Artoria stood at the very front of the battlements, watching the countless pinpricks of torchlight in the distance. With a flippant expression, she made a show of joking:
"I've long heard that your daughter's beauty is unrivaled. Now I see it must be true, if a descendant of the gods is willing to bring an army to your gates to demand her."
"Ah, Your Majesty, please don't joke about that. If this old man had a choice, I would rather my daughter remain unknown, so long as she could live her life in peace."
King Rodgerens, the subject of her teasing, looked far less relaxed.
Understandably so. Having the army of a lord several times stronger than himself bearing down on his borders could hardly put him under anything less than tremendous pressure.
Beside Artoria, Sovell felt his heart wrench at King Rodgerens's words, and pain surfaced on his face once more.
Just then, an attendant approached respectfully and informed King Rodgerens and Artoria:
"The banquet is ready."
"Your Majesty, and all our guests from Caerleon, you have traveled so far and spared no effort to come here. This old man has arranged a welcoming banquet to offer you a small token of his gratitude."
King Rodgerens displayed the polish expected of a seasoned politician, delivering his formal courtesies with practiced ease.
Artoria offered a few polite words in return, then followed the attendant to the banquet with Sovell and the others.
Yet when they reached the venue, a hint of surprise appeared on all their faces.
This supposed "welcoming banquet" was actually being held in Kerimud City's army camp.
From their auras, Sovell could also tell that the guests from Kerimud were all martial practitioners like Percival, without the slightest trace of contamination by knowledge.
Among the knights of