A Villainess pulled out the Sword instead of the Hero.

“The knights have been taken separately off to write. Shall we bring them together?” 

For some reason, he obeyed, even though he would have refused.

 

Behind him, Guinevere grunted in pain.

 “Don’t bother interrogating them. Just kill them, cleanly.” 

There was no hesitation in her voice. She asked casually, as if it wasn’t worth the trouble.

 “You need a reason? I can get you a royal order in a jiffy. Do you want me to turn you into demon food?” “That’s a hot way to do it, but I have a question!” 

It was something that had been bothering me.

 

The knights exclaimed that they had never seen Galehaut before, as if someone had drugged them.

 

‘As if he were cursed.’

 

After seeing Lily, I realized that a curse doesn’t necessarily have to be a manifestation of insanity, as in the case of Caradoc.

 

In the original story, all the ambitious men wanted to harm Guinevere.

 

‘Who is this beast? If not Avalon, another kingdom, how many enemies are in the palace?’

 

Once I realized who it was, I had to cut my losses quickly.

 

Arthur and Guinevere’s enemies would not share a hair’s breadth.

 

Morgana politely asked Guinevere,

” Just a moment, please, and I’ll be back in no time, and without Sir Lancelot!” “…Okay. If anything happens, just bash his head in. Do you understand?” “Don’t worry!” 

Although she still looked displeased, she took a step back.

 

The path to the interrogation room was dark and humid.

 

It was a series of small rooms, like a prison, but it was quiet, as if no one was using them.

 

Lancelot kept a smile on his face the entire way.

 

His pink hair bounced like cotton candy in the dingy hallway with his light steps.

 

‘Have you lost your mind at the thought of interrogating your friend? His friend is not the killer. I can’t believe he looks so happy.’

 

Feeling a strange disconnect, Morgana asked cautiously.

 “Why the sudden change in demeanor?” “Because I was wrong and you were right, isn’t that obvious?” 

Unexpectedly, there was no response.

 

Lancelot grabbed the doorknob of the slightly larger room.

 

Stepping aside as if to guide me, he placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head.

 “I apologize for what I did then. I don’t know if my sincerity can be conveyed, but…” 

The door opened, and the escort tugged on Morgana’s hand and smiled.

 “I’ll keep my word, I’ll bet my Arondight on it.” 

One step inside, and there sat four knights, one of whom included Galehaut, chained and still.

 

Their heads shook as if they could hear nothing, their eyes fixed on the floor.

 

‘A person walks in, and they don’t even look at it.’

 

Even his own breathing was audible in the empty interrogation room, which was bare except for a rustic table and chair.

 

Lancelot casually pulled out the chair across from him, but Morgana flinched and looked away.

 

‘Uh, this isn’t supposed to happen.’

 

Power could only heal through direct human contact.

 

Looking at the desk at a considerable distance, it seemed impossible to heal him unless his arm could be stretched.

 

Rolling her eyes and staring off into space, Morgana sat down, and with a bang, she grabbed the desk with both arms.

 “For those who dared to steal the Princess’s belongings, your expressions are remarkably calm, not the least bit remorseful.” 

Surprisingly, no one paid attention, except Lancelot.

 

‘Shouldn’t they at least feign surprise?’

 

The air in the interrogation room was unnervingly still.

 

Morgana turned to Galehaut, who was in the front row, and asked brightly.

 “Why did you put the shoes in my room?” “We did not see anything!” “No one came in, I saw it with my own two eyes!” 

One by one, the answers came from the knights sitting next to him.

 

Their faces were contorted in desperation, and they looked like people who had been wronged.

 

Before they could finish, Lancelot drew his sword and slammed it into the desk.

 

The shrieking knights remained stunned, their mouths open.

 

Lancelot turned to face them, his hand still on the hilt, and smiled.

 “Don’t you think you should answer the questions you’re being asked?” “I’m sorry!” 

They hadn’t answered when she greeted them, but somehow Lancelot had.

 

‘Isn’t this supposed to end in an interrogative?’

 

Morgana asked tentatively, remembering their earlier conversation.

 “Do you know of any intruders?” “No intruders!” “You let Mr. Galehaut into the Princess’s room, didn’t you?” “I’m sorry, I didn’t see him.” “Well, if you answer that again, the knight’s possessions will be mine.” “…” 

Pity, I could have answered that last one.

 

Through all the commotion, Galehaut remained silent, staring at the floor.

 “Mr. Galehaut, are you there?” 

Morgana stood up quickly, feigning to shake his shoulders, sending a surge of power through him.

 

For a moment, his body flinched.

 “…I do.” 

Morgana’s ears perked up at the muffled voice.

 

An oddly dull voice repeated the same words.

 “I’m sorry…” 

Galehaut looked up, his face even more sullen than before.

 

The curse must have been lifted, given that he was more communicative than before, but for some reason, his face was filled with shadows.

 

Morgana nervously and cautiously asked,

“Do you remember stealing something from the Princess?” “Yes… I stole her shoes, tried to steal the clock, and got hurt.” 

He tilted his head to one side and spoke bitterly.

 “I am, well…” 

Wow, so much sentiment…

 

Morgana glanced at Lancelot, noticing the change from the day.

 

He shrugged his shoulders and gave a nonchalant look.

 “He’s always like that when he has bad days, and then he’s fine again.” 

Galehaut sobbed, feeling tied up and weak.

 “That’s right, I’m a piece of trash…” 

Morgana knocked on the desk, snapping him back to focus.

 “Enough with the self-reflection. When did you start planning this, what were you going to do?” 

Galehaut looked up, stared at the ceiling for a moment, then blurted out.

 “I don’t know, the timing was probably after I painted His Highness’s portrait… I just felt I had to.” 

It was almost identical to the symptoms Caradoc had described when he was under the curse.

 

Lancelot, who had been standing and listening to the conversation with one hand on the table, let out a short sigh as if realizing something.

 “Ah, these knights are the same ones who escorted His Majesty on his recent hunt.” 

King Vortigern?

 

He must be carrying a curse. Come to think of it, he may have called Guinevere to organize the jousting tournament, but he didn’t give any instructions for increased security.

 

It was all suggested by the maid and Lancelot, and Guinevere only agreed to it.

 

‘Surprisingly quiet for a culprit caught.’

 

The fact that he had broken into a royal residence, so late in the morning, so many times, was a felony in itself.

 

Despite the threat to the royal family, the palace was as calm as if nothing had happened.

 

Lancelot’s mouth twitched slightly as he realized this.

 

No one dared to utter King Vortigern’s name.

 

Meanwhile, Galehaut had resumed talking in a raspy voice, shaking his head.

 “And I’ve copied Alec’s drawings, and I think it’s more beautiful in your eyes, too, don’t you? I know it.” 

Well, that was a bit of a stretch. I was already curious about this artist named Alec.

 

Why in the world would he paint a picture that matched the stolen goods, and why would he sell so many of his expensive paintings to Count Aestiva?

 

Still, he was a court painter, and if he was a famous enough artist, he must know something about Alec.

 

Morgan shook his head, leaning back in his chair without expectation.

 “I’ve never seen any of Mr. Galehaut’s paintings.” “I thought you wanted to see them.” “When did I say I wanted to see Mr. Gailhaut’s paintings…” 

Suddenly, a picture flashed into her mind. Morgana’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

 “You don’t mean… you mean the twelve paintings from the Minor Count of Mellorwart?” “Uh, not twelve.” 

He replied, his face still grim.

 

With a small tilt of his head, he replied with a frown.

 “Thirteen, because the Count told me to draw thirteen.” 

On the continent, 12 was a perfect number.

 

But here, thirteen, with the addition of one, was called the devil’s number.

 

Morgana had never doubted that it was a twelve, since he had sent it to Guinevere to win her favor.

 

In her arms, Morgana unfolded the paper Lancelot had given her. It detailed the palaces and locations where the paintings hung.

 

Morgana counted the numbers, but nothing changed.

 “There are only twelve paintings in the royal palaces,”

Morgana thought.

 

The paintings were cursed, forged, and painted with black magic ingredients to replicate Guinevere.

 

If it’s that relevant, there must be a reason for the 13th painting.

 

Pulling up a chair with a thud, Morgana asked urgently.

 “The thirteenth painting, where is it?” “I don’t know, the Count took them all, and then I saw it when he was hanging the frames.” 

The problem with curses was that their victims didn’t know the caster’s intentions.

 

So now they had to find the 13th painting somehow.