Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1290: Forbidden Spoils of War

News of what happened at Her Majesty’s Theatre was delivered at once to both the government and the Knight Bureau.

Both sides were enraged.

Especially the Knight Bureau. They had believed that the threat of Doomsday Myth had at least been temporarily neutralized, yet the enemy had struck at the root, forcibly abducting Her Majesty the Queen from the theater itself.

The government immediately sealed off the information. For the time being, all audience members were placed in the theater’s lounges and lobby, and all means of communication were ordered to be cut.

The police arrived first, followed by personnel from Military Intelligence. Finally, Gareth—who had just completed a mission along the Eurostar rail line—personally led a team to the scene.

“Who are they?” a police officer couldn’t help asking his partner in astonishment. Just ten minutes earlier, they had cleared the way for Military Intelligence. Now, however, it was Military Intelligence being “escorted out” by this group instead.

“How would I know?” the partner shook his head, equally incredulous as he watched the visibly displeased intelligence officers being ushered aside.

The affected theater was sealed off by this group.

Inside the theater.

Mr. Gareth stood in the private box the Queen had used. He had already discovered traces of a struggle, but aside from doors that had been forcibly cut apart, there was surprisingly little damage inside.The fight did not seem to have lasted long—or perhaps it had been completely one-sided.

But Lancelot had been guarding the Queen. Who could have suppressed Lancelot so easily? Gareth grew increasingly puzzled. Even though Lancelot had been injured the previous night while facing Farrell, she should not have been completely powerless.

Compared to Lancelot, Joker Dagonet and Gareth himself had suffered lighter injuries. Their Sacred Armor had not even fully deployed before being interrupted by Farrell, so it sustained little damage.

Lancelot, however, had already donned her Sacred Armor and had still been violently shattered by Farrell.

At that moment, a knight called out from below the stage, apparently having discovered something. Gareth immediately jumped down from the box.

The knight led over a middle-aged man.

“Mr. Sneer,” Gareth greeted him politely.

He was a magician hired by the Knight Bureau. Although he was also a member of the Magicians’ Association, his family had been British for generations, and after gaining Association certification, he had remained in Britain ever since.

“Mr. Gareth,” Mr. Sneer nodded. “I found residue of a secret potion at the scene. Samples taken from the audience have also been tested—it’s the same substance. It’s a fast-acting knockout toxin that causes immediate unconsciousness, but it’s harmless.”

“A potion master…” Gareth frowned. “According to what we know, Doomsday Myth does have a senior cadre who’s a potion specialist. His name was… what was it again?”

“Tipu,” Mr. Sneer replied calmly. “Though he doesn’t really qualify anymore. During his potion-master certification, he was suspected of cheating and poisoning an examiner. His certification was permanently revoked by the Magicians’ Association.”

Another knight hurried over. “Mr. Gareth, we’ve checked everything. Aside from the Queen and Lady Lancelot being missing, only two members of the theater troupe are unaccounted for.”

“Actors?” Gareth frowned.

“One named Caesar, who played the male lead, and another named Judas, also an important role.”

“Caesar…” Gareth repeated subconsciously.

“Sir, did you think of something?”

Gareth shook his head. “No… nothing yet. By the way, Mr. Sneer, can tracking magic be used?”

“No,” Mr. Sneer replied, shaking his head. “There’s no usable medium here. Tracking spells won’t work… sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gareth patted his shoulder, though inwardly he felt completely stuck.

At that moment, the phone rang.

It was from the Knight Bureau.

Gareth answered immediately, his expression changing. “Really?!”

…

“What?! One day… before dawn tomorrow?!” At 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister barely restrained himself from slamming the phone down. “Perkins, I sincerely hope this is just a vile joke!”

“I wish I were in the mood to make such a joke,” Mr. Perkins replied, sounding helpless. “But this is no joke, Prime Minister.”

Fifteen minutes earlier, the Knight Bureau had received a notice from the leader of Doomsday Myth.

Its contents were as follows:

First: the unconditional release of all Doomsday Myth members.

Second: approval of Northern Ireland’s secession demands before sunrise tomorrow. Otherwise… at sunrise tomorrow, they would publicly execute Her Majesty the Queen.

…

“This is absurd! Are you telling me the entire British Empire can’t handle a handful of terrorists?!” the Prime Minister roared. “Mr. Perkins, I’d really like to know whether the funding we’ve given the Knight Bureau all these years was spent feeding pigs!”

At the Knight Bureau, Mr. Perkins pulled the phone away from his ear. He was already irritated enough—he had no patience to listen to the man at Downing Street rant.

The Prime Minister was only anxious because the Queen was under threat. Mr. Perkins, meanwhile, also had to worry about Farrell’s prison break.

“I will no longer trust you, Perkins!” the Prime Minister said coldly before hanging up.

An ominous feeling rose in Mr. Perkins’ heart. He silently looked at the clock on the wall—about fourteen hours remained until sunrise.

He sighed, stood up, and turned around. The painting on the wall behind him slid aside automatically, revealing a massive screen.

The screen lit up, displaying seven faces at once—the heads of the Knight Bureau branches across various regions.

“Everyone, the situation has come to this,” Mr. Perkins said. “We must immediately determine the Queen’s whereabouts. If we allow the enemy to publicly execute her, it will become the most horrifying—and most ridiculous—joke in our nation’s history.”

“Speak, Perkins. What’s your decision?”

Mr. Perkins took a deep breath and said solemnly, “Activate the Holy Grail.”

The screen fell into instant silence. A strange, oppressive atmosphere seemed to spread even through the screens as the eight participants absorbed his words.

Finally, an elderly man spoke slowly. “Perkins… you should know that the Holy Grail was a spoil seized during the great war a century ago. Its use is forbidden. To use the Grail requires a sacrifice—you understand that, don’t you?”

“Tomorrow, we may witness a nation plunged into chaos.”

Mr. Perkins sighed. “That is why… I, Perkins Pendragon, descendant of the great King Arthur, will invoke one Absolute Command, ordering the Knight Bureau to obey a single directive.”

“Perkins, are you serious?!” The faces on the screen were shocked. “The Absolute Command is an honor granted to King Arthur’s bloodline. You can only use it twice in your lifetime!”

Mr. Perkins said nothing. He slowly twisted open the silver ornament atop his cane. Inside was a hidden mechanism.

From a small slot beneath the ornament, a gemstone slid out. Mr. Perkins raised it high. On the screen, the heads of the Knight Bureau stood up one after another.

“Yes. I’ve decided,” Mr. Perkins said slowly. “By proof of royal authority… I will expend one Absolute Command.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

…

…

It seemed to be a place like a prison cell—built of stone, and apparently quite old.

Her Majesty did not know where she had ultimately been taken. By the time the black hood over her head was removed, she was already in this place.

Lancelot was imprisoned there with her.

“I’m very sorry. I failed to carry out my duty properly,” Lancelot said with her head slightly lowered. “I’ve allowed you to end up in such a wretched environment.”

The Queen, however, was not as panicked as Lancelot had expected. Instead, she calmly examined the stone chamber. The only source of light was an oil lamp left behind by their captors.

It was a stone room, roughly the size of a small single-story house.

“Actually, this is already quite decent—at least there’s somewhere to sit,” the Queen said lightly. “Although I can’t approve of the fact that they took my pet away.”

She smiled and sat down. The chair was wooden and clearly uncomfortable.

Lancelot frowned slightly. The Queen’s composure was beyond her expectations. “Your Majesty, aren’t you afraid?”

“I am afraid,” the Queen replied with a smile. “But I’m afraid of what lies ahead, not of this cage in front of me.”

“You are a great person,” Lancelot said suddenly after a moment of silence.

The Queen gently shook her head. This hardship was something she could endure.

In the past, she had been confined in places far narrower than this stone room—hungry and freezing, without even a trace of light—for three days and three nights, nearly driven mad under the punishment of that respected yet terrifying governess.

Compared to the punishments she had suffered as a child for failing to meet her teacher’s standards, this stone chamber was nothing.

Standing barefoot on frozen grass, balancing a heavy dictionary on her head while maintaining a proper lady’s posture.

Being forced to master French within a month, spending nearly half of every day copying texts by hand… all while keeping a gentle smile.

It was really nothing—this stone room.

“And you, Lancelot—are you afraid?” the Queen asked softly, returning from her memories as she looked at the young woman.

Lancelot shook her head without hesitation. “To become a knight, the first thing one must overcome is fear of danger.”

“Oh.” The Queen shook her head gently. “Child, listen to me. Right now, you and I are the same—ordinary people imprisoned here, stripped of our power. I am not a queen here, and you cannot use any strength either. Admitting fear is not something shameful.”

Lancelot froze for a moment, then frowned. “I’m worried about what they plan to do next… You’ve been abducted. Once this becomes public, the outside world will surely fall into panic…”

The Queen suddenly interrupted her. “Lancelot, when did you become a knight?”

“I…?”

Lancelot parted her lips, momentarily at a loss. The Queen seemed not the least bit concerned about her own predicament.

The Queen folded her hands on her lap. Even seated, her posture remained elegant, as though she were sitting not on a crude wooden stool but upon a royal throne.

“We can’t change our situation for now,” the Queen said with a light laugh. “In moments like this, what we should do is change our state of mind. Conversation is usually a very good way to do that, my knight.”

“I… I’ll check the surroundings.”

Clearly unable to agree, Lancelot replied quickly and began inspecting the stone walls, tapping them inch by inch with her fingers.

The Queen watched her, gently shaking her head, then slowly closed her eyes.

…

“Did they agree?”

Inside another room, the gaunt, bespectacled man—Tipu—quickly stood up as Judas returned from outside.

Judas’s task had been to deliver the leader’s ultimatum to the Knight Bureau.

He shot Tipu an annoyed look and rolled his eyes. “If I threatened to kill you right now, would you like to think it over?”

Shaking his head and ignoring Tipu, whom he had just snapped at, Judas strode over to their leader, Caesar. “We’ve received word from Dobas. The heads of the seven Grand Knight divisions across the country are all heading toward Foggy City almost simultaneously. The currently active Knights of the Round Table will likely have their most complete gathering within an hour.”

“Wasn’t that to be expected?” said Catherine, who was treating Caesar’s wound.

For some reason, although the bleeding had stopped, the wound refused to heal.

It was utterly incomprehensible. Both Catherine and Judas knew all too well how formidable Caesar’s body was.

“That’s enough, Catherine,” Caesar said, pulling his hand back from her grasp. “As long as it’s not bleeding, it’s fine. This little wound doesn’t matter.”

He stood up, put on his coat, and asked, “Dobas still hasn’t found any trace of the Mind Witch?”

“That bitch,” Catherine snorted coldly. “She hasn’t shown herself since the incident. She was never really on our side to begin with.”

Caesar shook his head casually. “If we’re talking about not being on the same path, more than half of Doomsday Myth isn’t either. They’re just free members. If she can’t be found, so be it. All we need to do is wait for sunrise tomorrow.”

“They won’t find this place, don’t worry,” Judas nodded. “As long as they can’t locate us before dawn…”

(End of Chapter)

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