"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 mess 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 men, 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 time comes, we'll build an empire greater than Rome, 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 bewilderment.
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 equipment and ethnicity didn't match the Romans.
They looked more like Camelot's allies.
If they're not Romans…
Why the hell did we surrender?!
The fortress might not hold against Rome's unknown level of advanced weaponry—but defending against a Camelot 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 meat had already fallen into his lap.
Was he really going to let it go?
The garrison leader thought for a moment, 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 gleamed for a moment.
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 me any good. Treasure is nice—but what's more important is the fist that protects it.]
Morgan's excitement also settled instantly.
Damn, the Horndog's the reliable one in critical moments.
Good thing I heard his thoughts.
If I'd spoken out of turn, he'd probably mock me 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 shame.
[But giving up would be a waste…]
Oh? Horndog, you and I think alike.
Well then—
Time to cheat.
Lot and Morgan both turned their gazes to Merlin simultaneously.
This was a job for a professional.
Merlin, seeing their expressions, instantly understood their scheme.
These two really do know I don't get offended, huh?
Normally, I'm either getting robbed or looked down on—but the moment they need someone 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?"
Merlin stepped forward, offering the garrison leader a hand up with a gentle smile.
"You can send men with us to retrieve it," the leader said, soothed by Merlin's kindly demeanor. 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."
Merlin spoke with solemn assurance.
"And you are…?"
The leader eyed him warily.
"I am Merlin, Royal Advisor to King Uther."
Merlin chuckled amiably.
The moment 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 Merlin even better than the king did.
"My, my. How troublesome," Merlin 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, Merlin—how vile can you be?
But at that moment, Lot simply grinned.
"Sure. I'll swear too."
"…?"
Morgan shot him a puzzled look.
[Merlin's true form must be some 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 Merlin.
For the first time, she felt genuinely pure-hearted.
Like a fairy-tale princess.
When it comes to being underhanded…
You two are the real monsters.