In the world of Type-Moon, it all begins with becoming Morgan's husband!

She took Ian's hand, and the two of them went into the room one after the other.

The enormous door closed once more.

This time, however, you witnessed it from the other side of the door.

The gate slowly closed, blocking the path connecting the inside and outside.

You know that some things, from this moment on, will head towards an even more insane ending.

But you have no fear.

Because you know that's exactly what Morgan needs.

Morgan walked step by step toward the throne.

The crisp sound of footsteps echoed like the tolling of a clock in the hall where only the two of them were.

She approached the throne, stroking the gilded edge of the handle, her deep blue eyes, like the ocean, revealing an endless obsession with it.

"Ian, do you like this throne?"

"Your Highness, would you like to hear the truth, or a lie?"

Do you think you dare to lie to my face?

“Your Highness is absolutely right,” Ian said, maintaining his gentle tone.

"So--"

"I would like to say that this throne is not suitable for you."

"what?"

Morgan was about to turn around and question Ian about why when he felt himself being lifted up by Ian.

The next moment, Ian sat on the throne.

Morgan maintained an elegant posture.

Her head was resting on Ian's left hand, her long hair cascading around his arm, and her body nestled in his arms like a slightly bent bow.

The princess's robe fell slightly to her hips, yet not a single strand touched the ground.

Those long, slender, fair legs served as the other half of her arched body.

Her knees were slightly bent, and her calves rested perfectly on Ian's right hand.

Her feet were suspended in mid-air, with a pair of crystal shoes hanging above them.

"Because I think Your Highness needs a new throne."

"Oh--?"

Morgan, lying in Ian's arms, looked up at him.

"So, are you really planning to seize my throne before that happens?"

"Your Highness, this is not necessarily a bad thing."

"That--"

Morgan reached up and stroked the face that was now all too familiar.

"I know how you, as the ruler of the throne, can please me in this situation."

"Your Highness, you have posed a difficult question."

"but--"

"I happen to have the answer to this problem."

Ian lowered his head and stopped in front of Morgan's impressive chest.

"However, I hope Your Highness can offer a little help."

"is it?"

Morgan stroked Ian's not-so-smooth facial features with one hand, while placing the other hand on his own chest.

Her fingertips traced delicate circles on the surface of the robe, which was made of the finest fabric.

"Ian, I hope you won't disappoint me."

The princess's body was flawless at all times and in all places.

Looking at her lying in your arms, you suddenly feel as if you've been transported back to a long time ago.

Morgan's arms are wrapped around your neck.

Lying in your arms, she gazes at you with deep affection, her azure eyes reflecting only your image.

Her breathing quickened as you looked at her, and her body swayed slightly.

She gazed at the ceiling, slightly out of breath, softly murmuring your name.

"Ian, please make me a little happier."

At this moment, you are her throne alone.

But she is also the only princess you can truly appreciate.

You have kept your promise.

"Your answer in this regard is as excellent as ever."

Morgan ran her fingers across Ian's lips, gently wiping away the moisture.

"Ian, I'm asking you, do you like this?"

“Of course.” Ian nodded with a smile.

"I am happy to accept anything concerning the Princess."

"but--"

Ian's gaze swept down over Morgan's elegant figure.

"Your Highness, I think you have more to say than just this, don't you?"

“Hmm.” Morgan placed his hand over Ian’s hand that was leaning towards him.

“Ian, I want to take over Camelot in a real sense.”

"So, Your Highness, are you trying to gain my consent in this way?"

"That might be a bit redundant."

Ian gazed tenderly at Morgan, who lay in his arms, her face slightly flushed and her breathing no longer steady.

“You should know that I have never doubted your choice; it is the path I was destined to take.”

"Of course I know."

Morgan tightened his grip on Ian's hand until his own fingerprints appeared on Ian's skin.

"So I have no intention of asking for your opinion at all."

"I just like the way you work so hard to please me on Father's throne."

"I see. Then it seems I need to work even harder."

You have once again slacked off on the throne.

[After this, you devised a plan to take over Camelot—using magic to create a false siege by barbarians, you would become the heroes who defended Camelot, and then rightfully ascend the throne.]

This process is not simple; it requires meticulous planning of every detail, and the preparation time can be very long.

But fate seems to have never stopped mocking you.

Before you were fully prepared, mysterious prophecies began to spread throughout the streets and alleys of Camelot.

That's a legend about a red dragon passing on the throne.

55. The legend of the Red Dragon did not appear out of nowhere.

This legend appeared without any warning.

You learned all this from Gawain's report.

"The white dragon, with its sharp teeth and claws, ravaged the land with its brutality."

"But people of Britain, you need not be afraid."

"The incarnation of the red dragon will surely descend upon you all and become the new king of Britain."

"The Knights of the Round Table will raise their swords together to fight against foreign enemies."

"If the red dragon emerges, the white dragon will perish, and Britain will remain."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please await the proof with anticipation!"

"Father, Mother, that's about it."

"There may be some other versions, but I don't think they should be too different."

Gawain, dressed as a knight, spoke respectfully to Ian and Morgan—his respect for his parents came from the bottom of his heart.

"Okay, you can go back now."

"I understand, Father."

After watching Gawain disappear at the end of the corridor, Ian closed the door to his room.

Silence enveloped the room, silently proclaiming that some unspeakable crisis had quietly descended.

"Princess."

Ian walked up to Morgan and spoke with a serious expression.

"Something seems amiss."

Morgan, as if anticipating Ian's words, said exactly what he was going to say.

"Ian, you want to know why this legend suddenly came about, right?"

“Yes, Your Highness.” Ian nodded. “That doesn’t make sense.”