Witch Taming System-Chapter 58: Nyarlathotep [1]

Everything was swallowed by darkness. Not even a speck of light could be seen.

When Lancel came to and opened his eyes, he froze.

"Cheers to Arthur!"

"Cheers!"

Lancel glanced around. Moments ago, he had been lying on the ground, nearly on death’s door.

Now, he was suddenly thrown into some sort of lavish party, seated at a wide round table with food filling every corner.

"Why don’t we get a few words from our commander for the successful siege?"

At that moment, faces Lancel didn’t recognize all turned toward him. From the way they were dressed, it was clear they were all knights.

But knights were a specific term. Even these days, adventurers wore full-plated armor. The term knights was reserved for those who had taken up chivalry, most notably in the Empire of Brinte.

"Sir Lancelot? Any words for the Round Table?"

Lancel looked around, confusion clear on his face, before pointing at himself.

"Me?"

"Who else?"

Lancelot.

It sounded close to Lancel, yet not quite the same. At the same time, Lancel glanced down and found himself clad in full-plated armor.

’...An illusion?’

That was his first conclusion. Perhaps that witch had cast something to trap him in this kind of plane. But even then, it felt far too specific.

Or was this some kind of constructed memory? An unfulfilled fantasy?

"As the one who led the siege, it’s only right for you, Sir Lancelot, to raise the toast."

"...?"

"Getting all shy now? This isn’t like you. Hahaha!"

The atmosphere turned awkward when Lancel didn’t respond. The knights seated around the round table fell silent for a moment, glancing at one another, before one of them cleared his throat.

"Ahem—cheers to Camelot!"

——To Camelot!

"To King Artorius!"

——To King Artorius!

"...."

Camelot.

King Artorius.

Lancel finally began to understand what this illusion was. Twelve hundred years ago, there had been stories of a kingdom that existed long before the Empire of Brinte.

There, a legendary figure known as King Artorius had risen.

A king who had unified the land, who had gathered knights under his banner and formed what was known as the Round Table.

A king who had drawn a sword that no one else could.

And Camelot, the kingdom that had once stood at the center of it all.

A story that had long since faded into legend, something most people only knew as folklore rather than something real. A story that had been retold so many times that no one even knew what parts were true anymore.

And yet, Lancel was sitting right in the middle of it.

’Is this her fantasy...?’

No, was this even an illusion?

Or had he somehow been thrown back in time?

Lancel slowly lifted his gaze.

There, seated at the center of the table, was a blonde figure clad in radiant golden armor. His hair flowed down neatly, making him look like a woman, and a crown rested upon his head.

’There’s no way...’

The man was already looking at him. For a moment, the crowned figure tilted his head, as if he had noticed something off, before a small smile formed on his lips.

’...King Artorius?’

Truthfully, Lancel was quite familiar with the tales of King Artorius and the Round Table. It was a classic tragic story. A child born in the slums, rising to power, climbing to heights that bordered on the divine, only to lose everything in the end.

His people.

His companions.

His family.

The Round Table. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

And ultimately, his legacy.

But there was one figure in those stories that Lancel had always admired. It wasn’t King Artorius, surprisingly, but the premier knight of the Round Table, the greatest warrior, a trusted companion of the king, and a master of both swordsmanship and chivalry.

Lancelot of the Lake.

It was through those fables that Lancel, once a nameless child, had been given his name in the first place. The one who raised him had chosen it, saying they, too, admired Lancelot of the Lake.

"Sigh. They really wouldn’t stop with the questioning. I barely managed to slip out. Hey, Gawain, pass me a bottle. Quickly!"

At that moment, someone entered the room. A woman, with flowing golden-blonde hair and radiant blue eyes, donning a wide-brimmed hat.

’...Leticia?’

No, she looked like Leticia, to the point where the resemblance was uncanny, but her presence felt completely different. Unlike Leticia, who was more easygoing and sociable, this woman carried herself with a stern, almost imposing confidence.

"Here, Miss Merlin!"

The knight named Gawain immediately handed over a bottle of alcohol to the woman who had just entered.

"...Merlin."

The woman who was said to be the greatest benefactor of King Artorius, the one who had guided him and shaped him into the legendary figure he had become.

Merlin lifted the bottle and drank straight from it. Then, lowering it, she turned her gaze toward Lancel.

A slight frown marred her face.

"What are you looking at?"

"Ah..."

"He’s been acting strange this whole time, Merlin," one of the knights said. "But the way he’s staring at you, he looks completely mesmerized—Hahaha!"

"Of course he is. I’m beautiful, aren’t I?"

"...You’re a hag. That’s what you are."

"Who said that?!"

Looking at the Round Table gathered like this, Lancel couldn’t help but smile. If this were real, if this was truly how things had once been, then it was a shame, knowing how everything ended.

Before Lancel realized it, a firm hand was placed on his shoulder, prompting him to turn.

Standing there was the man he assumed to be Artorius, his hand resting on Lancel’s shoulder as he looked at him.

"Something wrong, my friend?"

"Ah, no. I’m just... dazed. That’s all."

"Dazed? What does that mean?"

There seemed to be a slight disconnect. Either there was a language barrier, or perhaps vocabulary in this era simply didn’t carry the same meanings.

"Just... I think I’m having a bad dream..."

"A bad dream, huh? You know what that means?"

"What—"

Before Lancel could respond, his hands were suddenly restrained.

In an instant, hands came from all sides, grabbing him, forcing his head up, and prying his mouth open before he could react.

Then, with a grin that felt completely out of place, Artorius poured alcohol straight into his mouth.

"Mmph...!"

"It’s a time to celebrate, my friend. Don’t go acting like a stranger now!"

Then, the surroundings turned dark again.

"...."

Lancel blinked. The moment he came to, the first thing that registered in his mind was what lay beneath his feet.

A corpse, severed clean in half.

"Ah..."

It was the crimson-haired witch.