[From Faery Knight Gawain, you learn that Rhedra Bitt escorted Artoria and your unconscious body to Manchester to repay you for rescuing her from the New Darlington army.]
[Because you and Artoria fought your way out of the Darlington camp, Gawain received Rhedra Bitt and Artoria, then sought out a skilled healer to tend to your wounds.]
"I understand your wish: you simply want to live as ordinary townsfolk, with no grand destiny or prophecy hanging over you."
"Gawain, you are undeniably powerful, but you also deserve to pursue your own happiness. I will not force you to remain a warrior at my side."
"If you wish, you may become my vassals here in Manchester. As your liege, I will shelter you."
Gawain's voice rang out, resolute and clear as steel.
[Because your wounds have not yet fully healed, you and Artoria decide to trust Gawain for now and remain in Manchester.]
[Three days later, you receive news that Salisbury has fallen to the New Darlington army. Lord Aurora was publicly tortured and murdered by Tristan—so they say. Tristan's infamy in Britain has only grown.]
[Homeless, Rhedra Bitt formally joins Gawain's ranks.]
"Rhedra Bitt… that's basically just 'Red Hare' transliterated, isn't it?" Gawain couldn't help but comment, watching the equine Aberration—town sergeant—stride about, brandishing enormous dual greatswords.
Yet to his surprise, Manchester proved far more hospitable than he'd been told. Once, he'd heard people say that Gawain's domain exalted the survival-of-the-fittest. Thus, when he and Artoria fled Salisbury, Manchester was the one place he never considered.
Only now, standing in Manchester, did he discover the true meaning behind that phrase: it wasn't "the strong devour the weak," but rather, "the strong defend the weak—and grow stronger by facing other strong challengers."
As Lord of Manchester, Gawain possessed prodigious strength even among the Tooth Clan. By right of her power, she had a duty to protect—yes, to consume worthy opponents and integrate their abilities into her own, thereby safeguarding the weak of faery Britain.
To common folk, she was unquestionably a capable, even benevolent, lord.
[Three days later, with Artoria's healing magic aiding you, your injuries steadily improve.]
[After careful observation, you conclude that Manchester is a livable place. You begin considering settling down here with Artoria.]
Having seen Manchester for himself, Gawain abandoned any thought of heading to Noknarei's lands—he'd heard that humans there were forced into daily, grueling factory labor. Overtime without choice? He'd pass. Edinburgh was off the table entirely.
[Once your wounds have healed sufficiently, Gawain receives a personal invitation from Gawain to dine at her home.]
[She prepares a sumptuous feast in your honor.]
"How odd—why does Lord Gawain invite me alone? Surely she should be more interested in Gawain himself, right?" Artoria knitted her brows, puzzled as she read the text.
Artoria had briefly met Gawain six years prior, so she knew her true name: "Gawain." To call her "Barney" (Bitt="Red Hare") was like a direct translation of the legendary steed's name—almost comical.
Gawain, or "Barney," indeed protected Britain, but she also bore two notorious titles:
"Passionate Gawain." Rumor said that when one of her romances ended, she'd swiftly fall for another partner—always someone among Britain's greatest faeries. She seemed powerless against the charms of strong, exceptional men.
"Gluttonous Gawain." More disturbing: any man who fell in love with her would be invited to her home—then literally eaten.
Because of this, despite her knightly demeanor and honorable conduct, she was dreaded across all Britain.
Artoria understood, though, that it wasn't malice but an uncontrollable hunger—a twisted, inborn curse—that drove Gawain's behavior. Nevertheless, no matter how dreadful the rumors, Artoria refused to believe Gawain would "eat" Gawain—she was certain the rumors were exaggerated.
[You accept Gawain's invitation.]
[Not knowing why she wants to meet only you, you remain on high alert for any foul play.]
Artoria's head bobbed eagerly as she watched her own simulation run. The Queen Simulator had an uncanny way of predicting her every thought and reaction.
[You prepare an escape plan: should anything feel off, you can flee from Gawain's estate at once.]
"I'm not about to be seduced by your fancy scraps of meat! This mountain of steak is just vanity on your part!"
[Because Gawain once mocked you in your youth, you show a bit of hostility at the dinner table.]
Perfect! Exactly my attitude! So smart—the simulator knows me!
Artoria beamed, pleased with her simulated self.
[But Gawain's culinary skill is unmatched—your innate love of food is piqued.]
"Oh no… this tastes too good…"
[You joyfully devour the feast Gawain prepared. Your mood soars.]
Is this simulator just making fun of me?! Why am I acting so shameless? Although Artoria truly did love good food, the idea of lowering herself to please Gawain by eating like this… impossible! The simulator must be glitched! This cannot be me!
"Don't think that just because I feigned surrender, I'm actually yielding to you."
The text blurred as Artoria stuffed huge chunks of meat into her mouth, glaring at Gawain and mumbling indecipherably:
"Dun be thinkin' I'll submit, or that 'll let you take my Gawain!"
Oh no no no—what are you doing? Your face is pure shame! And please don't talk while chewing huge bites; who can understand you?
"Gawain? Take him? I think you've got your wires crossed."
Gawain herself replied coolly, watching Artoria's cheeks balloon with meat:
"I have someone I'm committed to protecting. Though Gawain is a noble, admirable knight, he means nothing to me."
"I will never feel any stirring of affection for him—let alone fight over him like some cliché rival in a cheap novel. That would betray the knight's code."
… Artoria froze—heard so confidently, from Gawain's impeccable reputation, she believed every word.
Curiosity overcame her wariness. "Then why did you invite me here?"
"Nothing much… I simply wanted to talk." Gawain poured herself a glass of deep red wine, sipped, and then spoke slowly:
"To be honest, when I learned that the Child of Prophecy—you—had chosen to abandon your destiny and live as a simple faery, I was furious."
Artoria stopped chewing mid-bite.
"…I don't understand what you're saying."
"That's fine. If you refuse to admit it, I'll chalk it up to drunken nonsense." Gawain swirled the wine glass, eyes following the swirl as if weighing her words. Beneath her towering, imposing frame, she could pass for a cultured noblewoman.
"But, upon reflection, I must admit I can understand. After all, you simply do not possess those talents, do you?"
Artoria fell into silence—still chewing the meat in her mouth.
"Because of Tristan," Gawain continued, "I witnessed firsthand what becomes of those without the strength or ambition. Her reckless ambition caused suffering for countless innocents. Ultimately, it ended in ruin. I don't want to say it lightly, but—her fate was bound to be disastrous."
Gawain cut a slice of beef with calm precision:
"Therefore, your choice to let go… it makes sense. If you lack that ability, then perhaps giving up early is best—for yourself and for those around you."
Gawain eased a bite of beef into her mouth and swallowed before speaking on:
"Rest assured, since you have chosen to abandon your destiny and embrace ordinariness, you are what I would call 'the weak.' As one of the strong, I will protect you."
"…Yet, when I saw you again today, I felt… disappointed."
Artoria swallowed the last of her chewed meat and looked up.
"Six years ago, in Master Ector's forge, you met my gaze fearlessly. In that moment, I held a flicker of hope for you."
"But alas, after all this time, you have not grown any taller. Speaking with you makes my neck ache from looking down."
"Now I realize, you only met my gaze back then because you were a rustic faery who didn't even know what a Faery Knight was."
After dinner, Gawain lifted a napkin and dabbed meat juices from her lips, each gesture the epitome of noble etiquette—every movement flawless. Artoria could criticize nothing; in fact, she barely knew what to fault.
After all, I'm just a country bumpkin, Gawain thought.
"Enjoy the simple life you chose by forsaking your destiny, O Child of Prophecy. From now on, others will bear that burden for you. You should feel much lighter."
Saying this, Gawain rose and motioned toward the door.
"If you are sated, you may depart. I hope the meal was to your taste."
With a thud, Artoria slammed one hand down on the table and sprang to her feet, eyes blazing as she glared at Gawain. Though standing, she was still half a head shorter than Gawain seated.
Artoria ground her teeth, rose onto her tiptoes until her eyes met Gawain's, and then spoke coldly:
"Thank you for your hospitality, my lady. Thanks to you, I've thoroughly enjoyed this… feast."
With that, she turned and stamped out toward the door.
Yet as she reached for the handle, she paused—then spun back one last time:
"Just so you know—if you wish to appear dignified, don't shovel humongous chunks of meat into your mouth like that. Your cheeks look ridiculous."
"Even a country faery like me knows better."
"Next time, consider eating a little less while your guests remain. Afterward, you can devour all you like—no one will judge your table manners then, my lord."
Artoria emphasized the words "my lord" so pointedly that Gawain blinked in astonishment.
Without another word, Artoria flung open the door and stormed out, leaving Gawain alone.
…How on earth did she know?
Long after Artoria had left, Gawain sat in thought. As she pondered, she reached for a massive slab of monster-flesh leg from the table and chewed it with gusto.