"This was Your Majesty's decision. I have no right to criticize it. I can only say that if my disciple were to become king, events would unfold as I prophesied. But if you change your mind... the future becomes uncertain."
"It might be better. Or it might be worse."
Merlin answered Uther's question without hesitation.
Morgan might lead Britain to greater prosperity—or her actions might plunge it into deeper ruin.
No one could say for sure.
Talent didn't guarantee success.
And if her direction was wrong, the damage could be far worse than mere incompetence.
Uther fell into deep thought.
"This..." He frowned, then finally said, "Let's wait a little longer. My health isn't failing yet. For now, we'll implement Morgan's suggestion—reward farming and warfare, encourage farmers to cultivate, and inspire soldiers to fight."
In the Roman Empire on the continent, rewarding farming wouldn't work—their feudal system was too entrenched.
But in Camelot, most lords were newly risen, with little land ownership. Many independent farmers still existed.
If they cultivated willingly, Camelot's food production would soar.
Merlin had explained this, and Uther understood.
"I'll have it implemented immediately."
Pleased with Merlin's response, Uther smiled.
"Now, prepare to depart. I must attend my daughter's wedding."
Since Lot was more an ally than a vassal, the ceremony would be held in his territory—effectively making this a royal princess marrying out, rather than a groom marrying into the royal family.
But this was his own daughter. Uther couldn't skip it.
So he'd sent Morgan ahead while he prepared for the formal event.
Hmm… Time to set off.
I'll observe my daughter and future son-in-law closely.
"Oh, one more thing..." Uther added as they prepared to leave. "Invite some noble lords to join us."
Merlin smiled, knowing exactly what Uther intended.
Meanwhile, with Lot and Morgan
Their party had finally reached Lot's territory—the Orkney Isles.
After transmigrating, Lot had expanded his holdings to include part of the mainland, but his castle stood on a plain near the coast.
The sea breeze carried a faint salty tang.
In the distance, the ocean stretched endlessly.
To an outsider, the view might seem breathtaking—but to Lot and Morgan, those waters hid enemies.
The Roman Empire, the Norse raiders—all were threats, no different from Vortigern.
Riding at the head of the procession, Lot turned to Morgan with a grin.
"We're almost at my castle. You can rest properly there."
Excitement glinted in his eyes—and Morgan had already overheard the reason.
[Hehe, finally! I wonder how the steward decorated the castle. I told him to prepare everything. Once it's ready, straight to the wedding!]
[After being single for over forty years, marrying a cute girl like Morgan is a dream come true!]
[For so long, I felt like a shoujo manga protagonist dumped into a JOJO episode. Thank god my wife is actually adorable!]
A transmigrator's mental age was tricky—claiming forty years between two lives was a stretch. But as a virgin? That part was undeniable.
You're not even twenty yet. Where did "forty years" come from? Counting each year twice?
Morgan didn't know about transmigration.
She just assumed Lot was a horndog.
As for the "JOJO" nonsense? No clue, but she was too embarrassed to ask.
Over their journey, she'd realized something:
Not only could she hear his thoughts three times a day, but when he was excited, some slipped through unconsciously—like spoken words.
These thoughts are so shameless!
Nothing but indecent ideas about me!
And I can't even call him out.
They're just thoughts—he hasn't acted on them.
How do I complain? I can't punish someone for thinking!
I'm not that unreasonable.
But hearing this every day is exhausting!
The first few days were worse!
Especially when he kept that artbook of her.
He'd studied it thoroughly, his imagination running wild.
[This outfit is wild…]
[Maid outfit? With black stockings? Whew…]
[Black, white, thigh-highs, knee-highs, stirrup socks…]
[Morgan's tall, but a school uniform with white stockings would work. I'll have the maids make one later.]
[Couples' dress-up is a great bonding activity.]
Morgan's face blushed.
My married life won't be peaceful.
Thankfully, the artbook was short. After a few days, Lot had memorized it, and the mental commentary stopped.
"Beneath that handsome face, King Lot is just a horny dog."
She seethed silently.
But then she recalled his earlier thoughts.
Well… a horny dog with a sharp mind.
A cunning, handsome horny dog.
Aside from the lewdness, he's practically perfect.
Her mind drifted back to her sister.
Despite multiple attempts, she'd never heard Lot's thoughts on the matter.
Why would Camelot go to her instead of me?
Pouting, she shot Lot a glare.
Noticing her expression, Lot asked:
"What's wrong, Morgan?"
"Nothing," she said sweetly. "I'm just curious about our future home."
"Don't worry—you'll love it."
As a transmigrator, of course I've upgraded my castle.
Especially with my cheat. Making life comfortable wasn't hard.
My home is one-of-a-kind in this world.
She hadn't actually cared about the castle—just dodged admitting she'd heard his lewd musings.
Compared to Camelot, Orkney was the backcountry. No matter how talented Lot was, she'd expected little.
And politically savvy men rarely focused on daily comforts.
But his confidence intrigued her.
Maybe there's a surprise waiting?
As they rode, she studied their surroundings—and froze.
The land here was far more developed than she'd imagined.
Despite being near the coast, farmland stretched everywhere, meticulously tended.
This… is beyond Camelot's standards.
Her eyes darted to Lot.
[Not bad. Even here, my instincts hold. Leading these farmers to prosperity was the right call.]
[Hehe, tell them cultivated land is theirs—plus five years tax-free. Of course they'll work hard!]
[Next, arrange low-interest loans for seeds and tools. Every farmer should afford what they need.]
Is he… throwing money away?
Lords usually exploit farmers with high-interest loans!
How does he profit from this?
Baffled, she tested the waters.
"Lot, these farmers seem much happier than elsewhere."
"Well, I'm a decent lord." He smirked.
[Duh. Compared to other nobles, I'm a saint.]
[Those leeches only know how to squeeze the poor dry. No vision, no sustainability!]
[Prosperity starts with the people. Expecting nobles to care is like waiting for them to hang themselves!]
[Good thing you're not queen. Your vassals' corruption would drive you mad. We'll stay here, cozy, while your sister deals with the mess.]
Morgan saw it now—Lot was nothing like other lords.
His methods made his land thrive.
If applied to Camelot, our strength would crush Vortigern.
When I avenge Father's defeat, it'll be thanks to what I learn from you.
But one thought stuck in her craw.
"Good thing you're not queen"?
Hmph. Just watch—I'll prove you wrong.
She pictured the future: her and Lot, rulers of all Britain.
His stunned, delighted face…
A smug smile tugged at her lips.
Why does she look so pleased with herself?