"You don't seem surprised?"
King Uther studied Lot's expression, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
"Well... anyone could see it. Your Majesty, your body has been holding on by sheer willpower."
Lot's response was frank.
Then, he looked at Uther seriously and asked, "Your Majesty, if I may—how many months do you have left?"
"Who asks something like that?"
Uther couldn't help but laugh bitterly.
This brat... Do you really not fear getting punched?
Uther considered his current physical state and quickly abandoned the thought.
Now, he was little more than a moderately sturdy middle-aged man.
Compared to Lot, who appeared refined but was deceptively strong, there was simply no contest.
"My apologies, Your Majesty. I only ask so I can help Morgan through the... emotional aftermath."
Lot cared deeply about Morgan's mental state.
Personally, he held no strong feelings toward Uther—they had only met a handful of times. But he dreaded the thought of Morgan suffering from grief.
"Hard to say. A few days, a few months... In any case, my time is nearly over."
Uther spoke with startling ease.
Then, Uther continued, "Lot, in the coming era, both you and Morgan will stand as peerless talents in this world. After my death, this city of chalk shall belong to you both. Remember—hold it fast."
It seemed there truly was no saving Uther now.
Still, his end was far better than what history had recorded.
This time, he would die with honor.
He can rest without regrets.
Just as the thought crossed Lot's mind, Uther spoke again:
"There are three things I regret most in this life. Lot, I may have to trouble you to fulfill them for me."
How do I even respond to that?
Still, if these were Uther's dying wishes, Lot would do his utmost to fulfill them—so long as they were within reason.
After all, this king—whether as a ruler or as Morgan's father—had lived a life beyond reproach, save for the matter concerning Artoria.
Thus, Lot would honor his requests.
"First, the issue of Vortigern is only temporarily resolved. He still lives. No matter how much territory he loses, so long as he draws breath, his threat remains."
"Of course. For the sake of my and Morgan's happiness, I'll kill Vortigern the moment the opportunity arises."
Lot's answer left no room for doubt.
"Good. I trust in your capabilities."
Uther nodded in approval.
Then, he revealed his second wish.
"Second, Britain is not home to humans alone. Remember—fairies and the like are not of our kind. They bear no goodwill toward us. Be wary. Never allow them to gain power."
"This Britain will belong to Camelot."
"Then, lastly... take care of Morgan for me."
As he spoke his final wish, a trace of sorrow flickered across Uther's face.
"She's my wife. Of course I will."
Lot's promise was absolute.
"Rest assured, no matter who you choose as your successor, I won't let Morgan suffer even the slightest harm."
Uther's eyes widened slightly.
Lot's words made it clear—he was already aware of the other child.
"Naturally. Why else would I send her away on 'official business' tonight?"
A faint smirk played on Lot's lips.
Uther could only shake his head, pointing at Lot in exasperation.
This guy... truly a menace.
Yet, there was another layer to it.
The fact that Lot knew of Artoria's existence—and her true gender—was nothing short of terrifying.
When he's reliable, he's extremely reliable.
But when he's not... oh, he's really not.
Wise, kind, handsome, chivalrous yet never lacking in humor—
This is the man I chose for Morgan.
A quiet satisfaction settled in Uther's heart.
Then, as if realizing he'd only made demands without offering anything in return, he asked:
"By the way, my body can still hold out for a while. Is there anything I can do for you in this time?"
"Well... now that you mention it, there is one thing."
After a moment's thought, Lot's expression turned solemn.
"I'd like you to punch Merlin again—hard enough to blacken his other eye."
Uther burst into laughter.
In the twilight of his life, he was free to indulge in things he'd once restrained himself from—
Like punching Merlin. Repeatedly.
Having settled their plans for Merlin's imminent suffering, Lot and Uther parted ways.
Tonight, there was still a banquet to attend.
And at that banquet, Uther would declare before all that the city of chalk would henceforth belong to Morgan.
Returning to his and Morgan's quarters, Lot expected to find her agonizing over which gown to wear.
Instead, he was met with the sight of Morgan already dressed—albeit hastily—in an evening gown, staring blankly out the window.
"Lot... is something wrong with my father?"
Lot forced a cheerful grin.
"Look, he was lively enough to punch that old fraud Merlin today. That proves he's perfectly healthy. Who's been feeding you these baseless rumors? Utter nonsense."
[Damn it, how did she find out?!]
His internal scream was deafening.
[This is supposed to be a happy occasion. I don't want her last memories of him to be tainted by grief.]
[We'll tell her after the banquet.]
[She needs time to process this gradually.]
Hearing Lot's words—and his thoughts—Morgan tilted her head slightly.
A single tear glimmered at the corner of her eye before she swiftly wiped it away.
My husband doesn't want me to grieve. So I won't.
If I show sadness, he'll only blame himself.
I can't let that happen.
Thus, Morgan feigned ignorance, offering Lot a bright smile instead.
"Ah, it seems I was fooled. Well then, Lot—after the banquet, let's hunt down whoever dared slander my father and teach them a lesson."
"Agreed. A thorough beating is in order."
Lot played along seamlessly.
Two hearts, each guarding a secret from the other—
Yet instead of driving them apart, the unspoken truth drew them closer.
"Lot... come here. I want to hold you."
Morgan's voice was soft.
With a gentle smile, Lot wrapped his arms around her.
As she melted into his warmth, Morgan silently swore:
Lot... from now on, you are my only anchor.
After changing into an elegant evening gown, Morgan joined Lot—now clad in noble attire—as they rode a carriage drawn by four white steeds to Uther's palace.
The city had erupted into celebration.
The white chalk streets blazed with light, transforming into a sleepless utopia.
Revelry filled every corner as citizens rejoiced in their hard-won victory.
Meanwhile, the nobility gathered in the banquet hall, conversing in hushed clusters.
The moment Lot and Morgan entered, all eyes turned toward them.
They were the second stars of tonight's event.
Walking in with effortless grace, Morgan plucked a delicacy from a passing tray—only to grimace upon tasting it.
"Lot, the food here is... dreadful. It can't compare to our kitchen—or even your cooking."
Her whisper was laced with disdain.
"My thoughts exactly."
Lot's agreement was immediate.
As they exchanged quiet jabs, Uther took his place at the head of the hall.
Beside him stood Merlin—now sporting matching black eyes.
The sight drew amused smiles from both Lot and Morgan.
"Honored guests, welcome."
Uther's voice carried across the room.
A toast was raised, and as the glasses emptied, he continued:
"I have two announcements tonight."
"First—we celebrate our victory in war."
His gaze swept the crowd before landing firmly on Morgan.
"I hereby bequeath my domain... to my daughter."
Then, the hall erupted.