I am King Lott. Yes, that guy whose wife (Morgan) is quite famous, and whose children (Gawain, Gareth...) are even more renowned. Unfortunately, none of my family meets a happy end. To avoid being toyed with by fate, I’ve decided to live a simple life—just eat, wait, and survive. After all, if you don’t look for trouble, trouble won’t come your way. My name is Morgan, and all I want is power and status. I always thought my marriage was just a political deal, but I never expected to hear such things from my husband. “Morgan, she still doesn’t know that the future throne doesn’t belong to her, but to her sister.” “King Arthur, in the end, is just a guy who knows only about war, not governance.” “Progress is everything. Productivity is the foundation.” Lott: So, my wife Morgan... Why has she changed so much? I'm using ChatGpt for translation and some things are going to be different from the MTL version. This is not a perfect translation so don't complain later. You have been warned! Thank you
It was June in Britain. Even on this island, the weather was heating up, and it stayed warm even at night. People couldn't wait to escape to the northern shores, dreaming of sailing away to cooler lands.
On the vast grasslands of Britain, an army was stationed. Their camp was surrounded by a sturdy fence with armoured guards standing every few meters. A deep trench surrounded the entire perimeter, filled with sharp spikes that glowed faintly with a strange blue light.
Inside the camp, tents stretched in rows, and in the largest tent at the centre, a group of large men encircled a young king. This youth, Lott, their leader, wore a silver fox shawl over his silver armour. Holding a wine pouch in one hand, he poured the last drops into his mouth before tossing it carelessly onto the grass.
Lott was handsome, with golden hair, blue eyes, and delicate features that could rival a girl's. Even his nonchalant gestures seemed somehow charming. He looked at the armoured warrior before him, his expression thoughtful.
"You said King Uther wants to marry off his daughter to me?"
Is it finally time for King Arthur's legend to begin? Lott thought silently. He wasn't originally from this world. A few years ago, he had been transported to this era, becoming a part of the legendary history of Britain. Like some characters from other tales, his purpose seemed to be to play a background role in the rise of Arthur.
After all, wasn't Lott supposed to be the king who married Morgan, only to meet a tragic end along with his children? And even if by some miracle he managed to defeat Arthur, what would that get him?
Britain in this era was insignificant—a far cry from the empire it would become. Its population was sparse, its culture rudimentary, and its influence limited. So why bother fighting over this small patch of land?
No, Lott had made his decision long ago. He would live a simple, content life. He had loyal subordinates, he'd made a few practical inventions, and life was comfortable. Why mess with that?
"Your Majesty Lott, King Uther has ordered Merlin to escort Princess Morgan here for the marriage," the messenger reported.
"Very well, we'll welcome her," Lott replied, his thoughts conflicted.
Marrying Morgan might complicate things in the future, but for now, it was politically beneficial. Rejecting the marriage would only sour relations with Uther and risk war. And besides, Lott couldn't deny a certain curiosity about Morgan's appearance.
As an otaku in his previous life, the thought of a legendary beauty like Morgan piqued his interest. Compared to the rough and weathered women of this era, Morgan—noble-born and well-maintained—was sure to be a sight to behold.
Days later, Lott stood at the entrance of the camp, waiting for Morgan's arrival. He'd decided to meet her here rather than wait at the castle, as a gesture of respect. After all, she would soon be his wife, and it seemed only proper.
A group of knights approached, leading a large entourage. At the front were two figures: a woman dressed in black, her face veiled, and a man in white, unmistakably Merlin.
The woman's long silver hair flowed behind her, even draping over her horse's back. Her proud, elegant posture, combined with her occasional flashes of pale skin, hinted at a figure that could only be described as perfection.
"This figure… as long as her face isn't too ugly, she's already a goddess," Lott muttered to himself.
Yet as he observed her, Lott felt an odd sense of familiarity. His gaze shifted to the man beside her. White hair, white robes, and a mischievous grin—there was no mistaking it.
"Wait… this is Merlin from Type-Moon!" Lott exclaimed under his breath.
How could he not have realized? The whole setting suddenly felt all too familiar. The rugged medieval Britain, the legendary names, the mystical figures—it all fit.
This was no ordinary Britain. This was a world where mythology and legend intertwined, where the supernatural was part of everyday life. A place where heroes like Arthur, Lancelot, and Morgan le Fay would battle for the fate of nations.
But now, Lott wasn't sure how he felt about that revelation. Sure, he'd admired these stories from afar, but living them? That was something else entirely.
As Merlin and Morgan approached, Lott shook off his thoughts. Whatever the case, he was determined to make the best of it.