Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [3]

“Kaelar! You idiot, I hate you… I hate you the most!”

Kaelar had a knack for pushing Arthur’s buttons, making her so upset she’d lose her appetite. After giving him a hard shove, the small ‘Arthur’ spun around and ran off.

Caught off guard, Kaelar staggered back a step. Though unprepared, his solid footing saved him from falling—a relief, as that would have been quite humiliating.

“Still just a little girl, easy to read,” Kaelar mused with a shrug. This small knight’s squire was someone his irresponsible father had brought back from the royal capital. Even with his limited knowledge of the Moon’s history, Kaelar could clearly guess the girl’s true identity.

But…

Ector and the ruler in Camelot likely never intended to hide it from him, did they?

“So, I’m automatically in the Red Dragon’s camp?” Kaelar muttered, stroking his chin. “Seriously, not even given a chance to play both sides… I’ve never even met that Vortigern, the man who can command the Saxons!”

But hey, Lily is adorable, isn’t she? The Red Dragon rules!

Kaelar, locked into the Red Dragon faction, didn’t mind all that much, except for the occasional nagging from a certain great witch, who would mutter about how a frail little Red Dragon wasn’t fit to wield the crown of Britain…

Over the past year since he’d met that witch, Kaelar had gone from cautious suspicion to a growing trust in this almost-corrupted sorceress.

“Lady Morgan, my dear sister, I’m here!” Kaelar called out, holding a red candle aloft as he stepped deeper into the forest. He addressed a large tree, saying, “Hey, hey! My witchy sister, are you home?”

Naturally, there was no response. The flame of the red candle flickered as it burned slowly, and the forest’s stillness was so profound that he could hear his own breath and heartbeat—a setting meant to reflect the fear in one’s heart.

Yet, Kaelar felt no fear.

He stood patiently, waiting for a certain tsundere witch to take the bait.

“As a follower of the Red Dragon, a guardian knight of Britain’s destined king… Kaelar, why do you come here every day to seek me, a witch fated to oppose the king of Britain?”

“Are you not afraid your king will hold you accountable someday?”

A cold and haughty voice broke the silence, slow and deliberate, carrying a noble and ancient elegance—a natural authority that felt distant and unapproachable. But Kaelar knew it wasn’t deliberate; Lady Morgan was born to bear the burden of a savior fairy, born to possess such majesty, such brilliance. Only the weight of a kingdom’s crown could befit her head, and only the splendor of a kingdom could enhance her beauty.

At the heart of what seemed an ordinary forest, a quaint wooden cabin appeared, as if it had materialized out of nowhere. It looked unremarkable from the outside, but Kaelar, who had entered it before, knew it to be an extraordinary magical workshop.

It suited the fairies and witches of Britain perfectly—an ordinary exterior that hid an extraordinary interior, reflecting their penchant for luring hunters or travelers inside and then turning them into candies for ‘trespassing.’

“Oh, heavens, my witch sister, you are the very picture of a textbook tsundere!”

Kaelar remained cautious, not daring to approach. One should never underestimate a witch’s cunning; unless she extended an invitation, he wouldn’t take the risk.

“Beautiful Lady Morgan, you’ve done the tsundere act already. To meet you, I skipped out on training with Lily—who knows what chaos she’s causing right now. If you don’t teach me something useful today, I’ll camp out here until you do!”

As someone who aspired to escape to the World’s Edge, Kaelar wouldn’t let any chance to acquire knowledge slip by.

Lady Morgan, Britain’s true ruler and the fairy savior, held magical knowledge that likely rivaled that of Merlin’s. He wouldn’t squander the chance to learn from her.

“…”

A sound of light, delicate footsteps echoed, drawing Kaelar’s gaze. He turned to see a silver-haired, blue-eyed woman—an adult, mature version of Artoria. Unlike his young companion who was still growing, this version of Morgan was fully in her prime.

She was like a ripe peach, at the peak of her allure, perfect from any angle.

A faint, misty magical veil obscured Morgan’s face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it added an air of mystique, heightening her enchanting allure.

Maintaining a sense of mystery wasn’t just a rule for modern magi; even the sorceresses of the Age of Gods adhered to this principle.

Morgan’s exposed eyes were unlike Artoria’s—they lacked the latter’s steadfast resolve and stubbornness, instead exuding a sensual and seductive charm. The dark blue eye shadow gave her an aura of a mysterious beauty.

“Little knight, you needn’t worry about that. The ‘Perfect King’ won’t mind the trivial whims of childhood.”

Noticing the admiration in Kaelar’s eyes, Morgan crossed her arms. Even standing casually, she was a breathtaking sight.

“You’re right, Lady Morgan!” Kaelar nodded, acknowledging her beauty with a grin. Then he revealed his true intentions. “So, what’s the lesson today, oh enchanting witch sister?”

“Let’s get one thing straight—I’m the one who guided Ector to repel the Saxons, not you. Don’t flaunt petty tricks in front of me!”

Kaelar was far more interested in Morgan’s magic than her knowledge of potions, finances, or warfare.

After all, magic was so convenient, wasn’t it? It allowed people in the Age of Gods to wear stockings and heels while exuding a fragrance soaked in cosmetics, all while masking their faces with glamours!

“I’ve heard of the renown of Celtic sages. There’s no need to boast,” Morgan said coolly. “Besides, I never said I’d teach you anything. You are, after all, a follower of the Red Dragon, and with your intelligence, you must know who I am… We are destined to be enemies!”

“Why should I teach you? Wouldn’t that be aiding my enemy?”

Kaelar nearly burst into laughter. Oh, my witch sister, so you understand what it means to aid the enemy, huh? Then, care to explain who exactly sent Gawain, Gareth, Gaheris, and Agravain…?

King Arthur’s Round Table had 150 high-ranking knights, but only a dozen or so bore titles as legendary heroic spirits. And Lady Morgan had gifted nearly a quarter of them to Arthur.