Oppressive, terrifying—before his eyes, there seemed to be nothing left but endless darkness.
Although it hadn't left any lasting psychological scars, Gawain truly didn't want to recall that day's scene. It was a kind of hopelessness where no light could be seen, as if he had fallen into a pitch-black abyss. Even the holy sword of the sun in his hand had withdrawn its radiance. In that darkness, even the sun itself was shrouded in shadow.
As that absolute darkness gradually receded before his eyes, he saw the soldiers behind him, who had just been preparing to charge the evil dragon, rapidly decaying in the dark. Their metal armor dissolved at alarming speed, their flesh and skin turned to ash, and finally, even their bones crumbled into dust. With the pressure of the sword dissipating in the castle, every soldier who had followed was killed under that single blow.
The evil dragon hadn't even left them a chance to retrieve the corpses.
Though their king wielded both the holy lance and the holy sword, during the clash with that evil dragon—who possessed the island's power as a constant source of reinforcement—their king, having lost the scabbard, clearly began to show signs of exhaustion.
Perhaps at that moment, Artoria also felt a twinge of regret. When Merlin had asked which was more important—the sword or the scabbard—she had chosen the sword. Had she chosen the scabbard instead, would fate have shifted even slightly?
Thinking carefully, there was already a powerful blacksmith on the island of Britain. Even if she had truly lost the Sword of Promised Victory, she could likely obtain a weapon no weaker than it from Aslan. With such a weapon still in hand, she could have saved the country. Why had she thought the sword was more important at the time?
But there is no "what if" in this world. During battle, Artoria had no time to dwell on such questions. When she realized that she might not be able to defeat the evil dragon before her—or rather, that even if she could defeat it, she would be unable to ensure the safety of Gawain and the others—she immediately chose to retreat.
Before retreating, Gawain turned back once more to see the evil dragon's expression. It remained haughty, standing proudly in the darkness, disdaining to give chase. As if in its eyes, its mission had already been accomplished. This island was destined to fall into endless darkness.
As they retreated, Gawain noticed how the land had changed compared to before. Those beings that resembled fiends—what were they exactly? There were even pitch-black fairies launching attacks on them. Centered around the evil dragon's castle, half the island already seemed to have transformed into the hell the dragon had spoken of.
During this process, their weakened strength meant that their king had to lead the breakthrough almost entirely on her own. Now, in this brief resting place, Gawain lowered his head.
"We've become a burden to the king... I am deeply ashamed. I swear that from this day forward, we will never allow such a thing to happen again!"
Seeing Gawain's action, Artoria quickly helped her knight up and shook her head. Strictly speaking, this wasn't her knight's fault. Losing the ability to sustain the fight and the scabbard—that was her own doing. Had she been more cautious, the current situation might never have occurred.
"Let's talk about blame later. Right now, we need to get some rest, then regroup with the others. As for dealing with Vortigern... I'm afraid we'll need to completely revise our plans."
Artoria looked at the black shadows wandering outside the camp and clenched her teeth. They had just cleared these creatures moments ago, and already they had returned. It seemed that time was running out.
If this had once been a game of conquest, now that game had gained a countdown timer.
Compared to the previous missions, this one felt far more oppressive. But the more urgent things felt, the less they could afford to panic. There had to be a path to break through.
Compared to Gawain and the others, it was actually Kay who felt more anxious.
Upon entering the surrounding area and seeing the devastation everywhere, the knights who had stayed behind were in low spirits.
They had allowed the king to face such danger alone. In this situation, their king surely needed support more than ever.
And yet, look at that young knight named Aslan walking at the very front. A child who seemed so much younger than them was calm and composed. How could they, as full-fledged Knights of the Round Table, let themselves show panic and helplessness?
But in truth, the Aslan who looked so composed to them was more anxious than anyone inside.
It was just that, the more he faced outsiders, the less able Aslan was to express his panic. In fact, he was someone who hated to embarrass himself in front of strangers.
To deal with someone like him, all it would take was a good dose of social humiliation.
Still, Aslan was extremely careful. He would never do anything disgraceful on impulse. He wasn't like a certain someone, who in his chuunibyou days had written a novel titled Dark Knight and left it in the royal archives.
He casually pulled the dagger from his belt and tossed it out.
The dagger transformed rapidly in midair, turning into something like a missile and slamming into a nearby forest. A small mushroom cloud bloomed in the sky.
After years of research, these modified modern weapons had become increasingly refined. These one-time-use weapons were usually carried as accessories or convenient tools on the waist. When needed, they could be thrown or planted into the ground, where the magic within them would detonate.
Imagine what it would be like when an enemy engaged you in melee, and suddenly your "cold weapon" turned into a "hot weapon"...
On his belt, Aslan also wore a decorative chain strung with countless experimental trinkets that resembled pendants. Many were failures in some way, but each one represented a step forward in his research.
If someone were to obtain that pendant chain, they would gain considerable power. And if they understood elven script, they might even be able to replicate Aslan's path of research in the future.
You see, during these past years, Aslan had long since repaired all the damaged prototypes.
This was his small, private hope: if he ever encountered someone worthy of being his disciple, this pendant chain could serve as their inheritance.
After all, this was all his own research. Passing it on was the best possible outcome.
Seeing that the explosion had turned out far stronger than he'd anticipated, Aslan gently clenched his fist, feeling the power within.
As expected—His instincts had been right.
His strength was growing.