"...Alright, I think I understand the situation. In short, your Round Table wants an alliance with us, so your leaders and the Chosen One himself have come into my domain, intending to travel north to Edinburgh to request my audience, correct?"
Having forcibly escorted Guinevere and companions into her war tent, the rose-haired beauty stood arrogantly before them and asked after hearing the gist of events.
[Before her assembled retinue, Artoria carefully explained every twist and turn of the story.]
[To which Noknarey replied—]
"However, there is one thing I cannot fathom."
"Please, do ask." As the nominal leader of the Round Table, Percival steeled himself and stepped forward.
"Since you're here to negotiate alliance, why did you choose to sneak into my fields and pilfer my chocolate?" Noknarey inquired.
Her question nearly choked Percival, the sunny young knight suddenly stammering:
"This… it's hard to explain…"
—Indeed, he'd done nothing at all.
"Well, there was no other choice—your chocolate is simply too delicious," Artoria whispered helpfully.
"Not a word of your appetite, you glutton." Noknarey shot her a glare. "When I first heard the Chosen One's name, I thought it a coincidence… but it truly is you."
"Hmph! Well then—do I impress you more now?" Artoria puffed out her chest in triumph, proud before her childhood friend.
Normally timid around everyone else, before Noknarey she had turned fiercely competitive.
"Impress me?" Noknarey retorted coldly. "If I thought you had potential before, seeing you filch my fields makes me wonder how I was so blind."
"Hey! I did save Norich, you know—the Chosen One!" Artoria snapped, indignant at her friend's slander.
"But you stole my chocolate." Noknarey's word was succinct.
"I have already rung three Prophecy Bells; my magic power now befits a Great Fairy!"
"But you stole my chocolate."
"You…" Artoria felt stifled. "Can we drop the chocolate topic?"
"Is that so? Then perhaps I'll mention your participation in the Gloucester Princess Pageant five years ago…"
"Stop. Just talk about the chocolate." Artoria lunged and covered Noknarey's mouth. "Don't you think this mutual back-biting is rather childish?"
"Childish?" Noknarey yanked Artoria's hand away, bumping her playfully and landing another jab.
"That's enough! As your best friend, I brought you this great gift—this is your gratitude?" Artoria, cheeks flushed, tapped Noknarey with her paddle. "Very well, then I'll tell everyone your greatest dream upon becoming queen—"
Before she could finish, Noknarey clamped a hand over Artoria's mouth, her face scarlet:
"Enough! Let's end these childish frays now!"
"Somehow these two fighting friends make sense…" Guinevere whispered to Oberon as the pair wrestled.
"Speaking in whispers at a time like this seems… unwise?" Percival leaned in to chide them.
But Noknarey, still flushed, glared at him in turn:
"You there—when did I ever give you permission to speak? Are you not the very thieves caught red-handed pilfering my chocolate?"
Percival, guilt-stricken, became an apology machine:
"I… I am truly sorry…"
Yet Guinevere cut in:
"Let me clarify: we never intended to steal your chocolate. We planned to find you afterward and pay the full market price—double, if you prefer."
"—Oh?" Noknarey's eyes shifted as she regarded Guinevere's composed reply. Then she turned to Artoria:
"All right, Artoria. You said you brought me a gift—what is it? We can speak privately."
Seizing Artoria's arm, Noknarey marched her toward her private tent.
To her retinue she called:
"Calm yourselves—these are not enemies. Attend to your tasks. Deputy, entertain our guests with courtesy—but no one else follows. I need to talk alliance with the famed Chosen One."
Her masked soldiers dispersed, save for one burly guard who stepped forward:
"My apologies for earlier. Please, allow me to host you."
"Is it truly safe for Artoria to go alone?" Percival asked Guinevere softly as they followed.
"Let's trust her," Guinevere replied. "They seem very close, don't they?"
"Indeed—it's the first time I've seen Artoria so at ease with anyone," Oberon agreed.
"Impossible not to be tense," Redra muttered from behind—"Queen of the North, last scion of the Royal Clan Noknarey: her mana envelops the entire camp. Such breadth of fairy domain power is unmatched in Britain."
"She's that formidable?" Guinevere blinked. He had assumed her rank to be lower—perhaps only on par with Lord Nomen—but Oberon and Redra's concern suggested she equaled Lord Noyun.
And meeting her in person, he saw her uncanny resemblance to Maeve…
[For reasons unsuitable to state publicly, Noknarey led you into her grand tent for some private best-friendly conversation.]
"What? I knew it—you really did look forward to this!"
Seeing that subtitle, the real-world Artoria grinned triumphantly.
"Now then, Artoria—what gift did you bring? Don't tell me it's what I think it is?"
"Gift? I suggest you mind your tone—I haven't even given it to you!" Artoria snorted.
"Very well, though I expect your wealth would favor quality over quantity. So it must fit my tastes—am I correct?" Noknarey asked cautiously.
"There's no one else here—no need for coyness," Artoria elbowed her friend's side.
"Indeed, I've brought you a splendid match—Sir Percival, leader of the Round Table! Isn't he handsome?"
"Percival?" Noknarey tapped her finger against her cheek, gaze drifting upward in thought.
"Him—Percival? I thought your boyfriend was Guinevere." Artoria's warning cry snapped her back.
Noknarey's expression mirrored hers:
"…Huh?"
"…Huh?"
"Wait. I'm confused." Noknarey waved her hand. "You mean Guinevere—the one who defeated Lancelot, repelled the Calamity, bested Percival, and earned the title Britain's Sword Saint—he's your boyfriend?"
She paused, eyes fixed on Artoria.
"I'd have expected Norich's savior to be taller—so that tall white-haired knight next to you?"
"And a true leader stands out—yet this shorter dark-haired fellow looks more the part."
"Enough! That is my boyfriend! Mind your words!" Artoria exploded.
"Very well—I realize now," Noknarey said coolly. "But that matters not."
She continued unflinchingly:
"Your acquaintance spans less than three months, correct? And by your own account you are still… in the ambiguous stage. Even if you were a couple, it changes nothing."
"For love is war: only the final victor prevails. A temporary edge means little; comebacks are common."
"You what?!" Artoria's normally innocent eyes flashed with murderous intent.
Noknarey responded calmly:
"Fear not—I will compete fairly. I would never resort to foul means… but beyond that, all is fair."
"Stop! What nonsense! I introduced you to a man, not to be betrayed! How dare you set your sights on my boyfriend! You ungrateful wretch!"
Tears in her voice, Artoria denounced her friend's audacity.
"A true beauty deserves only a champion. Compare me to you: I have the advantage."
Noknarey glanced at Artoria's breastplate, then tapped her own armored chest with a sly grin.
"What do you mean?! You think I'm still that small girl?!"
Artoria's face flamed as she realized Noknarey's implication.
"You've crossed the line! Go to hell, you treacherous—!"
Artoria lunged, claws out.
"Tch—serious, are we? Fine—let's fight, then!" Noknarey snapped back.
When Percival and Noknarey's guards finally rushed in, they found the Queen of the North and the Chosen One locked in a wildly unceremonious brawl.