Aslan had no idea that, because of his involvement, Morgan had decided to act ahead of schedule and bring forth events that originally occurred later in the story. Once he realized that what he held in his hands was the The Everdistant Avalon, Aslan immediately had Melusine pick him up princess-style and raced toward Camelot without wasting another second!
Was this a joke? How could he possibly hold on to the sheath at a time like this? How was Artoria supposed to defeat that so-called father of his? With nothing but Merlin's unreliable mouth?
Just like the Sword of Glorious Victory had once recognized him and allowed him to temporarily entrust it to Artoria, this time, he too could temporarily lend out theThe Everdistant Avalon. If he could stay out of the fight, he would. After all, things rarely ever went as one hoped.
Nestled in Melusine's arms, Aslan rubbed his temples. He had a sinking feeling that he might end up going head-to-head with his so-called father.
His tangled thoughts, carried through their now-enhanced contract, flowed into Melusine's heart. Looking down at her beloved held in her arms, she couldn't help but ask with concern, "Are you alright, Aslan?"
Feeling the warmth of her embrace, Aslan gently shook his head. Though his physique was slightly larger than Melusine's in her current form, the sense of support and trust his dragon gave him was unmatched. Was this what it meant for a small body to contain immense strength?
"No… it's nothing serious. I just feel that no matter how much I wish to remain untouched by the affairs of this era, something keeps pushing me into the surging tide of history…"
What Aslan really wanted to do was roar: Can't I just be the greatest blacksmith of this era in peace?! Why is that so hard?!
On the city wall of Camelot, Merlin was pacing back and forth with a troubled expression. For some reason, he felt uneasy when their king set out to subjugate the White Dragon. In his prophecy, the Red Dragon would defeat the White Dragon — the world had to develop in that direction.
Though Merlin very much wanted to help Artoria directly, there was another prophecy that bound him, one that had been cast upon him: if Vortigern wished to change his fate, he had to be tainted by the blood of a nightmare. And clearly, that "nightmare's blood" referred to Merlin himself.
To eliminate all possible dangers at their root, Merlin absolutely could not accompany Artoria in her campaign against Vortigern.
"Artoria… please return safely."
In his exchanges with Artoria, Merlin had realized that he had lost the brilliance he had once sought — not that it had disappeared, but that it had merely slipped through his fingers. At the very least, that radiance still lingered somewhere distant and unreachable. Though it would eventually fade away, at least… at least it could remain a little longer.
Merlin closed his eyes in prayer for Artoria. In the midst of that, as the Sword Saint of Avalon, he caught the sound of a breeze. Gently opening his eyes, he gazed into the distance — something was swiftly approaching the city. What was it? A magical beast? Or Vortigern's knights?
Ever since Vortigern had made his move, anything was possible. A sneak attack on Camelot wasn't out of the question.
Merlin instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of the knight's sword embedded in his staff, ready to leap down and battle the enemy for three hundred rounds if needed. If he couldn't accompany Artoria to the enemy's stronghold, then he would at least ensure the safety of their home base while she was away.
"I promised our king that I would return this city to her — not only intact, but more prosperous than before. I may be a nightmare who doesn't understand human hearts, but that doesn't mean I don't keep my promises. The Flower Magus stands here!"
Outside the walls of Camelot, not far from the city, a cavalry unit under Vortigern's command was quickly approaching. They were a covert unit assembled from soldiers who had infiltrated the area. Their mission was clear: launch a surprise attack on King Arthur's base by any means necessary.
This was war — a battle over who would rule this island, who would steer its future, and what direction that future would take. In such a war, no act was off-limits. The only question was whether one chose to uphold their principles.
But Vortigern, who sought the island's destruction, had no interest in such considerations. Whether people praised him as a peerless tactician or cursed him as a despicable villain didn't matter. He only needed to win. He must win. In the end, reputation and history are written by the victors!
Moreover, if he did win, the island would be destroyed anyway — so what did it matter what legend or legacy he left behind? After all, in every prophecy, wasn't he already cast as the villain? That's right. So what if he was a demonic dragon?
Compared to those petty villains who concealed their dark desires, Vortigern had never hidden his ambition or his madness. The fact that he hadn't severed the prophecies that circulated throughout the land proved it.
As a demonic dragon, he simply didn't tell the otherworldly races who had allied with him that they, too, would ultimately gain nothing from this island. Or perhaps those outsiders had already guessed as much — but still clung to a sliver of hope deep in their hearts?
So be it. Let them keep that pitiful hope. Vortigern would show the world that their future held no hope at all! Let despair engulf this island! Hahahaha!
As the foreign soldiers charged ahead, they raised their weapons high. "Charge! King Vortigern will help us defeat King Arthur! All we need to do is conquer this half of the island and make it our new homeland! We will leave the eternal winter behind and step into a spring breeze!"
The other soldiers shouted too — partly out of genuine excitement, and partly to steady their nerves. After all, this was the royal capital of King Arthur they were attacking. Who wouldn't be nervous about assaulting the enemy's core? Their shouts were meant to rouse their courage, to press forward in one mighty wave, and to remember to seize this pristine white city. They were here to become its new masters!