Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [56] [100 PS]

Bonus Chapter!

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Kaelar almost burst out laughing. In the original timeline, even the ever-loyal Agravain believed that little Artoria, his young aunt, was more suitable to be a king than his own complex and contradictory mother.

And that was when Artoria had been shaped by Merlin, twisted into a 'perfect king'—one without blood, tears, or warmth, who understood nothing of the human heart.

But this Artoria, the one standing here today, was far superior to the one on that path. Not only had she undergone imperial education, but she also had three to four years of hands-on governance, working with Kaelar at the grassroots level and witnessing the lives of common folk firsthand.

Such a flawless ruler would have few peers in the world. It was no wonder Artoria had the confidence to declare that she would become an Arthur who surpassed the Roman emperors of old.

Her political prowess was refined, and despite her youth, she had already reached the strength of a top-tier Heroic Spirit. With a suitable weapon, it wouldn't be impossible for her to fight above her rank.

"Morgan, this whole throne business isn't worth fighting over," Kaelar said, patting Morgan's hand. "You've already got a large territory. Why not follow my example and relax? We could all enjoy life as noble lords instead of obsessing over the throne. Remember, Artoria is Britain's Dragon too..."

Morgan shook her head stubbornly. "You don't understand. What I'm fighting for isn't just the throne!"

"Then what is it?" Kaelar asked, puzzled. "Surely you're not fighting over someone? You know, 'Only the strong deserve beauty!'"

"Absolutely not!!!"

Morgan's voice jumped several notches in volume, nearly attracting the attention of everyone nearby. Realizing this, she quickly regained her composure and huffed. "Who do you think I am? I, Morgan, would never compete with others for anyone."

"Hmph! Is there even anyone in this Britain worth my time?"

Her prideful, defiant tone didn't arouse Kaelar's suspicions in the least, for he had long since been accustomed to Morgan's stubbornness.

But inwardly, Morgan was regretting her words, feeling both frustrated and trapped by her own pride. Her radiant, beautiful face twisted with internal conflict.

I hope Kaelar doesn't misunderstand. There is... one person worth competing for...

I don't even want to say it like that, but why...

She felt a heavy, anxious knot tighten within her. When she finally turned to look at Kaelar, she saw him gazing out the window, lost in thought—his expression calm and solemn. The setting sun cast a cold, stern light on his face, making him look all the more striking, a beautiful youth in his prime.

He's so handsome.

What's he thinking about? Is he... thinking of me?

While Morgan's thoughts ran wild, what was Kaelar truly pondering?

"…"

I made such a big cake, and I didn't even get a slice. I really got shortchanged!

Kaelar's mind grumbled. I thought it'd just be a small gathering with three or four people. Besides, cake is only a pre-meal dessert, so making a smaller one should have been fine. But suddenly, a whole crowd showed up.

No, the more I think about it, the more annoyed I get. And I'm starving... I didn't get to eat enough... That's it. I've decided—when it's time to eat roast pork, I'm devouring an entire pig. I'll put on a show and eat it whole!

A mysterious smile played on Kaelar's lips, and when Morgan saw it, her heart skipped a beat. Why did he smile like that? Did he read my thoughts?

No wonder he's Britain's Saint. Is there anyone on this island more perceptive than Kaelar?

Morgan couldn't help but be overwhelmed with admiration. Though he had once been her disciple, Kaelar's accomplishments had far surpassed hers.

The Celts had a great fondness for pork, especially wild boar. As a hunter-gatherer society, they believed that farm-raised pigs lacked the wild spirit of boars that roamed free, teeming with energy. Only those boars, robust and fierce, were fit for a Celt warrior's feast.

Simply put, wild boars had endured the survival trials of the natural world. While farm-raised pigs would be spared regardless of health, boars often fought other animals, growing stronger. They were also more likely to evolve into magical beasts than their domesticated counterparts.

Kaelar had recently gone into the forest and captured three boars, one of which had reached the level of a magical beast. Its bones and blood held mystical properties and could even be used as casting materials to reduce mana consumption.

"I hunted these three boars myself. They should be enough for everyone, right?"

As he spoke, Kaelar casually tore off a roasted front leg and ate it.

Artoria, having known Kaelar for so long, saw through his politeness. Before he even finished his sentence, the little lion had already devoured two legs with shocking speed and was eyeing the ribs...

In matters of food, truly, no one could rival her. (Absolutely certain!)

Seeing this, Kaelar swallowed back the diplomatic words he had prepared and sat down, diving into the roast. He tore into the meat with fervor, keeping pace with Artoria.

Morgan was dumbfounded. She couldn't help but tug at the sleeve of the childish fool locked in a food duel with Artoria. "Kael, are things really so poor in Maple Ridge? Is food that scarce here?"

"Step aside! Women only slow down my eating!"

But Kaelar was in no mood to answer, focused entirely on his competition with Artoria.

"I'm done!" Artoria announced, setting down the thoroughly cleaned bones and delicately wiping her oil-slicked lips, flashing a victorious smile at Kaelar.

"Drat!"

Kaelar hung his head in defeat. "I lost... and it's all your fault!"

The two of them had each devoured an entire pig, leaving the rest of the guests in stunned silence. It seemed that when it came to eating, these two weren't in the mood for pleasantries.

Of course, the last remaining pig was the finest of the bunch—the magical beast-level boar.

Despite their ferocity on the battlefield, the Celts had a hospitality typical of hunter-gatherer cultures. They offered their best to their guests.

Gawain hesitated before tugging Agravain's sleeve. "According to what Mother said, this is the person we must serve. I'm a bit concerned about who will be responsible for logistics."

Gawain joked, "Our lord has quite the appetite. Supplying the rear might be a nightmare—what if we run out of rations?"

Agravain, ever stern and rigid, nodded seriously. "That is indeed a concern. I'll advise the king to stockpile food in Camelot at all times. If necessary... I'll take on the role of logistics officer myself."

After the banquet, Morgan did not return Kaelar's True Sword of Reason. She merely allowed him a glimpse before whisking it away.

No, it would be more accurate to say she allowed Artoria and King Uther to see it for a moment.

Hah! Who says she's a fool?

When it came to this darkly-clad enchantress, not a single move was foolish.

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T/N: GAHH, My Type-Moon knowledge has been tainted by too many fanfics... I don't know whats real or not anymore... .·°՞(˃ ᗝ ˂)՞°·.

If there are any mistakes let me know!

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Sorry im drunk rn patreon stuff will be late today