"Mirror Demon! I don't believe you're foolish enough to provoke me on purpose."
Morgan clenched her anger tightly, but the magic surging within her betrayed her calm. The fairies around her could clearly feel her restless power.
She had come deep into this fairy forest to seek out the Mirror Clan, hoping to glimpse the future through their prophecy.
After all, countless rumors were spreading throughout Great Britain.
Arthur… when did her father suddenly have such a son? It was obvious she would quell the rebellion on this island by her own strength and lead Britain into a better future.
Morgan had heard the prophecies about the red dragon and white dragon, but she didn't take them seriously. Born in Tintagel, the daughter of a fairy named Igrain—a true child of the British Isles—no one should embody Britain's future better than her.
She was the real king, inheriting the island's ancient mysteries.
What Morgan didn't know was that these mysteries were destined to fade. Even in her era, Britain's Age of Gods would come to an end. Fairies and dragons would retreat through the passage to the world's inner depths, leaving only human rule on the surface.
"Morgan, you are closest to us on this island. We foresee great events that could threaten our fairies' survival. Under such circumstances, how could we deceive you?"
The magic coursing through Morgan gathered more tightly. Her blue-lipped mouth curled into a faint, mocking smile. Though a child of the island, born close to the fairies, Morgan loved Britain far more than she loved the fairies.
And these fairies must be controlled—tightly and orderly—on this British soil.
Perhaps because Morgan was a child of the island itself—not truly of man—her thoughts and personality were like those of a machine without emotion, designed only to make the island stronger.
She hated humans. She hated fairies. She hated the weak and the ugly. She hated equality and peace.
Yet, despite this hatred, these things were not useless—they were merely incompatible with her.
To Morgan, domination was justice. Anyone who destroyed domination was evil.
Her personal likes and dislikes had nothing to do with good or evil as a ruler. Even if she hated something, if it was necessary for control, she would acknowledge and allow it.
From this viewpoint, the people of Britain would never accept Morgan's rule as a blessing.
Given Morgan's character and worldview, it was natural for many to brand her the "Incarnation of Evil."
By contrast, Arturia—created by Merlin's tricks—was half-hearted. She only wished to lead Britain to glory, blindly believing that the worse a king's life was, the better the people's would be.
So she pursued foreign conquests relentlessly, failing to see that despite vanquishing all enemies abroad, her people still struggled to prosper.
In a way, these two were truly sisters.
Distrusting everyone, Morgan cast the fairies a cold glance and turned to leave the forest.
Enough.
She was done listening to these vague prophecies. It was up to her to see this "King Arthur" with her own eyes.
Only then would she decide how to proceed.
Morgan's movements were highly secretive. Even her husband was unaware. Their control over the island wasn't yet complete.
The one truly ruling this island now was the old man Vortigern.
Since Vortigern intended to destroy this island, he kept a close eye on all powerful figures—Morgan included, his own niece.
News of Morgan's secret visit to the fairy forest soon reached Vortigern.
"To rule and destroy Britain, one needs cunning and conspiracy," Vortigern mused, reading the report.
He looked at the kneeling old man before him. "If I recall, you said some magicians from the mainland want my protection?"
He tossed the letter into the brazier, watching the flames swallow it bit by bit, a faint amusement flickering in his eyes.
"I care nothing for those magicians. How could they compare to my detestable niece?"
He sat upright, majestic as a white dragon and King of Destruction, lazily propping his cheek with one hand.
Though relaxed, his presence was oppressive—this arrogant posture was less annoying than a symbol of true power.
"Fine. Tell those magicians from the mainland I'll protect them—but only if they defeat the strongest magician on this island to prove their worth."
"And leak Morgan's movements to them 'accidentally.' Things are about to get very interesting."
Meanwhile, back where Aslan and Melusine searched for a magic teacher, rumors were spreading fast.
The wandering knights and bandits who blocked the roads? They were said to have been knocked senseless by a hammer blow to the head.
This had made Aslan somewhat famous.
The rumors soon split into two tales.
One said a divine demon wielding a hammer of judgment punished the wicked, striking down any who did evil.
The other whispered of a master blacksmith wandering the land, who would forge legendary swords for those he deemed worthy.
Both stories stirred the hearts of many knights.
For any knight, an excellent horse, rare armor, or a famous sword passed down through generations—any one of these was enough to stir desire.
Knights were rampant, but famed swords were scarce.