Brilliant sunlight poured through the window, illuminating the two Round Table knights.
"You're saying my mashed potatoes taste that bad?"
Gawain immediately grew flustered at the accusation.
He had slaved over those potatoes to satisfy the King's grand appetite, and this brat dared to call them awful!
"I'll have you know, back in the day, the King always ate way more than I did when I made potatoes!"
"Are you betting or not?"
Mordred lounged casually, legs crossed, looking as if victory was already hers.
"Fine. If what you say is true, how many days will you be eating it?"
Bathed in sunlight, Gawain asked without hesitation.
"Let's agree—no take-backs, alright?"
Mordred's eyes lit up.
This was the good part. She thought for a moment, then offered the terms,
"How about one year? If that unknown Servant exists, I'll eat your mashed potatoes for an entire year!"
"Deal. If that Servant doesn't exist, I'll take over all your work for a year!"
Gawain unsheathed Excalibur Galatine and sealed the wager without a second thought.
As the Knight of the Sun, I, Gawain, am invincible under the sun!
"Hahaha! You're doomed, Gawain!"
Mordred beamed with joy.
This was a guaranteed win! How could a dragon-mounted charge possibly lose?
Just imagining a whole year of freedom from endless paperwork made her want to fly.
Too satisfying!
Fall before me, oh invincible Gawain!
"Damn it... Is my cooking really that bad?"
Gawain stared at the gleeful brat and couldn't resist asking again.
"Yup. Absolutely awful."
A third voice cut in.
"No way..."
Gawain turned reflexively to rebut, but his words died when he saw a familiar figure.
Upon her head was a dazzling golden crown, and a cloak as grand as a quilt draped over her majestic form, her noble figure framed in all its regal beauty.
Her emerald-blue eyes carried a trace of confusion—perhaps wondering why the Knight of the Sun would lie.
"My King!"
Gawain quickly dropped to one knee.
But a gentle force stopped him.
"No need for formality. It's the 21st century—such ceremonies are outdated."
The King waved a hand casually, motioning for them to carry on.
She herself focused on the screen.
On it—
A tiny, delicate figure struggled to lift a weapon in training.
As the video played, the King's emerald eyes shifted from nostalgia to confusion, then to thoughtful silence—
Until she became utterly stunned.
Beside her, Mordred stole a glance at her father's expression, sensing something felt... a bit off.
What's going on?
She too began watching seriously.
And when that armored child appeared—
Mordred couldn't help comparing the figure to her father.
Hmm... definitely not the same!
The video continued—
SunlightSucksLOL-["Perfect King"? If that's not Artoria, I'll eat a cactus live on stream!]
AlmightyMiddleFinger-[You better not run. I've got your name down!]
EverydayNerd-[Artoria doesn't misunderstand human hearts (×), she was never taught about them (√)]
Skibidipapa-[So who is this uploader "Alaya"? Don't tell me even King Artoria's going to confirm the video's real?!]
"Wait—is that little boy supposed to be Artoria?"
Illyasviel asked curiously.
The barrage of comments were all insisting that was King Artoria.
But…
She really did look like a cute little boy.
"Yeah, it's probably Artoria,"
Kirina nodded and began explaining.
Artoria—just like Jeanne d'Arc—was one of her favorite Heroic Spirit.
She had long since memorized every detail about her.
Fated to be king from birth, yet born a girl, Artoria was supposed to lose her claim to the throne.
At five, to avoid scrutiny, she was raised by the old knight Sir Ector. When the time came, she hid her gender and ascended to the throne.
But historically, Artoria met her adoptive brother Kay, not this so-called "nameless heroic spirit."
History is clearly unreliable!
Ever since Jeanne publicly confirmed the first video was authentic, Kirina had lost all trust in history.
She now believed it was hiding something massive.
On the screen—
After the fall of the Roman Empire, the British Isles—once part of Rome—descended into civil war.
King Uther was defeated by the traitor king, and all of Britain burned with conflict.
Countless people became refugees. Deserting soldiers turned into bandits, pillaging and murdering freely.
A young Artoria stared furiously at distant knights.
"Stop! You don't deserve to be called knights!"
These men had once been nobles—granted territory, honored as protectors. Yet they had turned into bandits, looting the very lands they swore to defend.
"Hahaha! We are knights!"
One knight rode forward and jeered, "These peasants refused to offer all their gold and women—they deserved to die!"
"Yeah, commoners should kneel and offer everything. After all, we are noble knights!"
The rest roared with laughter.
Their horses were loaded with stolen riches.
One woman, tied up and sobbing, desperately tried to escape.
"Bitch, being chosen by me is an honor! Die already!"
The knight, annoyed, drew his sword and beheaded her in a single stroke.
Thud.
Her head hit the ground, kicking up dust.
The young Artoria stumbled back, stunned. Such cruelty and bloodshed in war laid bare before her eyes.
"Thank goodness I live in the 21st century…"
Kirina turned pale, clutching her chest tightly.
The scene was too brutal, too shocking.
She took a deep breath.
"I finally understand why King Artoria was so strict with herself… Why she strove to become the perfect king, the perfect knight."
Because of what she'd seen and lived through, she chose to become a knight among knights—to protect her homeland.
Beside her, Illyasviel also turned away, pale.
"This kind of brutal era needs a king to bring peace!"
"So... where are you, nameless hero?"
Kirina peeked through her fingers at the screen.
The massacre continued.
The young Artoria tried to stop the knights, but she was powerless. And her defiance only made them angry.
A black-armored knight sneered.
"You think you can stop me, brat? I'll cut off your limbs first—then see how bold you talk!"
"You're no knight! A knight brings joy to the people and protects them—not pillages and murders them!"
The young girl stood her ground despite the threat. Her signature ahoge stood firm, like a banner of resistance.
"Hah! Bring them joy? I have power—why should I protect the weak?"
The black knight laughed, and the others followed.
The small girl looked so helpless before these beasts. So helpless it made you want to hold her tight.
Tap, tap—
Footsteps echoed from afar.
A man appeared suddenly, stepping in front of the young girl.
His crimson coat flared behind him. The sight immediately put the bandits on guard.
"Who the hell are you?"
"If you refuse to protect others, you have no right to call yourselves knights."
The man's cold eyes stared as if they were already dead.
"To me, you're nothing more than weaklings."