

Little Mo has not figured it out yet. For now.

The picture at the beginning suits the protagonist's temperament better, right? Compared to the gentleness of Proto Arthur and all that, this bad-boy feeling is better. It just needs to be translated.

Father King Is Not Your Father King, and Your Younger Brother Is Not Your Biological Younger Brother

At this moment, Arthur and Mordred were in the Small Woods outside the Barracks.

Moonlight shone through the Withered Branches onto the Snowy Ground, scattering a patch of Pure White light.

"Alright, alright."

After confirming Little Mo's state of mind, Arthur smiled and said, "No need to be so nervous, Little Mo. It's not that big a deal."

Mordred: "Not that big a deal?"

"But I clearly saw it! Those women looked like they wanted to eat you alive!"

"Ah, consider it a Roman specialty." Arthur tried to keep his tone light. "After all, we'll be living in Rome for a while. Maybe accepting some Roman Customs is not such a big deal."

"Eh, but..."

"Mordred should try to get used to it too." Arthur smiled. "Doing happy things with those noblewomen... it'll be your first time too, right? For your first time, it's better to find an experienced older sister. That's advice from experience... though it'll be my first time too, so I'm not really qualified to say that, hehe."

"Only after you've enjoyed it, then found it dull and realized Roman noblewomen are just like that, can you build a strong fortress in your heart."