Since they had already obtained the sword, there was no need to hurry back.
Taking things a little slower and letting Artoria use this brief respite to admire her new "comrade" would suit her wishes better.
That was what Sovell thought.
He gradually loosened the reins in his hands, and the carriage slowed a little, its ride growing steadier.
By the time the two returned to Caerleon, dusk was approaching.
As for Merlin?
After asking that ambiguous question, he had left. For all they knew, he might now be in some young lady's bedchamber.
"Come on, officials from every corner of the land! Have you stockpiled enough reports?"
Having admired Artoria's smile countless times along the way, Sovell was already brimming with motivation.
Now, back in his room, he looked at the mountainous pile of reports on his desk and issued that taunt.
Except...
"Demetia region, additions to the druids' records: thirteen cases of physical debilitation, five cases of mental debilitation."
"Celluria region, additions to the druids' records: twenty-seven cases of physical debilitation, eleven cases of mental debilitation."
"Aberna region, additions to the druids' records: one hundred and fifty-six cases of physical debilitation, one hundred and twenty-two cases of mental debilitation."
One report after another.
Those words in the reports always felt suffocating.
Over the past few months, it had not just been famine. Disease had also begun to spread among the people.
The famine had been curbed thanks to potatoes, but physical and mental debilitation spread through the population like a plague, impossible to escape.
This disease could not be cured by the druids' medicine or herbs.
Because "disease" was merely a relatively apt description of the physical abnormalities afflicting the common people.
Rather than the spread of an "illness," the true nature of this