If he hadn't known the gender of his own king, Kay would've almost thought that this "cheap father" Aslan mentioned was their king. But considering their king's age, it shouldn't be possible for her to have such a grown child.
What Kay didn't know was that their king did already have quite a grown-up son currently residing in Camelot. Ever since disappearing from the public eye, Morgan had secretly been raising Mordred. Once Arthur emerged victorious from this war, Mordred would likely be added to the Knights of the Round Table as well. What followed would be the short yet most glorious period of King Arthur's reign.
But all glory is destined to fade. King Arthur's radiance would begin to dim gradually even before the campaign against Rome was launched.
None of this, however, had anything to do with Aslan. What he cared about now was whether he could deliver a truly earth-shattering gift to his cheap old man for Father's Day.
"Aslan Pendragon. That's my name. I suppose I count as royalty."
Aslan glanced at Kay and gave a simple self-introduction, then began issuing orders to the Knight of the Round Table before him.
"Knight of the Round Table, consolidate all your forces on the front line. Your king is likely in trouble within enemy territory. Staying here locked in a stalemate won't help your king in any meaningful way."
Kay frowned. Whether to trust the man in front of him would determine their future. As proper Knights of the Round Table, they were not supposed to easily trust someone who merely claimed to be of royal blood. Yet the situation on the battlefield was deteriorating fast.
Should he trust this man?
Aslan looked at Kay again but didn't say anything more. If this knight chose to follow him, then so much the better. If not—well, it didn't matter.
With just himself and Melusine, he could still deliver a Father's Day gift his old man would never forget. Bringing the Knights of the Round Table was only to make the search for Artoria easier, since no one knew where she might be trapped.
Regardless of what these soldiers decided, Aslan casually grabbed a warhorse, mounted it, and called to his dragon. Together, they charged through the dark mist toward the heart of his cheap father's territory.
Straight toward the heart of Vortigern's lands!!
Kay stared at Aslan's back and finally clenched his teeth. Fine—he would act willfully just this once. Maybe change was what they needed. This situation was different from anything they'd faced before.
"All knights, heed my command! Immediately regroup and reorganize—we march to support the king!!"
At that moment, Artoria was resting with Gawain and the others within Vortigern's territory. They had already fought the evil dragon once—but unfortunately, it hadn't gone well. Without support from the distant Land of Ideals, King Arthur was still a bit weaker than the dragon—especially now that the dragon had begun channeling the power of the island itself.
With darkness under Vortigern's control, even the holy light from their swords was being swallowed. Gawain didn't want to recall what had happened just a few days ago.
Back when they'd stormed the evil dragon's castle with a large force, Britain hadn't yet undergone such a transformation. Although Vortigern's castle had always been dark in tone, it hadn't seemed outright terrifying—just somewhat oppressive, with darkness amplifying Vortigern's suffocating aura and pride.
Vortigern didn't seem the least bit surprised to see them—perhaps he'd been waiting for a long time. Though advanced in age, he didn't look much different from his prime. His body was clad in jet-black armor that shimmered with a dark gleam, and he sat lazily on his throne.
One hand propped against his cheek, Vortigern finally showed a sliver of interest upon seeing Artoria. Sitting upright, he sneered:
"Arthur? How amusing. Let's see what my dear brother has been up to—creating a king through artificial means? Does he really think that's enough to oppose me?"
Gawain didn't know that his king had been artificially created. Nor did he want to hear anything more from this man before him. He simply raised his holy sword of the sun and pointed it at Vortigern on the throne.
"Vile King Vortigern! You ushered in the Age of Darkness for Britain. Today, we Knights of the Round Table follow our king in bringing judgment upon you!"
Vortigern looked at the knight—who was of his grandson's generation—pointing a sword at him. He was momentarily stunned, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Then, still seated on his throne, he burst into laughter.
"Heh? Hehehe… HAHAHAHAHA!! Bringing judgment on me? You knights? That's the biggest jest of this era!"
His laughter and mocking words rang out clearly, reaching the ears of every soldier nearby. For knights who had fought through countless battles to reach this place, such scorn felt like a deep insult.
They weren't weaklings—they had overcome countless trials to make it this far. For the vile king to dismiss them as if he could snuff them out with a flick of his wrist was outrageous.
"Don't underestimate us! We'll show you the might of our knighthood!"
But was this evil dragon truly just mocking them?
Vortigern stared at these insignificant bugs who couldn't fathom the cold of winter. Slowly, he stood up. The lazy grin on his face began to fade. He picked up the black demon sword beside his throne and raised it slowly.
At that moment, Arthur's knights also raised their weapons and charged toward the vile king!
But in the next instant, an overwhelming darkness erupted from Vortigern's body. The land itself seemed to wail. Every holy sword present was tainted with a shadowy gloom.
The vile king's throne began to decay. Before that rotting seat stood a black silhouette—armor dyed in shadow. Though it was clearly midday, shadow covered everything.
…it was like a hole torn into the world itself, swallowing molten iron and radiating scorching heat—an abomination so chilling it could not be called human…
The evil dragon, Vortigern.
"Why do you resist? Why do you deny? Why do you cling to humanity?
Britain must be destroyed.
You must be annihilated.
If this island is to be defiled by mankind, then let me return it to its origin—with my hand, I shall make it a land of hell, forever uninhabitable by humans—
A dark paradise!"
Shedding all pretense, Vortigern swung his sword with cold, maddened fury.