Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [54]

It wasn’t until he sensed the familiar surge of magical energy that Kaelar finally noticed the strange tension in the air. He turned and saw the Geis mark on Morgan’s hand, blurting out, “Morgan, are you crazy? You cast a Geis over a cake?!”

Morgan’s status as a ruler could indeed impose a Geis upon Kaelar’s noble rank, but the cost was heavy. It meant a permanent reduction of her magical power, transferring that strength to Kaelar through the binding spell.

Moreover, Kaelar’s inner self was too resolute and brilliant; even with all her strength, Morgan could only impose a trivial Geis—like making a bigger cake. She couldn’t erase any of Kaelar’s core vows, nor could she use a Geis to make him carry her away at Artoria’s birthday party.

Morgan le Fay, with her regal rank, might not be inferior to Granuaile of Connacht, but Kaelar’s altruism far surpassed even the legendary Diarmuid.

“Yes, for a cake,” Morgan scoffed, her face pale from the drain in magical energy, yet she wore a satisfied smile. “Kaelar, if you break this promise, I’ll take something precious from you.”

“Can you guess what that might be?”

Prophecies weighed heavily on Morgan’s heart, like iron chains.

To defy fate, she was willing to do whatever it took to avoid the terrifying end she foresaw. This little game with the cake was just a trial—better to test the waters on a small scale than risk greater vows shattering in the future.

Uther witnessed it all. As the King of Britain, he inadvertently became a witness to a tale of epic legend. His face twisted with shock. As a ruler who had reigned over the Celts for decades, Uther didn’t believe for a second that Morgan was talking about an actual dessert when she mentioned a “bigger cake.”

“A bigger cake? Morgan, with your appetite and ambition, could you even stomach it?”

Uther’s tone was laced with both disdain and authority. Though his body was frail and he looked sickly, his presence as the King of the Celts still overwhelmed Morgan’s own regal bearing.

The old king, even in decline, retained the majesty of a lion, outshining the fae queen at her peak.

“Morgan, you neither baked this cake, nor will you be the one to divide it!”

Morgan extended her hand, revealing the intricate symbols of the Geis glowing on her smooth skin. She smiled. “Uther, you have no say here. Would you risk plunging the Celts into civil war just to defy me?”

Uther’s cold, sharp gaze bore into Morgan’s eyes, devoid of any familial warmth—a ruler’s gaze, not that of a father.

“Uther, it’s just a cake, not the throne,” Kaelar interjected, gently taking Morgan’s still-lingering hand. “Morgan, you’re in the wrong here.”

“Oh?” Morgan’s face grew icy. When it came to Uther, she could never keep her emotions in check.

Her sapphire eyes grew cold, far colder than they had ever been during their first encounter.

“What I mean,” Kaelar said, his expression earnest, “is that if you ask something of me, I will answer.”

“Because you guided me when I needed it most, I will always grant your requests as long as they’re within my power.” He shook his head. “But a Geis… it’s one of the most dangerous spells. The price you paid is too steep.”

“Promise me—unless it’s absolutely necessary, don’t use it again.”

As the saying goes, “when the cup is full, it overflows.” Kaelar had been at his limit for some time, his power stuck without progress for over a year. But Morgan’s Geis had become the final straw that broke through, elevating his strength from A+++ to an unmeasurable EX rank.

“…”

For reasons unknown, Morgan’s icy demeanor melted into a radiant smile, as if spring had suddenly blossomed. Her voice turned gentle. “Kael, for me, this was necessary.”

Artoria’s lips pressed into a thin line, her teeth clenched, watching Kaelar’s hand resting atop Morgan’s. Suddenly, she interrupted, “The cake’s done, Kael. Will you cut it?”

After the tense exchange between Uther and Morgan, the atmosphere in the castle was on edge. Ector, Merlin, Morgan’s sons Gawain and Agravain—all of them were inside, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Under normal circumstances, they might have adhered to the Celtic tradition of resolving disputes through combat. But with Kaelar present, the wildcard in the room, no one dared to make the first move without knowing where he stood.

Unintentionally, Kaelar had become the mediator holding everything in place.

Kaelar’s gaze swept the room, sensing the palpable tension. He nodded. “Alright. A prime minister’s duty is to divide the meat, so I’ll take on the task of carving the cake.”

Dividing the cake was a metaphor for distributing power. The one who could handle such a delicate task was also fit to govern a nation.

Kaelar did not hesitate. Among those present, there was no one else capable of commanding the same respect. He alone had the authority, the strength, and the integrity recognized by everyone in the room.

His method was simple. He sliced the largest piece and handed it to Uther. “King Uther, this is your share and your followers’ share of the cake.”

Then he cut a slightly smaller but still sizable piece and offered it to Morgan. Uther’s face tightened, but Artoria showed no sign of displeasure—she trusted Kaelar completely.

Morgan’s face also remained calm; she knew Kaelar well enough to anticipate what would come next.

“And this,” Kaelar said, “is for you, Morgan, and for your sons.”

The final piece, significantly smaller than the others, remained uncut. “As for this last portion,” he said, “it is for me and my knight-in-training, Artoria.”

Kaelar used a silver knife to carve off a small sliver of cream from the remaining piece, tasting it himself before pushing the rest to Artoria.

This last portion was the smallest by far, but if the larger pieces were divided among many, they would become smaller than the piece left for Artoria.

“Kaelar, you truly are a man fit to govern the world,” Uther said, stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter. He cut his own portion into three, handing two-thirds to Ector and Merlin. As a result, his own piece ended up smaller than Artoria’s.

That was the way of a true king.

Uther’s actions made his intentions clear—the aging king had acknowledged the young ruler who would succeed him.

Morgan did not split her share. Instead, she devoured every bite, her eyes cool as she looked at Artoria. “What I give you is yours. What I don’t, no one can take.”

That was tyranny.

On the surface, Morgan’s actions seemed to overpower Artoria. But in light of Uther’s selfless gesture, her possessive behavior had already been overshadowed. Agravain remained impassive, but Gawain’s gaze lowered.

Under normal circumstances, they might not have said anything, but the way things unfolded left a subtle, lingering discomfort in their hearts.