Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

As Kaelar's voice echoed across Maple Leaf Ridge, the atmosphere shifted. All the Saxons at work dropped what they were doing and turned as one to look at him.

Seventy thousand eyes focused on a single man, and only Kaelar remained composed amidst their collective gaze.

The young duke called out loudly, "Sir Kaelar! Hero of Celtica! I mean you no harm, but these Saxons…"

He expected some courtesy from Kaelar—after all, his domain was vast, comparable to an entire county, far beyond the reach of ordinary lords. He had been nothing but respectful towards Kaelar, recognizing the strength of the great warrior.

But Kaelar interrupted him with a dismissive tone. "If you truly have no intention of opposing me, then why dare to defy the laws I have established here in my presence?"

"If you are willing to accept my teachings, lay down your arms…"

"For these are the words of Kaelar, and you all must heed them."

"Remember, 'taking lives is inauspicious!'"

"Remember, 'I shall forgive all who repent with sincerity!'"

With those words, Kaelar walked calmly forward, positioning himself between the still unconverted Celtic barbarians and the fully armed Celtic knights.

Then, something extraordinary happened. Without a single command, the formation of warhorses stepped back in perfect unison as Kaelar approached, creating a gap between them and the man they faced.

The entire formation retreated step by step with each stride Kaelar took, until he stopped.

The natural instincts of the beasts—the horses—overrode the ignorance of their human riders. They were far more afraid of this… predator.

Still, the young duke remained defiant. "But, Sir Kaelar, to vanquish our enemies completely is the glory of a Celtic warrior. Cú Chulainn, Fergus, Fionn, Diarmuid..."

"Those are the heroes of Celtica, the ones we should strive to emulate!"

"Sir Kaelar, I respect your courage, I admire your strength, but your so-called teachings..." He paused. "Forgive me, but they are not the actions of a Celtic warrior!"

"Forgiveness? It is the behavior of the weak, of the powerless! How can one be a hero of Celtica if they cannot even slay their enemies?"

His words drew cheers of agreement from the Celtic barbarians behind him, yet the Celtic knights of Maple Leaf Ridge remained unmoved. They had experienced Kaelar's teachings for years and could distinguish between weakness and kindness.

Kaelar's philosophy had taken root in Maple Leaf Ridge, even if it wasn't without its challenges. Over time, he had differentiated between what he called the "raw" Celts—those untouched by his teachings—and the "refined" Celts who had embraced his vision.

After all, they were both peoples who lived by hunting and fishing. How different were the Celts from the Jurchens?

But instead of anger, Kaelar simply laughed. He turned away from the young duke and addressed the captured Saxons.

"Tell me, who am I?" he asked.

And at his words, every Saxon—whether they were overseers recognized by Kaelar, prisoners assigned to labor, or those working the fields—dropped to their knees like wheat before the scythe. They shouted praises to Kaelar and bowed in his direction.

From the castle courtyard to the distant farmlands, even to the edge of Kaelar's domain, every Saxon knelt in unison, chanting:

"You are Saint Kaelar, the one true saint of all realms, past and future!"

Kaelar's expression remained serene. He wasn't angered by the misunderstanding of the raw Celts, nor was he swayed by the Saxons' fervent devotion. Instead, he turned his gaze to Ector, Merlin, and the stunned Celtic knights who had witnessed this spectacle.

Kaelar continued. "The Celtic savages do not understand my path of forgiveness, do not comprehend the benevolence and guidance I offer to those who were once barbarians. They mistake my mercy for weakness..."

"Tell me, is my forgiveness in vain?"

"Your forgiveness is forever in our hearts," came the response.

"Tell me, where does my righteousness lie now?"

"Your righteousness is being practiced here!"

"Tell me, when will my teachings bear fruit?"

"Your teachings..."

"My teachings will never cease!" Kaelar cut off the final response with a booming laugh, the first undignified action he'd ever shown. "As long as there remains a single soul who does not understand my mercy and righteousness, my teachings will continue, without end!"

"I, Kaelar, need no validation from others!"

He declared with a powerful voice. "Do not question—my way is unquestionably right. Do not doubt—my path is righteous. Do not argue—follow me in the pursuit of truth!"

"Forgive me for being blunt, but your ways are as base as the insects beneath my feet. So why not follow me, Kaelar?"

"Compared to you, compared to the Celtic savages and the Saxon pirates..."

"I, Kaelar, am absolutely correct!"

Kaelar's proclamation was earth-shattering. The raw Celts could only stare at him in disbelief, paralyzed before this strange and overwhelming figure, unable to utter a word.

It was as if they had wandered too close to a slumbering dragon, too terrified to make any noise lest they awaken it.

The Celts fell into a stunned silence. But after a brief moment of deathly stillness, the Saxons exploded into an even more frenzied and terrifying roar of adoration and faith.

They chanted: "Saint Kaelar, you are the only truth in all the world!"

They didn't dare to stand or even raise their eyes to look at him. Those closest to Kaelar shuffled forward on their knees, desperately kissing the ground he had walked upon, pressing their lips to his footprints.

Their devotion was unparalleled, their faith absolute.

Unlike the Celts, the Saxons had faced the horror of that night when their beliefs had shattered. Since then, they had been lost in confusion and self-doubt.

Artoria's assignment of labor had given them tasks for their bodies, but their spirits—broken and yet to be rebuilt—remained empty.

For now, they still referred to Kaelar with Christian titles out of habit, but once Kaelar fully articulated his beliefs, these shattered Saxons clung to him like a lifeline, desperate for a new anchor.

Their fanaticism outstripped even that of the refined Celts who had spent years under Kaelar's influence. Even those with the weakest faith were steadfast, and the proportion of zealots was overwhelmingly high.

Unless Kaelar was defeated or his doctrine was dismantled by a higher truth, his teachings would remain unchallenged.

The young duke, whose domain spanned an entire county, looked on with a pale face. Kaelar did not spare him a glance, nor did he bother to rebuke his previous criticism.

Instead, Kaelar turned back to face Ector, Merlin, and the other high-ranking Celts, a knowing smile on his face.

"My father, Merlin, and you, Duke..." Kaelar chuckled. "Have you grasped the reality of my teachings now?"

"Tell me, are my teachings in vain?"