Morgan, You’re Not Acting Right!

"Those fairies there's simply no way they can be trusted."

The fairy Morgan, with her clear memories, would never repeat the mistake of trying to rule over the fairies again.

Had she lost her mind!?

The behavior of those fairies…

Calling them traitors would be an insult to actual traitors.

To put it bluntly, those fairies would do anything except act like decent beings.

Becoming their king? That was a surefire way to an early grave.

Just look at the Morgan from the Lostbelt how many years had she been queen?

Only about two thousand or so.

So short.

Though this fairy Morgan had never actually held ruling authority over the fairies, she had zero interest in trying to govern them again.

"Then why are you here?"

Morgan continued questioning the fairy Morgan before her, who looked identical to herself.

"Of course, it's to pacify these fairies. No matter how much this Lostbelt is affected, I can't allow them to keep marching toward destruction."

The fairy Morgan spoke with absolute seriousness.

"I… want humans and fairies to coexist in peace."

Hearing this, Lot silently thought to himself:

[As expected aside from the Morgan who hates Artoria, every other version of Morgan is fundamentally kind-hearted.]

Well, of course.

Morgan, overhearing Lot's thoughts, felt a flicker of pride though on the surface, she maintained her composure.

"So, how do you plan to achieve that?" she asked the fairy Morgan.

Bringing peace to the fairies was no simple task.

These creatures often didn't even care about death.

If she went by what that husband of hers said, many of these fairies were outright hedonists there was no predicting what they might do.

"...I don't know."

The fairy Morgan shrugged, turning the question back on Morgan.

"I just saw that you and Lot were different from the memories in my mind, so I came to see if you had any good ideas."

"..."

Seriously?

All this mysterious buildup, and she thought the fairy Morgan had some grand plan only to find out she'd just come begging for help!

"A good idea, huh?"

Morgan shifted her gaze toward Lot, who was standing nearby.

[Why are you looking at me?!]

The moment Morgan's eyes landed on him, Lot immediately understood her intentions.

"I believe you'll come up with something."

Morgan mouthed the words at him.

No, I can't

Lot very much wanted to say that.

His earlier idea had been simple why bother considering the fairies' feelings at all? Just charge in with his army and slaughter every last one of them.

A dead fairy was a good fairy.

As everyone knew, killing someone only took a single strike.

But convincing fairies to embrace peace?

That… wasn't so easily done.

"It's too early to discuss this. Right now, those fairies would never surrender. Peace isn't something you beg for it's something you force into existence with your fists."

Lot clenched his fist, addressing both Morgans.

Morgan, long accustomed to Lot's way of thinking, didn't react. But the fairy Morgan's eyes lit up the moment she heard his words.

"That's an excellent way to put it. You're completely different from the King Lot in my memories. You're… much stronger than him. It's like you're two entirely different people."

That was probably due to the divergence in their timelines.

This Lot was far superior to the other one.

"Obviously."

Lot didn't hesitate in his response.

[In some ways, this fairy Morgan is absolutely right. Aside from our appearances, that other Lot and I have nothing in common. It's the same as how you and this fairy Morgan are different people.]

He mused silently.

Hearing his thoughts, Morgan studied Lot with newfound curiosity.

She realized she might have been mistaken about one thing

This husband of hers wasn't just a reincarnated version of the future Lot.

His origins might be even stranger than she'd imagined.

"My mysterious husband."

That was how she labeled him in her mind.

Seeing Morgan's intrigued gaze, the fairy Morgan shook her head slightly

Her eyes filled with undeniable envy.

Noticing her expression, Morgan asked curiously:

"Since you have the memories of other Morgans from different timelines… what do you think of what Lot and I have done? Or, to put it another way if you were in my position "

What did it matter, whether it was Proper Human History or a Lostbelt?

The real Morgan didn't waste time on such distinctions.

She only knew one thing her timeline was the real one.

But she still wanted to hear what other versions of herself thought.

Preferably, the answers she wanted to hear.

The fairy Morgan pondered for a moment before responding:

"As for Proper Human History… I don't know much about that, either. My memories are fragmented, like secondhand recordings. I can't even grasp the emotions behind them."

"Then what about the Lostbelt you mentioned?"

Morgan pressed further.

The fairy Morgan looked at her and said something loaded with meaning:

"Envy. Pure envy. If I didn't know you were also Morgan, I wouldn't just be envious I'd be seething with jealousy."

"Oh? Envious of my achievements?"

Morgan smirked.

Hearing that another version of herself was jealous? That was delightful.

"Hardly. The Morgan from that timeline ruled over all of Britain for thousands of years."

The fairy Morgan shot her a sidelong glance.

You haven't even fully conquered England yet.

Don't even go there.

What I envy… is the Lot by your side!

No matter what you do, he'll find a way to support you.

Spoiling you.

Hell, it's practically dotage.

The Lostbelt had no Lot, and the King Lot from Proper Human History wasn't even fit to lick this one's boots!

Just looking at this is enough to make me both envious and furious!

The Morgan from Proper Human History? Hard to say.

But the Morgan from the Lostbelt?

After slaving away for thousands of years what did she get in the end?

Betrayal.

Abandonment.

And when "she" finally died it was in utter loneliness.

But you?

You're happy.

The number of smiles you've shown in a single day probably outnumbers the combined total of the other two Morgans.

Infuriating!

The fairy Morgan clenched her small fists tightly, her thoughts a storm of resentment.