[Gares has joined your party.]
[The Child of Prophecy's team grows even larger.]
[One day later, you arrive at Oberon's domain: the Welsh Forest.]
[Here, you receive a warm welcome from the fairies of the Welsh Forest.]
[Most of the fairies in the Welsh Forest are small in stature and do not speak the common tongue of Fairyland.]
[Even so, merely watching them gather around you and hop joyfully conveys their deep hospitality.]
[The Welsh Forest fairies present you with a bounty of chestnuts as a token of their hospitality.]
"Oh! Chestnuts! They actually have chestnuts here!" Upon seeing the chestnuts, Artoria's eyes immediately lit up. "Amazing! Aren't these contraband? Sweet things are strictly regulated— in the South they're scarce. It turns out this place is outside the law!"
"Huh? Regulated?" Guinevere blinked.
"Yes. Generally only higher-ranking fairies can get their hands on desserts. These are precious and rare!" By now, Artoria was scattering chestnuts like a squirrel, chewing happily as she spoke.
"After all, Her Majesty forbade processing fruits and such—sugar is extremely scarce." Gares chimed in beside her.
"However, up North it seems much better!" Suddenly, Artoria's spirits soared. "After all, that's the domain of Queen Noknalei— as the Northern Queen, she doesn't care about any ban, producing desserts at will. Isn't that cool?"
"Even so, that's all thanks to Noknalei, right? What does that have to do with you? Didn't you say you'd be disheartened if she were doing well?" Guinevere launched a pointed question.
"Ah, well—" Artoria's chestnut-munching paused mid-bite, and her expression clouded over with sadness.
—So she actually bit down on her chestnut all the harder.
"But wait, so it was Morgan's order that there are no Pocky in Britain?" Guinevere suddenly noticed another point. "I see now! It's her fault I've been gnawing on those long cookies every day!"
At this, his expression was one of righteous indignation:
"In that case, there can be only one answer—topple Morgan's tyranny, and the world belongs to Lili!"
—For some reason, when Guinevere shouted this in the simulator, he involuntarily shivered. He touched the back of his neck and turned to look out the window, but saw nothing. Whether it was just his imagination, he felt as if someone had glanced at him moments ago. This thought gave him a chill.
"Could it be... Fairyland is haunted?"
But at this moment, life inside the simulator continued:
"Hey! What's Lili supposed to be?!"
"Lili is the pet name you wanted earlier! It means we're close, like sweethearts!"
"But didn't you say before that you already liked Artoria's name as is? So now you don't think Artoria is beautiful?" Oberon promptly found her weak point.
"Ah, this..." Guinevere was silenced by Oberon's remark.
Then, seeing Artoria's smile vanish, Guinevere fell silent for two seconds before lunging to pinch Oberon's neck. "Not now, you idiot!"
"Ha ha. In any case, it seems you're all having a great time here, so I can relax."
Dodging Guinevere's chokehold, Oberon slipped on his pristine travel cloak as he spoke:
"Everyone in Wales, please take care of our guests for now. I'm leaving to scout in Manchester and will return tonight—make sure to save me some dinner!"
With that, he slinked away as if fleeing.
[While the fairies of the Welsh Forest enthusiastically entertain your party, Oberon sets off to reconnoiter in Manchester.]
"Hey, wait up—Oberon, at least leave us a translator... No, hey, big bro! Don't leave while we're talking business!"
Though Guinevere tried to call him back, Oberon's departure only quickened the moment Guinevere spoke his name. In the blink of an eye, he vanished.
After a few seconds of silence, Guinevere sheepishly lowered his hand. He turned to look at Gares and Artoria, who were happily eating chestnuts, and his expression softened.
"...Never mind. At least everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. As for translators, it might be..."
"Indeed. I can't understand a word these Welsh fairies are saying. It's troublesome that there's no interpreter."
Just as Guinevere muttered to himself, Ridra Bitt suddenly darted out from beside him, startling him with an abrupt voice:
"But speaking of which, he forgot to introduce me to the Welsh fairies, which hurts my feelings... Is Oberon a bit... careless in words and deeds?"
"Well..." Upon hearing this, Guinevere turned his head and began speaking evasively. This matter... could not be pinned solely on Oberon.
At that moment, a sharp buzzing sound reached Guinevere's ears. He looked up to see a tiny insect-like fairy flying anxiously in midair, emitting a high-pitched buzz. At the sound, every fairy revealed a terrified expression before climbing trees or diving into hollows, quickly hiding.
\[For reasons unknown to you, all the fairies have hidden themselves.]
"What's going on?! What happened?" Guinevere suddenly snapped awake, gripping his longsword.
"Heh heh heh... it smells like Black Dogs are near. Everyone's likely afraid and hid away." Ridra Bitt said calmly between bites of a pear.
"Black—Black Dogs?" Guinevere's hand trembled around the sword's hilt. The name carved itself into his memory: In the last simulation, Bagust in the Great Calamity state bore the title of Black Dog.
"Relax. They're just monsters that often roam Britain. They aren't too difficult. If anything, they're easier to deal with than Mortos." Ridra said unhurriedly, continuing to chew. "But fear them not—a mere pup, after all, is no match for a rabbit's foe!"
With that, he sprang to his hooves and brandished his great axe.
"You'll let this rabbit's valor repay their courtesy!"
"Wait, weren't you—or Ridra—supposed to be Ludong?" Guinevere shouted over his shoulder.
While the two bickered, a pack of obsidian-blue hounds approached, their paws ignited in ethereal blue flame. The sight was bone-chilling: though called Black Dogs, their bodies were streaked black and phantom-blue. More than canines, they resembled humanoid creatures crawling on all fours, each with a massive lupine head. Their sunken, jet-black eyes glowed with a single eerie blue pupil, and they never ceased emitting weeping, wailing cries.
A single glance conveyed their ominous strength. Individually, none were beyond Guinevere's ability—only slightly stronger than the monsters he had helped fairies fend off during his journey. But sheer numbers made them terrifying. Previously, the monsters he faced numbered only two or three. Now, this horde easily numbered ten times as many—so many that Guinevere's heart pounded in his chest.
From experience, these foes were not the sort he could tackle less than a month into the current simulation. Generally, he would attempt such a challenge only after nearly a year of leveling—when all attributes reached at least C. Even then, victory was not guaranteed.
However—since Artoria had already splurged magic funds to boost his stats significantly, and with Ridra and Gares now in the party—these Black Dogs were not impossible to face...
"Aah—"
Before Guinevere could finish assessing the disparity, a Black Dog lunged at him like a bolt of lightning and snapped at him. His mind barely had time to register before his great sword carved an arc of silver light, precisely severing the hound's head.
"Huh?"
It was not just one. After that Black Dog fell, more poured in, encircling Guinevere. They displayed a degree of intelligence, forming a coordinated assault: splitting into groups from all eight sides and lunging simultaneously.
Before Guinevere's mind could catch up, his sword moved on autopilot. It spun like a gale, slicing each approaching Black Dog to pieces. Not only that, but each strike blended seamlessly into the next, coalescing into a silver halo that surged around him. Any Black Dog that dared approach was instantly shredded upon touching that whirlwind of steel.
After two seconds of silence, Guinevere silently enabled Auto-Combat for his character. In the simulation, he wasted no time—without hesitation, he charged single-handed into the Black Dog horde. Wherever he went, blood waves surged. That massive pack of Black Dogs was driven back step by step; they could not even get within a single step of his sword circle without being cleaved like meat.
Among the last of the horde stood a towering humanoid monstrosity with four arms, radiating an indescribable might. Seeing Guinevere's rampage, it bellowed in rage and charged, fists flying in a four-pronged flurry.
Yet Guinevere's sword circle tore it apart with ease. Although it hurled four fists at a single sword, its attack frequency was wholly suppressed. In Gloucester, Guinevere once could swing six sword strokes per second; after Artoria's attribute boost, he now could swing well over a dozen per second. He had lost count. All he heard was the roar of his longsword slicing air like a storm.
「Ultimate Technique: My Style—Great Windmill!」
Perhaps it was no longer just a "Great Windmill," and maybe ought to be renamed "Typhoon Chopper"? Wait—why was he arguing with the name of his technique?
"So... this is an A++–level sword art?"
Only now did Guinevere realize: the simulator's version of him differed from the real one. In the simulation, every skill he obtained was the full, unabridged version! Moreover, the Auto-Combat AI fought him at the strength he'd have with maxed-out skills and all attributes at C—fully powered.
"Understood. Auto-Combat from now on." Guinevere covered his face. "Sorry for holding back the simulation version with my own lackluster inputs."
Thus, Guinevere cut through the Black Dog tide like a wind-blown inferno, leaving corpses strewn wherever he passed.
"I can't follow, but I'm utterly stunned," Ridra Bitt said, ears drooping as she watched Guinevere's expert display.
"I-I don't really know either," Gares stuttered, trembling. "I always knew Senior Guinevere was strong, but I've never seen him wield such mighty swordsmanship."
"You knew him before?" Ridra asked idly, following up.
"Ah? Ah! No, I hadn't! I only heard stories of his duel with Lancelot." Gares paused, then hastily corrected herself. "I used to wonder how a human could ever defeat a fairy as formidable as Lancelot. But even that was a vast underestimation. I meant exactly that just now."
"Pft, in short, he hogged all the limelight. Looks like I'm just the wagon-puller in this team. How lamentable—an elegant fairy like me never gets a chance to show her martial valor. This world is truly cruel." With that, Ridra snorted and returned to gnawing her half-eaten pear.
Gares watched Ridra's somewhat desolate retreat and wondered if she should offer comfort. But at that moment, her thoughts were occupied by something else:
How strange—why was Senior Guinevere so powerful this time? Whatever variable caused this... if she could discover it, maybe she could alter the tragic fate destined for him and Lady Artoria. Yes! She had to find that variable! Gares encouraged herself silently.
...…
[Thanks to your heroic performance, you easily repel the Black Dog horde.]
[Night falls. Oberon returns in haste, and upon learning of this, he expresses his sincere gratitude to you.]
"Thanks—this was a huge help! Truly reliable comrades; thanks to you, the people of Wales would have lost many more to the Black Dogs' rampage."
"No need to say that; we're partners, after all. It's only natural." Guinevere waved his hand and then asked, "But speaking of which, what exactly are Black Dogs? I remember Lancelot saying Bagust has become a massive Black Dog—could there be a connection?"
"Yes, I was about to say that." Oberon nodded. "Black Dogs appeared in Fairyland at some unknown time. They are evil fairies that devour other fairies— the only type known to do so."
"There's also a legend that, in ancient times, Fairyland faced a Great Calamity called the 'Fairy Devourer,' sealed away by the Clan Chief of the Tusks. As a consequence, the Tusk Clan received the Curse of the Black Dog."
"Wait—this Tusk Clan Chief you mentioned, could she be...?"
"Yes." Oberon nodded, confirming Guinevere's guess. "Through my research, the so-called Fairy Devourer was none other than the King of Mortos defeated by Woodworth a thousand years ago. It wasn't a mere colossal Mortos; rather, it was a sentient Mortos fairy."
"There's another rumor that the King of Mortos cursed the Tusk Clan, decreeing that one of their descendants would become a monster that devours its own kind. That monster— destined to be the future Great Calamity—is, as you suspect, Black Dog Duke Bagust. Rather than calling it a Black Dog, it is truly the King of Black Dogs."
"Shall we hear how matters stand in Manchester?"