Calot Royal Palace.
Hall of the King.
The hall was decorated with lavish Western elegance, the floor lined with soft wool carpets. At the center stood a large round table carved from white jade.
There were Six people seated at the table.
The head seat remained empty. On the left sat a tall blond man whose aura radiated the sunshine and righteousness of a true knight.
His chiseled features gave him a striking, heroic appearance.
He was none other than,
The Knight of the Sun — Gawain.
Directly across from him was another empty seat — reserved for Lancelot.
The rest were also mbers of the Round Table: Bedivere, Kay, Lamorak, and Agravain.
And among them, one had beco a traitor, Mordred.
She wasn't sitting at the table.
Instead, she crouched near the door, amusing herself by mimicking gestures at a stray cat.
Oddly enough, this slightly eased the otherwise heavy mood in the room.
The blond knight, Gawain, swept his gaze across the others, his expression unusually serious.
"This invasion by Morgan… rlin has taken the King to Avalon. What are your thoughts?" he asked calmly.
"Kay, you speak first." Kay raised an eyebrow, giving Mordred a quick, unimpressed glance before saying, "Shouldn't we start by kicking Morgan's lapdog out of the room?"
"And more importantly, how did Morgan even find out that the 'Night Watcher' is still alive, and that he's in the palace?"
"The only one who knew that from the very beginning… was the King herself. So who leaked the information to Morgan?"
At the end of his words, his gaze drifted toward Agravain.
"I've already asked around. Yesterday, Sir Agravain encountered Morgan while carrying out a mission assigned by the King. There was even a brief skirmish between you two, correct?"
Agravain's brows furrowed, anger rising in his tone. "Kay, are you accusing of betraying the King?"
"I'm not accusing you. Just laying out a hypothesis. And you're not the only suspect—Sir Gawain is just as suspicious," Kay said coldly.
It had only been two hours since Morgan's sudden incursion, yet Kay had already pieced together a rough outline of events.
And the conclusion he reached — soone had leaked the information to Morgan.
The top suspects were the two knights who had direct contact with her: Gawain and Agravain.
Agravain's face darkened, but he found himself at a loss for words.
He wanted to defend himself, but there was no solid rebuttal at this mont.
Because in a sense, although there was no leak, he was indeed the one who brought Morgan to the palace.
Bedivere's face was solemn, and he said, "This is not the ti for internal strife, gentlen."
"The King is no longer in the palace. If we let Morgan do as she pleases... there's no telling what she might try."
Morgan le Fay.
Morgan le Fay, the weight of this na was like a mountain pressing on the chests of the Knights of the Round Table present, making it a little breathless.
In the past, she had done plenty of outrageous things just to spite Artoria. With the King gone, who knew what kind of madness she might unleash?
Even rlin had chosen to retreat for the ti being.
Was there really anyone left who could stop Morgan?
As the thought ca into their minds, a heavy silence fell over the room.
"If the King were still here, I think she would've wanted you all to do nothing," said a lazy voice near the door.
It was Mordred — still sitting cross-legged, a cat in her arms.
Lamorak, who had been silent this whole ti, stood up and snapped, "Mordred! Don't belittle the chivalric code—"
"Mother in the royal garden, having a walk," Mordred replied indifferently.
"If you want to stop her, go ahead and try."
"…"
Lamorak went silent. Broken. Defeated.
Now that Morgan wielded the power of the island, her strength was terrifyingly deep.
The fact that she hadn't already turned the palace upside-down was restraint in itself.
Going to confront her now… would be asking for trouble.
"I suppose… we can only place our hopes in Alvin now," Agravain sighed.
Lamorak frowned. "I trust in his strength… but can he really defeat Morgan?"
No one present answered the question.
Yet as they recalled the scene they had just witnessed at the palace gate, strange expressions slowly crept onto each of their faces.
In all of Britain—if there was truly soone who could overco Morgan le Fay… it would most likely be Alvin.
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Alvin never thought the sound of water running could be so... captivating.
His gaze, dazed and disoriented, fixated on the blurred figure in the misty bathroom.
The look on his face was probably the most complex expression he'd ever worn in his life.
Even compared to the CG mories he had previously unlocked, none of them ca close in the temptation to this scene.
He had not only openly entered the royal palace… but now he was standing in Artoria's bedchamber, and her sister was, bathing inside?
And judging by how things were going… it didn't seem like it would stop at bathing.
"I rember... the day Lily first beca King Arthur, I arranged to et you right here, didn't I?"
Amid the sound of splashing water, the witch's lazy yet lodious voice rang out.
Alvin paused to think, then softly replied with a hum, "Mm."
Back then, all the knights of the Round Table attended Artoria's coronation—except for two people.
One was Alvin.
The other, was Morgan le Fay.
She had invited Alvin in private, saying she had sothing important to discuss… but in fact, she had wanted him to swear loyalty to her.
And now they were eting again, in Lily's bedchamber...
"You're standing so far away… are you afraid I'll eat you?"
Just as Alvin was deep in thought, Morgan's voice echoed once again from the bath, cool, clear, and alluring.
Afraid? Alvin thought.
'I'm not afraid of being eaten, what I'm afraid of is if Lily walks in and finds out we're "doing business" in her room… that's going to be a deathmatch for real.
He had a thousand inner complaints… but sohow, he still found himself walking toward the bathroom.
However, just as he reached the door, the sound of water stopped.
Alvin looked up and was stunned for a mont.
A light-blue ceremonial gown had already been conjured over Morgan's body by her magic, clinging to her form like morning mist.
Large areas of her fair, delicate skin shimred in the candlelight.
It wasn't that her outfit was particularly revealing, on the contrary, it was modest.
She didn't resemble the seductive, scandalous figure described in many legends.
And yet—
Precisely because of this conservative look, her aura underwent a startling transformation.
The water droplets on her skin were like crystalline jewels on flawless porcelain.
Morgan had always given the impression of a dangerous beauty, a fem fatale, but now, with just a change of clothing, she exuded an ethereal grace that was stunningly pure.
And yet… there was still that indescribable hint of seduction beneath it all.
If anything, this was the true image of a witch, beautiful, pure, yet irresistibly dangerous.
It was a scene only Alvin had the privilege to witness.
Noticing the boy's dazed expression, a hint of bashfulness rose to Morgan's face as she smiled gently.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
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