Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

"It's not easy being King Uther, I suppose."

Kaelar shook his head, sighing deeply. "He's just an ordinary king with little talent. Defeated by Vortigern, caught between the meddling faeries and the scheming Romans—maintaining even this fragile balance is no small feat."

To be fair, Uther's incompetence wasn't due to recklessness. He wouldn't recklessly order his forces to fight a losing battle just to save face. He wasn't a foolish ruler who would force his men into a pointless war.

If he were as mindlessly stubborn as certain failed kings of history, he'd have already hung himself from a gnarled tree in Camelot.

Think about it: the Celts revered strength above all. They were a people who worshiped power, and Vortigern, embodying Britain's rage, was seen as a son of the Age of Gods and King of the Island. Yet most of the Celtic lords still swore loyalty to Uther, not the stronger Vortigern.

For one, Vortigern's character was utterly despised. Even in a largely amoral Celtic society, he was branded the "Usurper King" and scorned by most Celts.

Secondly, Uther wasn't completely inept. His martial prowess might be lacking, but his political skills were solid. For years, he had successfully united and appeased the Celtic lords. Even after suffering defeats in major battles, his prestige only grew.

After all, those who had witnessed Vortigern's terrifying dominance on the battlefield didn't blame Uther's failures on his shortcomings.

"Kaelar!"

Ector, who had been listening to Kaelar's blunt assessment of Uther, grew increasingly agitated. "What did Uther ever do to make you show him so little respect? You won't even call him 'Your Majesty'!"

"Look, it's you who swore fealty to Uther, not me!" Kaelar responded with confidence. "My liege's liege is not my liege. One day, I will serve only one true king."

Ector, at a loss for words, was even angrier. He had returned to console his son, afraid that Kaelar might be disheartened after his first proposal had been rejected by Uther.

Instead, it was Ector who found himself exasperated. He regretted coming back today!

In truth, the moment Ector received Kaelar's letter, he couldn't wait overnight. He had woken Uther in the dead of night, and the two discussed this matter of national importance in the king's private chambers.

Fortunately, Uther didn't suffer from a bad temper upon being woken. Even after being roused from sleep, he had rationally dismissed Ector's proposal.

Uther didn't have many years left. His health was rapidly declining. His current priority was maintaining stability, doing everything in his power to prepare the way for the Sword in the Stone, ensuring a smooth transition of the crown to his successor, Artoria.

Uther was keenly aware of his own limitations. He knew he wasn't the chosen one to save the Celts and Britain, so he placed his hopes in the next generation.

He trusted in the wisdom of those who would come after him.

Aside from seeming a bit irresponsible, Uther's self-awareness set him above many rulers. At least he wouldn't lead fifty thousand troops to a pointless war, only to end up as a prisoner in another land.

"Do as you see fit, then."

The argument finally winding down, Ector sighed. "Kaelar, you've always been strong-willed. I can't control you…"

"You're my most gifted son. I genuinely hope you're right—that this 'enlightenment' you preach carries the power to change Britain's fate, that it's not just the foolish daydreams of an idealistic child."

Ector embraced Kaelar, his voice heavy with emotion. "I don't want to see your dreams fail and have you become a laughingstock in the songs of future bards. I don't want you to go down in history as a 'Fool' scorned by the Celts."

"If you truly believe in your vision, then stand by it."

"But remember this: Never fail."

In Britain, the bards held significant influence. Even Cú Chulainn, son of the deity Lugh, couldn't ignore their demands. They were the chroniclers of heroes and history, akin to court historians.

Bards would immortalize the deeds of nobles and heroes through song, ensuring that the legends of the brave endured and that the follies of the foolish were forever remembered.

If Kaelar were to fail, his principles of mercy and enlightenment would be seen as betrayal. Even if future generations eventually recognized his vision, he would first be a figure of mockery—a symbol of naivety reviled by both Celts and Anglo-Saxons. Entire words of ridicule would form around his name.

Such a fate was terrifying. Ector loved his son too much to want that. He'd rather Kaelar be a bloodstained, invincible Celtic warrior on the battlefield than see him scorned in history.

But Kaelar's response remained resolute.

"What is right will always be right. Even if denied a thousand times, even if no one else understands, it remains true."

After the clarity he had found the previous night, Kaelar's resolve was unwavering.

Sir Ector rode off. He had arrived full of hope, but left with a heavy heart.

But Kaelar had no time to dwell on his father's feelings—because the ever-efficient Morgan had sent her report.

"Kael, you need to leave Maple Ridge. Vortigern has ordered Hengist to lead seventy thousand Anglo-Saxons. They've set sail southwards."

Morgan's voice held an uncharacteristic urgency. "By tonight, they'll be in Kent, and by tomorrow, they'll be marching on Maple Ridge."

Even Kaelar was shaken by the news. He took several deep breaths, calming himself before he spoke. "Understood."

"Now isn't the time for calm understanding," Morgan's voice grew more anxious. "Gather what you can and flee the territory. I know you're capable, but you don't have enough men to face seventy thousand."

Indeed, the Yanyuan Formation wasn't invincible. It was only unbeatable under specific conditions, relying heavily on favorable terrain.

If Kaelar had fifty thousand troops, he might have had the manpower to create a strategic battlefield to overpower the Anglo-Saxon horde. But with just over three thousand, it was impossible to mold the land to his advantage. Even if they mastered the formation's intricacies, they would be overwhelmed.

Deploying his current forces would only lead to their annihilation.

Kaelar didn't want any of them to die. In truth...

He didn't want any of the invading Anglo-Saxons to die either.

He understood that the majority of the oppressed Anglo-Saxons—ordinary folk who had no voice—simply wanted to survive. If they had a choice, they wouldn't wish for war.

Those who truly deserved to die were the ones who instigated this conflict—Vortigern, Hengist, Horsa, and their vile cronies.

Kaelar had no desire to harm anyone, but he couldn't stand idle either. It seemed an unsolvable dilemma.

And yet, Kaelar did have an escape route. As Morgan said, he could retreat under the cover of darkness, taking Artoria with him back to Camelot. He knew he wouldn't face any punishment—instead, he'd likely be commended by Uther and given continued support.

Even Uther himself would send forces to help reclaim his lost lands.

Kaelar knew all of this. He had always known.

But—

"I'm not leaving."

Kaelar's voice was calm, steady. "If I run away now, everything I've worked for would be a joke. Both Celts and Anglo-Saxons would 'understand' my true nature."

If he dared to speak like Lord Shang, he could face Lord Shang's fate.

So what if it meant dying without a proper burial, his corpse left to rot in the open?

If he was committed to the path of a sage, he couldn't just preach empty words from a safe, lofty perch, handing out trivial favors when there was no risk involved.

"Morgan, don't try to persuade me. If I abandon the people of Maple Ridge, both Celts and Anglo-Saxons will dismiss my ideals as childish fantasies. Years of effort and sacrifice would be lost."

Kaelar's voice was firm. "Seventy thousand Anglo-Saxons? Understood."

Breaking the connection with Morgan, Kaelar's eyes blazed with a fierce, almost unsettling determination.

Had he not gained clarity the night before, he might have been overwhelmed, lost in indecision, unsure whether to retreat or stand his ground.

But now, Kaelar harbored not a shred of doubt.

"Death is an ill omen. I've said it many times, haven't I?"

Kaelar murmured softly. "Why, then, do they persist in violating my law?"

"Life is precious. Vortigern, Hengist... Who gave you the right to trample upon it?"

The flames in Kaelar's eyes grew fiercer, a sense of resolve solidifying within him.

From the depths of the castle, Kaelar's voice echoed, calm and determined:

"I will repel you. I will make you... hear my message of mercy."