Miracle Summoner

At the same time, in a remote area of the mountain city, there was a heavily guarded prison, watched over by numerous soldiers and golems.

At this very moment, Mash had arrived in front of the prison and even stepped inside.

"Lady Mash!"

"Lady Mash!"

The guarding soldiers clearly recognized Mash and immediately saluted her with utmost respect.

Although they were unaware of Mash's exact background, the mere fact that she was always by the King's side and was allowed to fight alongside her was already enough for the mountain people to revere her.

Not to mention, Mash's feats had already spread among the ranks of the mountain people's soldiers.

What feats, you ask?

Of course, it was the legendary tale of Mash beating the Round Table's First Knight, Lancelot, to a pulp.

Thus, in the hearts of the mountain people, Mash, much like Rozen, was regarded as a divine messenger.

However, from Mash's perspective, she saw no reason for anyone to treat her with such reverence and respect.

Therefore, when she saw the soldiers saluting her, Mash hurriedly returned the gesture in a flustered manner before dashing into the prison as if she were escaping out of embarrassment.

Inside the prison, only a small number of people were currently incarcerated.

They were individuals captured from the Round Table's stronghold—those who not only refused to cooperate but even acted aggressively toward the mountain people, leading to their suppression and imprisonment as dangerous criminals.

As Mash stepped inside, all the prisoners turned their eyes toward her.

They stared at Mash's beautiful and delicate figure with gazes so lecherous that it seemed as if they wanted to lick her from head to toe.

To be honest, being subjected to such looks made Mash feel extremely uncomfortable.

This was not the first time Mash had experienced such treatment—every time she came here, she would be met with the same disgusting stares.

If possible, she really did not want to come here alone. Ideally, she would have preferred to bring Rozen along—it would have been much better that way.

However, in the end, Mash chose not to tell Rozen about this.

For one simple reason—she did not want to burden him with such trivial matters.

"Senpai is already exhausted from the fight against the Lion King. I can't let something like this trouble him further."

Thus, Mash decided to endure.

It was fortunate that she did, because if Rozen found out about this, he would have definitely come with her. And the moment those scumbags dared to look at her that way, he would most likely have gouged out their eyes.

Don't think Rozen wouldn't do such a thing.

Ever since his mindset had become fully mature, Rozen had completely opened his heart to the girls who were important to him—especially Mash, who held the most special place in his heart.

If he knew that a bunch of scum was looking at his beloved junior in such a way, he might very well use the same curse he had once inflicted on the mastermind behind Hiraga Reisen—making them suffer a fate worse than death.

In a way, Mash had just saved their lives.

Unaware of all this, Mash walked with her head down until she reached the deepest part of the prison.

"...So, you've come?"

A voice rang in her ears, prompting Mash to stop in her tracks and lift her gaze.

Inside the cell before her, the First Knight of the Round Table sat on the ground, looking at Mash with somewhat evasive eyes.

Who else could it be but Lancelot?

Seeing Lancelot's pathetic demeanor, Mash's expression hardened, her irritation evident.

At that moment, Mash, in a tone uncharacteristically firm for her, spoke bluntly.

"The King has decided to march against the Lion King. The battle begins tomorrow."

The moment these words were spoken, Lancelot fell silent.

"...I see."

His voice carried a complex undertone, as though he was still lost in some internal struggle.

Seeing this, Mash felt even more exasperated.

"What do you plan to do, Father?"

Without hesitation, Mash addressed him as such.

"Guh!"

Lancelot immediately reacted as if he had been struck by an unseen force, clutching his chest in panic.

"Please, I beg you, don't call me that! At least let me mentally prepare myself first! If you spring this on me so suddenly, I might just go into shock and die!"

The First Knight of the Round Table looked utterly pathetic.

But in truth, Lancelot felt deeply conflicted.

Everyone knew that his relationship with his son, Galahad, had been strained.

Not because Lancelot did not care—on the contrary, he had desperately wanted to mend their relationship. But Galahad had always harbored resentment toward him, never showing him any warmth.

Throughout his life, Lancelot had tried countless times to earn the chance to hear Galahad call him "Father," yet he had never succeeded.

And now, out of nowhere, Mash had called him that—his heart simply couldn't take it.

However, Mash paid no heed to his reaction.

"Tomorrow, the Knights of the Round Table will face each other in battle, clashing swords and shedding blood in the name of their respective kings and ideals."

Mash stared directly at Lancelot and declared:

"As the First Knight of the Round Table, are you really going to just sit here in this prison and avoid it all?"

Hearing this, Lancelot's breath hitched, and he fell into silence.

After a long pause, he finally let out a deep sigh.

"I have always wanted to dedicate my sword to King Arthur. That much is undeniable."

Lancelot spoke in a solemn tone.

"But I have already betrayed the King once, becoming a sinner who fought for the Lion King. How could I possibly have the face to fight for the King again?"

This was Lancelot's true sentiment.

"The King has never blamed you," Mash stated matter-of-factly.

Yet, those words only made Lancelot's expression darken.

"I would rather the King blame me… or even punish and judge me."

His voice carried traces of anguish.

Recalling Lancelot's past, Mash found herself momentarily at a loss for words.

Then...

"Clang!"

A sharp sound echoed as the prison's chains were broken.

The one who acted—was Mash.

"You—"

Lancelot was stunned.

Mash simply tossed aside the broken chains and met Lancelot's gaze with a serious expression.

"I am not Galahad, only someone who inherited his strength and noble phantasm. But I have already merged this power into my body, so as long as my Saint Graph remains intact, I will continue to call myself a Knight of the Round Table."

Mash declared with conviction.

"I know."

Lancelot's gaze softened as he looked at Mash.

"You have the right to do so."

Lancelot acknowledged her.

"In that case, as a Knight of the Round Table, as someone who inherited Galahad's power, I will relay the words that the Saint Graph within me wants to tell you."

Mash locked eyes with Lancelot and spoke each word with deliberate clarity.

"This time, do not be late for the King's final battle."

"Otherwise, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

Lancelot's expression underwent a dramatic change.

Mash, as if she had fulfilled her final duty, turned around.

"I have said all I need to say. Think carefully about your decision."

With that, Mash left without looking back.

Lancelot remained standing in place, his expression shifting unpredictably.