Morgan and Artoria's Meeting

"Truly impressive!"

The person who had tossed the sword to Leon, watching the duel from below the stage, felt their eyes light up. Their ahoge swayed in sync with their mood as they shoveled a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes into their mouth.

They had been watching since the Knight of the Lake's fifth match, and they could tell that the Knight of the Lake had not been using his full strength against those previous opponents.

But now, in the battle between the two on stage, they could perceive everything clearly—from the Knight of the Lake's exquisite martial arts and wealth of experience to the challenger's sheer power and imposing aura.

Although their status prevented them from stepping onto the stage to fight, they were feasting their eyes on such a spectacular duel, unable to stop themselves from cheering and shouting along with the crowd!

"Good! Well done, Knight of the Lake!"

"Yes! That's it, keep him tangled up and find an opening to finish him!"

"Go, challenger! Take down that foreign knight! Don't let him keep showing off in Camelot!"

"Haha, to see such a magnificent fight, I could die happy!"

The audience, initially silent with dissatisfaction, had been whipped into a frenzy; the atmosphere in the arena was once again white-hot.

But as Leon and Lancelot momentarily broke apart, the crowd watched with burning gazes as the two engaged once more.

Yet, the development that followed was not the brilliant clash everyone had imagined, but rather a scene of astonishment and horror.

The newly arrived warrior appeared to be shrouded in an illusory haze; with a single step that shattered the stage, he defeated the ten-win-streak Knight of the Lake with one strike.

"This, this, this—they were evenly matched just a moment ago, how could he be defeated in the blink of an eye!"

"The invincible Knight of the Lake actually lost? How is that possible!"

"Knight of the Lake, you loser, get up! Get back in there and crush him!"

"Great job, challenger! Don't let that Frenchman get cocky!"

After the initial shock, curses and cheers mingled together, and once the referee declared the winner, the roar of the crowd grew even more intense.

But as the magic surrounding Leon gradually dissipated, his illusory figure solidified, revealing a majestic, three-meter-tall physique on the stage.

When the crowd below saw the figure clearly, their eyes went wide. The thunderous cheers and curses gradually died down, fading from the distance to the immediate vicinity until, in the blink of an eye, everything fell silent.

"--"

It was as if the people had been choked; their heads felt as though they had been struck by a heavy hammer. Their minds went blank, crashing into a state of total paralysis. They stood there, stunned, staring at the figure on the stage, unable to utter a single sound.

"My subjects, why do you not bow before your King!"

As Leon's words echoed in every direction, the people in the front row felt the pressure most acutely. One by one, they collapsed to their knees as if their souls had been ripped away, and the rest of the crowd, as if infected, fell to their knees in a cascading wave.

Leon looked down at the kneeling masses, quite satisfied with his prestige among the common folk.

After a brief pause, the people began to recover, their brains slowly restarting.

Recalling the scene just moments ago, those who had spoken out in support of Leon felt a sense of relief, letting out long, shaky breaths.

But those who had supported the Knight of the Lake, remembering their own curses and dissatisfaction toward the King, were suddenly seized by bone-chilling terror. They collapsed onto the ground, lifeless and trembling, every hair on their bodies standing on end.

It's over!

The King is going to kill me!

Regarding Leon as a King, while some commoners might have held him in high regard, the vast majority were filled with nothing but sheer terror.

Especially since Leon had occupied the royal capital with an unstoppable force, annihilating the North and the East in a mere two or three months. They felt a sense of pride—after all, it was a great victory for their country, and it gave them more face when talking to those foreigners, allowing them to hold their heads high and look down upon those from Scotland and the Saxon savages.

But beyond that, there was mostly unease.

Especially after witnessing Leon break an army with a single sword strike, slaughtering hundreds of enemies; that bloody scene had branded fear and carnage into their hearts.

The subsequent destruction of Scotland, the expedition against Vortigern, the forced summons to welcome him back upon his victory, and the recent decree demanding they offer gifts for his coronation had only deepened the prejudice in their hearts.

Leon had sent men to investigate and was well aware of how he was perceived; he could only say: your prejudices, you unruly mob, are absolutely correct!

You've judged your man right!

That's right.

He did not need their love, nor did he need their praise.

The people at this moment were nothing more than half-civilized beasts; they could be subdued by fear and driven only by profit. As for the so-called people, as long as they obeyed his commands, that was enough!

When the crowd knelt, only one person remained standing, standing out like a crane in a flock of chickens.

"Leon..."

Morgan stood below the stage, watching the man on the platform command the submission of ten thousand with a single word, an indescribable surge of emotion rising in her heart.

A man with such power would be her husband!

She suddenly realized that this was an opportunity—a chance to solidify her position as Queen.

Although she was confident in her methods and had already successfully wrapped Leon around her finger, making him unable to spend a single day without her, there were still many among Leon's ministers who were dissatisfied with her. If she seized this moment to cement her status as Queen in the eyes of the public, those ministers would have to consider Leon's face and would not dare to openly oppose this marriage!

Action followed thought!

Morgan leaped lightly onto the stage, her gentle voice carried clearly on the breeze to the ears of those nearby.

"Leon, congratulations on your victory."

"Hey, hey, Morgan, how did I do?"

"You did beautifully, Leon. I am proud of you; you are truly worthy of being my husband!"

"Heh, that goes without saying. Look who you're talking to!" Leon puffed out his chest, the corners of his mouth curling up uncontrollably; he was clearly enjoying Morgan's praise.

The conversation between the two reached the ears of the crowd below, sparking intense curiosity—especially the woman's direct address of the King and that word "husband." Even more shocking was that the Lion King did not deny it, but instead appeared quite pleased.

Gossip about the royal court was always explosive among the common folk, and it spread with terrifying speed.

Though the people dared not look up, they dared to prick up their ears, listening with even more focus than they had during the tournament.

"And the reward?"

At Leon's expectant gaze, Morgan reached out and gestured for him to lean down.

Morgan stood on her tiptoes and planted a light peck on Leon's cheek, leaving behind a blue lipstick mark.

"Tonight, there will be more."

Hearing this, Leon became even more excited.

At this moment, Morgan spoke: "Leon, I have a request. Could you forgive the subjects who spoke rudely to you earlier? They did not know your identity; it was an unintentional mistake. Pardoning them will better demonstrate your magnanimity as a King, and the people will love you all the more for it."

"Since you put it that way, Morgan..."

Leon hadn't really cared about the matter, nor had he intended to do anything to them, but hearing Morgan's initial words made him realize he had originally planned to punish those who had spewed filth to serve as a warning to others.

But once Morgan finished speaking, Leon changed his mind.

"Then I shall grant you all amnesty."

It wasn't that Morgan's words had moved Leon, but rather that Morgan was the one who had asked.

In his heart, the lives of the rabble below were not worth as much as a single strand of Morgan's hair; since it pleased her, he would spare them.

Seeing the flicker of joy on Morgan's face, Leon felt quite satisfied himself.

The crowd below, upon hearing this, instantly came back to life, overjoyed, with some even weeping with relief.

"Thank you, my King, for your mercy!"

"Thank you, my King, for your mercy!"

The people's understanding of the Lion King had led them to believe they were dead men walking, yet they never expected Morgan's single sentence to save them.

Having been pulled back from the brink of death, the crowd's mood shifted from despair to sudden, overwhelming relief.

Who said Princess Morgan was a witch or a wicked woman who would ruin the country? This was clearly a merciful saint! Praise Princess Morgan! If anyone speaks ill of her in the future, they would have to answer to them.

In an instant, the public's perception of Morgan underwent a heaven-defying change.

"You did so well. This open-mindedness and tolerance are unmatched; you are truly my Leon."

Morgan's renewed praise made Leon's mood even better. He couldn't stop his mouth from curling up, and he scratched the back of his head, waving his hand dismissively.

"Actually, it wasn't that great. Just average, anyone could do it."

"No, no, no. This is something only you could do. There's no need to be so humble..."

Ah, ah, heavens, she's running out of words! Someone help her think of more ways to praise him!

That's right!

This was the method Morgan had discovered for handling Leon after spending a few days with him.

Direct, head-on attacks.

Treating Leon like a five or six-year-old child: Baby is so good, baby is so obedient, baby is the best, truly my baby...

Morgan felt as if she were raising another child, and one even easier to handle than Gawain or Agravain—he was incredibly easy to coax.

Don't let his tyrannical, bold, suspicious, and arrogant exterior fool you; when faced with this set of tactics Morgan had perfected, she hit the mark every single time without fail.

See? Controlling the ruler of a nation was just that simple.

"By the way, shouldn't you thank the person who gave you the sword? Even though you could have won easily without help thanks to your martial prowess, it was still an act of kindness from another, so you should thank them."

After secretly praising Leon once more, Leon chuckled, pulled Morgan along, and stepped off the stage to stand before the person.

"Artoria, regardless of everything, I must thank you. Though I did end up breaking your sword—sorry about that."

Wait, who did you say?

Morgan froze upon hearing this. Just now, amidst the crowd, she had only seen someone hand Leon a sword; she hadn't seen who it was at all.

Artoria was squatting on the ground, having set down an empty bucket, and stood up. She was puffing out her cheeks, chewing unconsciously, and staring at Morgan with a blank, stunned expression.

Royal Sister, are you really the sister Morgan I know?

"Royal Sister, you..."

"Ah, you—"

Morgan's voice choked, her heart slamming against the walls of her own embarrassment.

Ah, ah, ah, why is Artoria here? If she's here, does that mean she heard everything I just said to Leon?

If she was here, why didn't she say anything?

Yes, she didn't like Artoria, feeling that she had stolen what should have been hers, but she never intended for her own pathetic display to be witnessed by her.

And in such a nauseatingly sweet scene, no less.

It's over. My dignity as the eldest sister is gone!