King Arthur Won't Die by Accident

"The reason I joined the war… you might laugh if I tell you, but it's nothing shameful."

Arthur lowered his head slightly, pretending to be shy, completely ignoring the What is this guy talking about? look from Jeanne Alter.

"I'm here because of loyalty. And my dream."

"…No way. You? Forget dreams for now. Your loyalty… it's to your Sword Emperor, that disgusting man." Jeanne Alter's face twisted in disbelief. Thinking of Lucius's bizarre self-destruction XP declaration right after her summoning gave her chills.

So horrible!

No—disgusting!

Absolutely not. Arthur must be kept far from that bastard's sight.

Jeanne Alter gripped Arthur's shoulders righteously. "Believe me, loyalty is good. Even if it's to your own desires, it's so much better than loyalty to the Bastard Sword Emperor!"

"Hahaha, that's a bit much, Alter. I don't know why you hate His Majesty Lucius so much..." Arthur's face darkened. "But I don't deny that guy's disgusting. Even if he went to hell ten times over, it wouldn't cleanse his filth. I agree with that."

At that moment, the two—nominally on the same side—united in their mutual dislike for Lucius.

Damn Lucius!

Though tempted to add more dirt on him, Arthur restrained himself, and continued on with his dream. His sincerity was enough to convince anyone… well, at least Jeanne Alter.

Arthur basically believed whatever this naive woman calling herself a witch said now.

"Don't worry. My loyalty isn't to the emperor. It belongs only to my dream. In that distant dream, everyone shares relative equality—Romans, Britons, Saxons alike. No barriers. Everyone exchanges wisdom, loves themselves and others."

Arthur knew equality was a myth.

But it wasn't exactly a lie.

In a way, it was his dream.

He hoped to blanket all enemy lands with British power so that Romans and Saxons alike would learn British ideas, language, and measurement units. Assimilate everything, reduce differences.

Relative equality—that's right.

Jeanne Alter stared blankly at Arthur, unable to grasp why someone with such a lofty dream would throw himself into war.

Isn't that contradictory?

"Arthur, you're the most twisted human I've ever seen," she sighed.

Arthur ignored her and pressed on.

"By the way, Alter, you're French, right?"

"…Yes."

"I see. That explains your hatred of Britain. But you know, some of the strongest magicians are born with the ability to see beyond—the outside world and the future." Arthur smiled.

"What do you mean? Although I admit you're talented at magic, seeing the future and such—" Jeanne Alter sniffed in disdain.

Yet secretly she hoped one day Arthur might summon her as his Servant. The higher his magical talent, the better. So despite her tone, her eyes betrayed a flicker of hope.

"Yes, I have that gift too—the highest magician's certificate. Though the future I saw was vague, I glimpsed some of it in the past. The destruction of the Roman Empire, the Saxon invasion of Britain, the Saxons' atrocities against France." Arthur said with meaning.

There was one thing he didn't say.

France today is not the France of the future.

They barely connected back then.

The France of later days was an empire founded after foreign invasions. It wasn't called France initially, but the Kingdom of France later—named after the land it ruled.

So neither France nor Britain then had much to do with Jeanne Alter.

But don't let her know.

"By the way, Britain's current Knights of the Round Table are led by the prince of France. I heard Britain and France used to have close trade ties, but the war Rome started severed them. If Britain were in power today, I'm sure it wouldn't wage such a brutal war in the future."

Arthur mentioned the future casually—inadvertently.

Anyone else would spot the trick despite Arthur's charm, but Jeanne Alter no longer cared. Her eyes burned with anger.

"Saxon!"

Her teeth clenched tightly, fury clear.

Come to think of it, Jeanne Arc had no patriotic feeling—France was fine. But if the Saxons hadn't taken Britain, France wouldn't have been attacked in the future. If France hadn't been attacked, Jeanne wouldn't have joined the army. And without her, Jeanne Alter's memories would be of a happy village girl.

So who's to blame?

Britain?

No—Saxons!

Britain must not perish!

Jeanne Alter's expression hardened, though doubt flickered in her eyes.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Do you think I'd lie?" Arthur put on a mournful look. "Soon enough, you'll be shy and cut this conversation short."

"What?"

"Look—"

Arthur cupped Jeanne's face and kissed her lips before she could react.

Charm activated!

Super critical hit!

Judgment successful!

Black Jeanne—silenced.

After a long pause, Jeanne Alter lowered her head, cheeks flaming. Then suddenly stood and ran toward the Roman camp without a word.

Arthur said nothing, resting his chin on his hand, pondering a legal question.

After days of watching, he was sure Black Jeanne wasn't the Heroic Spirit born from a big eyeball's wish. Rather, because he was the Son of God, when the Holy Grail connected to the Seat, it judged Jeanne incapable of defeating him, so copied and rewrote info to create a Servant.

By this count, Jalter was only a few months old.

So…

How many years in prison for what I just did?

-End Chapter-

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