First of all, Balin dismissed the idea of rushing forward to seize the sword outright. As a mature and capable knight, he could clearly sense how formidable the white-haired girl was.
Even putting her aside, the blacksmith seemed incredibly powerful. Offending either of them would surely not lead to a good outcome.
The best approach, Balin concluded, was to find an opportunity to help them and earn their favor.
With that in mind, he quietly followed on horseback.
Of course, if there were other ways to acquire the sword, Balin could also offer rare raw materials. Though he was penniless, during his travels he had discovered the locations of several mineral deposits.
He was a bit lazy, however, and without a lord worthy of his loyalty, he had never shared the information about those mines with anyone.
Meanwhile, Morgan toyed with a decorative necklace in her hand as she made her way to the conference. The necklace resembled a small mirror, but its surface was cloudy and mottled.
Yet faint lights flickered on that turbid glass. Looking closely, the stains seemed to shift and change size—like a magical, living map.
To complete this enchanted item, Morgan had ventured to King Uther's tomb, where she extracted the king's blood without hesitation—using magic to hypnotize the soldiers guarding the grave so no one noticed a thing.
Morgan's attitude toward her so-called father, King Uther, had soured drastically since learning she was an illegitimate child and that she lacked a legitimate claim to the throne.
She was becoming a witch consumed by jealousy. Deep inside, she was growing cold and bitter. If she saw Arturia—the future King Arthur—being adored by the Knights of the Round Table again, and the mysteries of the British Isles fading away, Morgan feared she might truly lose her mind.
At this moment, a flickering light spot appeared on the cloudy mirror-map, not far away. Excellent. She seemed to have located someone related to Uther by blood. Was this person meant for the "King Arthur" title? Morgan was eager to see who could surpass her and become the island's recognized king.
What Morgan didn't know was that Arturia herself had no intention of attending this conference.
Merlin gently held out his hand, and a butterfly landed softly on his finger. The butterfly whispered all the information it had gathered to the flower magician, whose smile was faint but thoughtful.
Looking back at Arturia, clearly more cheerful and lively than before, and at Kay, who treated his adopted sister with gentle care, Merlin sighed inwardly.
As the eldest member of their group, Merlin carried many worries. Though he usually liked to indulge in mischief, when it came to the fate of the island and its future, he could not afford any mistakes.
He didn't know what Morgan's plans were, but he certainly did not want Arturia to meet that terrifying witch before she was ready. Even Merlin himself could feel the dark presence that woman carried.
"So, I'm sorry, Aslan, my friend," Merlin said lightly, "but I'll have to ask you to keep that woman occupied for the time being."
Merlin's tone was casual, almost cheerful. He showed no concern that this might cause trouble for others. On the contrary, he found some satisfaction in the fact that the witch and Aslan were drawn together. It was only a matter of time. Pure coincidence, not some calculated scheme. No one could blame him for it, right?
"I'm sorry, Arturia," Merlin continued. "We're quite far from the Sword Appreciation Conference and might not make it there. Why don't we use this chance—while everyone's eyes are on the event—to sneak a look into Vortigern's territory?"
Arturia raised no objection. It was a good opportunity to learn more about her greatest enemy. The better she understood Vortigern, the better she could prepare to defeat him. Now was the time to figure out what kind of man this "uncle" really was.
Merlin nodded, adjusted their plans, and set off again with the children.
At the lord's castle where the Sword Appreciation Conference was to be held, a young girl ran around, her face radiant with excitement. Everyone could see her joy.
Bursting into the great hall, she threw herself into the arms of a middle-aged man.
"Father! I heard you've gotten news about that famous blacksmith—is it true? Will he really come to our conference? Is there a chance he'll forge an exclusive knight's sword just for me?"
The lord patted his daughter's head fondly. The smile on his face grew wider, even curling the edges of his beard.
"Oh yes, my dear daughter. By the gods, I did receive news of the blacksmith—from some bandits, no less. He is indeed coming to the castle. If all goes well, he will attend the event. Your wish will come true."
He grinned proudly. "Whether by money or by influence, I will make sure this forger crafts you a unique sword. My lovely, beautiful daughter deserves nothing less than the finest—even an angel couldn't ask for more."
The girl's joy deepened. Whenever she desired something, her father would go to great lengths to grant it. There was no wish too grand, and this time was no different.
The servants tidying the castle lowered their heads silently. This happened every time.
Their lord's unconditional favoritism had made his eldest daughter willful and arrogant—an attitude that demanded everyone serve her.
The servants prayed quietly that during the conference, their young lady would not offend any powerful lord. Because if a war broke out, it would be people like them who suffered the consequences.