Unlike the customs of this era, Lot was a firm believer in free love.
To hand over the woman he loved out of gratitude what kind of tragic melodrama was that? Are we performing "The Romantic Swordsman" here?
Lot then recalled how, in the original timeline, Tristan had tried to console himself by marrying another woman with the same name, only to regret it on his deathbed.
Damn it…
He'd ruined yet another person's happiness.
Thinking this, Lot decided it would be far better to encourage Tristan to go and steal the bride.
Of course, if he were to directly tell Tristan, "You need to step up and steal your uncle's fiancée," Tristan would absolutely refuse.
He wouldn't no, he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing.
"Sometimes, courage must come from within. Other times, it needs a little… push."
A sly grin crept onto Lot's face.
Dragging others into mischief, especially for a righteous cause, was always an exhilarating experience.
With that thought, he turned and headed into the ship's cabin, retrieving a chest. Inside were several bottles of alcohol.
"I never thought the 'blackout booze' I fished out of the river would actually come in handy."
Lot stared at the bottles with a strange expression.
The things he'd fished up over the years were bizarre beyond belief. Some items he'd assumed would never be useful yet here they were, proving him wrong at the last moment.
Take this drink, for example.
Back in his previous world, it was known as "blackout booze" or "pass-out juice" Four Loko.
A deceptively smooth drink with a devastatingly strong delayed effect, often used to take advantage of unsuspecting women.
But what kind of man was Lot?
Would he ever stoop to using something like that?
And yet…
Here he was.
"And of all things, I'm using it on a man."
He couldn't help but laugh bitterly in his heart.
His plan was simple, get Tristan drunk.
Then, once the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions…
He'd be far more pliable.
"Wait, does this sound wrong somehow?"
Shaking off the thought, Lot carried the chest of alcohol to Morgan.
With the resolve of a man marching to his doom, he approached her.
"Remember, follow my lead. I'll probably end up passed out alongside him, so the rest will be up to you."
He explained his entire scheme to Morgan.
"Alright, go ahead. I'll take care of the aftermath."
Morgan waved him off casually.
Hearing her words, Lot's face darkened.
"I'll still be alive and well, thank you very much. And we still have four or five children to make! Save the 'aftermath' talk for seventy or eighty years from now!"
"Ehehe~"
Morgan giggled, feigning innocence.
Sighing, Lot went to find Tristan.
Entering the banquet hall where Tristan was, he raised a bottle.
"Come, I've run out of words to comfort you. Let's drown our sorrows instead."
"Thank you, King Lot."
Tristan plucked a mournful note on his harp.
"Drowning sorrows… that does sound fitting."
His eyes heavy with grief, he took the offered cup and downed it in one go.
"This wine… it's excellent."
Tristan's expression brightened slightly.
"Hah! My liquor is the finest in the world."
Lot smirked, pouring another cup.
"Here, drink up if you like it."
Internally, he gloated.
[As expected there's no such thing as useless trash, only misused tools. What would be a villain's weapon in another's hands becomes a remedy for love in mine.]
Under Lot's encouragement, Tristan continued drinking.
He had intended to stop before getting too drunk, but…
Sip by sip, his eyelids grew heavier.
Until finally
He slumped over the table.
Lot grinned in triumph.
Then promptly collapsed onto his chair as well.
Seeing this, Morgan entered.
Shaking her head, she gently lifted Lot and carried him to their bedroom.
She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
"Alright, now it's my turn to act."
Her smile was devious.
Tristan awoke to a pounding headache.
He was in a carriage.
What… happened?
His hands flew to his side.
Relief washed over him when he felt his harp both instrument and weapon still there.
As long as he had it, he could handle anything.
Pushing open the carriage door, he saw an army marching outside.
He was at its center.
Not far ahead, Lot rode on horseback.
Spotting Tristan, Lot trotted over with a grin.
"Ah, Sir Tristan! You're awake. We'll reach Cornwall soon."
Sir?
Tristan blinked in confusion.
Why was Lot addressing him with such a title? He wasn't Lot's subject.
And why were they going to Cornwall?
Surely not to attend Iseult's wedding?
The thought made his heart ache anew.
"Why… are we going to Cornwall?"
He couldn't stop himself from asking.
Lot looked surprised.
"Wasn't this your request?"
My request?
Tristan pointed at himself, bewildered.
"Indeed. You swore that if I helped you reclaim your beloved, you would pledge yourself to Morgan and me as our knight."
WHAT?!
Tristan's eyes widened in shock.
Had he really asked King Lot to help him win back Iseult?
His beloved was, of course, Princess Iseult.
But… had he actually said those words?
While Morgan's earlier words had stirred something in him, given his nature, he couldn't imagine himself voicing such a thing.
Desperately, he tried to recall what had happened after drinking.
But his memory was a blank slate.
What in the world happened?!
Did I really say that to King Lot?
Lot continued, watching Tristan's expression closely.
"After drinking, you knelt before me and confessed your undying love for Iseult. You said that if you couldn't marry her, you'd just find another woman with the same name."
"I told you rather than settling for a lookalike, why not fight for the real Iseult?"
"And so, you knelt and begged for my aid."
Lot's words were carefully crafted to implant false memories.
The mention of marrying a namesake something Tristan had never told anyone made the deception all the more convincing.
Sure enough, Tristan frowned.
Maybe… I really did say that.
"And what was your decision, King Lot?"
"Isn't it obvious? We're marching to Cornwall with an army. Tristan, I'm ready to wage war against King Mark for you."
Tristan paled.
Had I, in my drunken stupor, really made such a decision?
Regret flooded him yet beneath it, a traitorous flicker of hope.
This… is what I truly want.
But outwardly, he protested.
"King Lot, please reconsider! We shouldn't bring an army into my uncle's lands!"
"Oh? Then what do you suggest?"
Lot's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Those were drunken words. They shouldn't count."
"Are you saying you lied to me?"
Lot's tone turned icy.
"N-no, I wouldn't dare."
Tristan lowered his head.
"Good. Then we proceed with the plan."
Lot's smile returned.
"But "
"My army is already here. They won't leave empty-handed."
Lot's voice hardened.
"You have two choices."
"First honor your vow and join me in stealing the bride."
"And the second?"
"The second?"
Lot's expression darkened.
"If you dare betray my trust, both you and King Mark will pay the price. War will be inevitable."
"So… no matter what, my uncle will suffer."
"You could say that."
Lot smirked.
"Then… make your choice."
"Do I even have one?"
Tristan laughed bitterly.
Of course, there was another option
He could draw his blade here and now, attempting to subdue Lot.
His skills were exceptional. He might even succeed in taking Lot hostage.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, his arms felt leaden.
Not from the hangover, but because
Some part of him wanted this.
Maybe… I've been hoping all along that King Lot would help me do this.
Seeing Tristan's conflicted expression, Lot suppressed a grin.
Some people just need the right excuse to chase what they truly desire.
[Now I understand the difference between Morgan and Artoria. Artoria would preach about chivalry and lead by example. My wife? She couldn't care less. As long as it benefits her, anything goes.]
Neither philosophy was inherently better.
But in Tristan's case, Morgan's approach was clearly superior.
Rather than clinging to morality and ensuring everyone's misery
Why not bend the rules a little and make more people happy?
Lot was determined to see this through.
Leaving Tristan, he headed to the rear of the procession.
Morgan hadn't been willing to let Lot charge into King Mark's castle alone. She'd sent Galahad along as backup.
Approaching the young knight, Lot clapped him on the shoulder.
"Gala, the battle in Cornwall will rest on your shoulders."
"Understood. I won't fail you."
Galahad nodded solemnly.
He'd never imagined Sir Tristan had endured such a tragic past.
Having only recently joined the Round Table in his original timeline, he hadn't known Tristan well.
Compared to this, his own struggles seemed trivial.
"If I can change his fate… then I'll do whatever it takes."
With a small cavalry force, Lot advanced swiftly toward King Mark's domain.
Speed was essential.
If they arrived too late, after the wedding had already taken place, even Lot wouldn't have the heart to tear the couple apart.
Fortunately
They made it in time.
When Lot's group arrived, the wedding preparations were underway, but the ceremony hadn't yet begun.
"What now?"
Tristan asked nervously.
"What else? We go straight in."
"Straight in?!"
Tristan gaped.
"Isn't that… too direct? Shouldn't we be more subtle? Sneak in?"
Lot rolled his eyes.
"You know what to do. Go on, Sir Tristan fetch the bride quietly. I'll cover your escape."
"But… I'm not ready to face Princess Iseult."
Tristan hesitated.
Though the sight of the wedding preparations pained him, the idea of outright stealing her away still felt wrong.
"If you'd rather call her 'Aunt Iseult' for the rest of your life, by all means, keep hesitating."
Lot's voice was dry.
"You've mustered the courage to come this far. Backing out now would be pathetic."
"…Right."
Gritting his teeth, Tristan slipped away.
Galahad watched him go, concerned.
"King Lot… will Sir Tristan succeed?"
"No idea."
Lot shrugged.
"Which is why we'll distract King Mark in the meantime."
A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.
He was clearly looking forward to this.
Tristan knew King Mark's castle like the back of his hand.
Combined with his agility even among the Round Table, he was unmatched he slipped into Iseult's chambers undetected.
There she was, seated before her mirror.
Her beauty was breathtaking, yet her eyes were clouded with sorrow.
The sight shattered Tristan's remaining doubts.
"I can repay my uncle's kindness in other ways. But not like this not with the woman I love."
"Thank the gods for King Lot and Queen Morgan. Without them, I'd never have found the resolve."
"Tristan? You're here?"
Iseult's face lit up at the sight of him.
"So… want to run away with me?"
After a long pause, Tristan managed the most awkward proposal in history.
Meanwhile, Lot and Galahad paid King Mark a visit.
"Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, King Mark!"
Lot's smile was all charm as he entered the castle.
"Thank you, King Lot!"
Though no longer young, King Mark was still a handsome man. His desire for Iseult burned fiercely.
With the wedding so close, he was in high spirits.
And now, the ruler of Camelot himself had come to offer blessings?
This was beyond his wildest dreams.
"King Vortigern sent envoys demanding my allegiance. But compared to King Lot's personal visit? The difference in respect is night and day."
Puffing out his chest, Mark declared:
"Rest assured, with me guarding these lands, the Pale King will never advance beyond Wales!"
"Ah, yes. Of course."
Lot smiled awkwardly.
[Once you learn the truth, you'll probably switch sides and lead Vortigern's armies yourself.]
Still, to buy time for Tristan, Lot kept Mark engaged in idle chatter.
He rambled about everything and nothing until Mark, though polite, was visibly impatient.
The king was desperate to see Iseult.
Finally excusing himself, Mark hurried to her chambers with flowers and gifts
Only to find the room empty.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
His roar of fury echoed through the castle.
Then, remembering Lot's prolonged visit, he snarled at his guards:
"Find King Lot! NOW!"
But by then, Lot's men had already knocked out the servants assigned to watch him.
Slipping away, Lot regrouped with his forces.
By the time Mark's men began their search, Tristan had already escaped with Iseult.