"So… you surrendered?"
Lot stared at the Vortigern's soldiers waving white flags and approaching him, unsure what expression to make.
His strategy had worked.
A little too well.
He had only intended to ss with their morale.
But he hadn't expected—
Their morale to completely collapse.
[These guys couldn't even handle that little bit of pressure? They surrendered this fast? Are these really Vortigern's n, or are they French? How can they give up so easily?]
Hearing Lot's thoughts, Morgan's face showed a flicker of confusion.
The French across the sea surrender easily?
If that's the case, after we conquer all of Britain, would it be just as easy to invade France?
Hmm… in that case…
Morgan couldn't help but smile.
First, unify Britain. Then cross the sea eastward to attack France.
Finally, march on the Roman Empire.
And throughout all this, squeeze every last drop of knowledge out of Lot.
When the ti cos, we'll build an empire greater than Ro, more glorious than Greece.
The plan was set—now it was just a matter of execution.
A faint smile played on her lips as she turned her gaze to the Vortigern garrison kneeling before her and Lot.
Huh? What's with these guys?
Their faces didn't show the dejection of defeat, the reluctant acceptance of surrender.
Instead, they looked… confused.
What are they so surprised about?
Lot shared Morgan's bewildernt.
Eyeing the surrendered troops, he spoke:
"What's with those looks? What, you think we're not worthy of your surrender?"
"You—you're not Romans?"
Regret flooded the garrison leader's face.
Damn it.
These people's equipnt and ethnicity didn't match the Romans.
They looked more like Calot's allies.
If they're not Romans…
Why the hell did we surrender?!
The fortress might not hold against Ro's unknown level of advanced weaponry—but defending against a Calot army shouldn't be that hard.
After all, the forces here probably weren't even their main army.
"Uh… can I go back and pretend this never happened?"
The garrison leader hesitated, then cautiously asked Lot.
"What do you think?"
Lot tilted his head, giving the man a smirk that wasn't quite a smile.
Though things had taken an unexpected turn—
This piece of at had already fallen into his lap.
Was he really going to let it go?
The garrison leader thought for a mont, then spoke:
"Well… I know where Vortigern's treasure is hidden. Can we trade that for our return to the fortress?"
Vortigern had pillaged for years—his accumulated wealth was undoubtedly vast.
Morgan's eyes glead for a mont.
But Lot's expression only flickered briefly before cooling into calm.
[Using treasure to buy their freedom? Sounds tempting. But wealth only matters if you can spend it. If I die in battle, no amount of riches will do any good. Treasure is nice—but what's more important is the fist that protects it.]
Morgan's excitent also settled instantly.
Damn, the Horndog's the reliable one in critical monts.
Good thing I heard his thoughts.
If I'd spoken out of turn, he'd probably mock again.
But he was right.
Money is important—but the power to keep it is even more so.
Still, letting this opportunity slip would be a sha.
[But giving up would be a waste…]
Oh? Horndog, you and I think alike.
Well then—
Ti to cheat.
Lot and Morgan both turned their gazes to rlin simultaneously.
This was a job for a professional.
rlin, seeing their expressions, instantly understood their sche.
These two really do know I don't get offended, huh?
Normally, I'm either getting robbed or looked down on—but the mont they need soone to deceive people, I'm the first one they think of.
Still…
I do enjoy this kind of work.
"If you say that, how can we trust you?"
rlin stepped forward, offering the garrison leader a hand up with a gentle smile.
"You can send n with us to retrieve it," the leader said, soothed by rlin's kindly deanor. Then, hesitantly, he added: "But you must swear to let us return to the fortress afterward."
"Of course. Hand over all of Vortigern's treasure, and I personally guarantee your safe return. You have my word."
rlin spoke with solemn assurance.
"And you are…?"
The leader eyed him warily.
"I am rlin, Royal Advisor to King Uther."
rlin chuckled amiably.
The mont those words left his mouth, the garrison leader's face twisted in horror.
"You—! Vortigern warned us about you! 'Don't believe a single syllable he says!' My apologies—I won't trust your oath!"
Pfft—!
Hah!
Lot and Morgan burst out laughing.
You had to hand it to Vortigern—as Uther's elder brother, he knew rlin even better than the king did.
"My, my. How troubleso," rlin sighed theatrically, then pointed at Lot. "What if he swears instead?"
"Huh?"
Morgan's expression darkened.
We're planning to double-cross them!
Are you seriously going to make Lot break an oath?!
Damn it, rlin—how vile can you be?
But at that mont, Lot simply grinned.
"Sure. I'll swear too."
"…?"
Morgan shot him a puzzled look.
[rlin's true form must be so contract-twisting devil. His wording was 'all of Vortigern's treasure'—but what counts as 'all' isn't for them to decide. Even if they hand everything over, we can just claim they held back and slaughter them anyway. No issues at all.]
You ate one bowl of noodles.
But I'll insist it was two.
I'll cut your stomach open to check—and it doesn't matter how many bowls are really inside.
Hell, even if there's nothing, I can just hold up a bag of detergent and say, 'See? This was your second bowl.'
…
After hearing Lot's thoughts, Morgan stared at him in shock.
Then she glanced at rlin.
For the first ti, she felt genuinely pure-hearted.
Like a fairy-tale princess.
When it cos to being underhanded…
You two are the real monsters.
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