166 Tristan and Iseult

Just a few days later, the first batch of grain was loaded up. However, with so much grain, Arkhan couldn't just hand it over to Harlan like that.

He had to send someone to go along, and after much thought, he ultimately chose Lancelot.

"Are you really giving me this task?" Lancelot was a bit surprised. After all, no matter how you looked at it, Arkhan should entrust such an important task to his most trusted person.

"You are my most trusted person, okay." Arkhan patted his shoulder, smiling.

A warm feeling instantly surged within Lancelot. Taking a deep breath, he nodded solemnly.

"Alright then, leave it to me. In the name of Lancelot, I won't let you down!"

"Thank you, my friend." Arkhan nodded.

He watched Harlan's fleet sail away at the harbor and then turned back to Camelot.

The money issue was resolved; now, it was time to focus on the people.

Two years before heading north, he had issued a recruitment order. Anyone who could pass the path of trial could unconditionally join his knight order.

Now, two years later, according to Ferguson's statistics, over five hundred knights had passed the trial.

Arkhan had incorporated them all into his knight order and even found a few familiar names.

'Percival and Geraint, they've both come. With this, aside from the unborn Gawain, Galahad, Gareth, Agravain, Mordred, and Gaheris, almost all the Knights of the Round Table are assembled. Too bad Tristan is under Duke Mark, can't do much—Hmm, wait?'

Looking at the bottom of the list, Arkhan blinked in confusion.

There was Tristan's name.

At first, Arkhan thought it was a namesake, but when he reached the military base and saw that familiar figure with fiery red hair, he realized it was indeed the Knight of Lamentation.

Arkhan immediately found Ferguson and inquired about what was going on.

"Tristan has fallen out with Duke Mark. It's said to be over a woman named Iseult from Ireland." Ferguson explained.

A hint of regret arose in Arkhan's heart. He hadn't expected that, in the end, this uncle-nephew duo couldn't escape their original fate.

After much deliberation, he eventually decided to assist Tristan.

The life experience of this Knight of Lamentation had been bleak enough. Depriving him of this small glimmer of hope would have been excessively cruel.

He instructed Yulina to bring Tristan to his study.

"Your Majesty."

Tristan gave a slight bow. Though his expression remained unchanged, the melancholic aura about him deepened.

"Sir Tristan, do you know what this is?" Arkhan held a red letter in his hand.

"I don't." Tristan shook his head.

"It's an invitation from the Duke of Cornwall, your uncle." Arkhan casually tossed the letter onto the table, displaying Mark and Iseult's names on top. "In a month, he will marry the princess from Ireland, Iseult."

Tristan buried his head deeply and his fists clenched audibly.

"I already know about your connection with this princess." Arkhan leaned back in his chair. "Now, I need you to answer truthfully—do you truly love Iseult?"

"Of course, I love her!" Tristan asserted without hesitation.

He could never forget the angelic woman with hair shinier than gold, eyes clearer than a lake, a smile warmer than the sun, and a voice more melodious than a nightingale.

Most importantly, in her words, he heard the most beautiful symphony of happiness, a melody he had never experienced in his life.

"But you must understand, she is your uncle's fiancee. This is an illicit affair, and if it gets out, you'll be scorned by many, unable to bear the title of a knight ever again." Arkhan's black eyes fixed on Tristan. "Are you truly courageous enough to bear such consequences?"

The wind blew in from the window, tousling Tristan's long red hair.

—Why feel sadness when you have such beautiful hair?

A woman's voice suddenly echoed in his ears.

Tristan took a deep breath, determination filling his eyes.

"For Iseult, I'm willing to give up everything!"

Arkhan observed him for a moment, and soon, a faint and almost imperceptible smile played on his lips.

"I understand, you can leave."

Arkhan dismissed Tristan and immediately used Primordial Rune to teleport directly to Mark's location in Cornwall.

"Your Majesty!" Mark was utterly shocked. Camelot and Cornwall were thousands of miles apart. How did the king suddenly appear in front of him?!

"Hmm... Duke Mark, you seem a bit nervous seeing me..." Arkhan said while smiling ambiguously.

"Your Majesty, you jest. I'm just a bit surprised..." Mark replied and forced a stiff smile. "Please wait here, Your Majesty. I'll arrange a banquet immediately."

"No need. I'm here just to ask you a few things." Arkhan unabashedly sat in the main seat. "When I marched north, I called upon all the nobles of Camelot for soldiers. You had an army of twenty thousand, yet only ten thousand arrived. I wonder, why is that?"

"Your Majesty, as you know, Cornwall is a coastal region, and we have many pirates. For the safety of our people, I had to keep a portion of the soldiers here." Mark explained awkwardly.

"I have heard about this." Arkhan nodded slightly. "But why haven't you visited Camelot for two consecutive years?"

"W-Well... Th-There are many affairs to attend to daily, and when I get busy, I..." Mark's gaze wandered and his speech stuttered.

"Many affairs? How do you explain these then?" Arkhan waved his hand, and letters fell from the void, covering the table.

'Impossible! Haven't I taken care of all these?!' Mark's pupils shrank to pinpricks as he looked at the names on the letters. His face turned ashen, cold sweat soaking his back.

Arkhan's chilling voice reached his ears.

"Duke~ oh Duke~ you should be well aware that when it comes to traitors, my approach has always been—annihilation."

The icy words carried a bone-chilling intent.

"I was wrong, Your Majesty!" Mark knelt on the ground, repeatedly knocking his head. "It was my momentary confusion that led to such a grave mistake. I implore your magnanimity to overlook my transgressions this time!"

"I'm not a heartless and unjust king. Considering your initial support for me, I'll grant you a chance." Arkhan coldly observed Mark. "From this day forth, the House of Milford's territory will move from Cornwall to Tremont, and your title will be downgraded from Duke to Earl."

Mark was taken aback. Tremont was in the North, a hundred thousand miles away from the Southern Cornwall. Tremont was covered in snow and ice year-round, with a harsh environment and no precious resources. Being sent there was almost equivalent to exile.

His title was also slashed by two ranks, meaning that unless a miracle happened, the House of Milford would hardly recover.

But facing the king's stern expression, Mark could only swallow all his grievances and lower his head.

"Thank you for your benevolence, Your Majesty..."