Mystery always attracts mystery. Just like future children born with magical talent, even those who have yet to learn magic often find themselves entangled in inexplicable events. This was especially true in the Age of Gods. It was one of the reasons why so many legends of heroic deeds emerged during that time.
Now, on this British island, all the swords seemed to be converging in one direction. Many were gifts from fairies, or forged from treasures dating back to the Age of Gods.
It was as if a faint light, scattered across all of Britain, had suddenly gathered into a great orb—drawing the attention of all the mysterious beings that inhabited the island.
Fairies, of course, were less interested; after all, most of the swords were in their possession. So the sword appreciation conference didn't attract their notice.
But for certain creatures of limited intelligence, the story was different.
Especially as the British Age of Gods waned, the dwindling supply of true ether drove many mysterious species toward madness. True ether was their lifeblood, the key to their survival.
The strange scent emanating from the gathering swords was like a drop of honey spilled in the forest—sweet and alluring, calling to those mysterious creatures desperate to uncover secrets. Among them, dragons were the most numerous. After all, these swords were treasures—and which dragon didn't love treasures?
More advanced dragon species could suppress or overcome some of their bloodline's weaknesses. These were not divine beasts or holy beasts—only magical beasts—and they concealed their true nature well.
Yet these dragon species had not yet drawn much attention.
The conference venue itself was splendid and radiant, the light reflecting off the swords filling every corner.
The sound of endless compliments and clinking wine glasses filled the air. This was a banquet hosted by a great lord, after all. While common folk suffered from poverty and famine, the great lords still had ample food and wine—and even some true treasures from the Age of Gods.
As the Age of Gods declined, such treasures became increasingly rare. What could be more joyous than food, wine, beauties, and swords in an age like this? This banquet brought all four together.
Many wealthy attendees had purchased heirloom swords from poor folk. These fair, honest transactions left both nobles and commoners smiling.
For wealthy nobles and lords, a sword signified status. Even in an era plagued by constant warfare, a sword could turn the tide of battle.
For the commoners selling these heirlooms, it was a matter of survival. With the money they gained, they could live comfortably—provided they didn't get robbed first.
The lord hosting the event smiled as he mingled with other nobles. Such a person was no ordinary figure. Holding an event like this required vast human and financial resources—dynamic resources that served as a deterrent to rivals. A foundation for peaceful development in the future.
His beloved daughter was also among the guests, scanning the crowd for the figure she desired to see. She was drawn to the swords, inching closer when she spotted them. But though she adored them, none captured her heart.
In this lively hall, some did not quite belong.
In a shadowy corner stood a woman dressed in black and white, her face hidden beneath a black veil that concealed her features. She held a staff carved from obsidian, its gem-encrusted tip gleaming—a clear sign of wealth or nobility.
This was none other than Morgan. To hide her identity, she had used magic to transform her platinum hair into black, a rare color on this island. Her entire aura grew increasingly mysterious.
"Beauty, though you hide your lovely face beneath that veil, I'm sure you are the most beautiful woman in the world," said a knight, handsome and gentlemanly, sword sheathed at his waist and dressed in fine, if not extravagant, clothes.
He bowed before Morgan with a charming smile. "I have just acquired a sword, and soon I shall be the most powerful knight in the world. Might I win your favor?"
Morgan responded with a cold smile—so faint it was obscured by the veil.
As a noble accustomed to high society, she knew exactly what the knight was thinking.
Though his clothes looked valuable, they were far from the finest. Just ordinary luxuries, nowhere near the true riches of the upper class. And having just bought a sword, the knight was likely broke.
He was simply celebrating his purchase, ignoring the harsh truth of his empty purse.
The knight's eagerness to find her made Morgan's amusement deepen—and also her contempt.
"It seems your parents never taught you not to meddle with witches," Morgan said icily, "let alone put dirty thoughts in their heads."
She struck the ground with her staff, and magic surged from her like a tempest, enveloping the knight.
The burst of power sent the surrounding guests scattering.
Morgan raised her hand, and with a final blast, the knight vanished—leaving behind only a pile of clothes and a sword.
Meanwhile, in the lord's kitchen, a duck was yanked by the neck and lifted into the air by a startled maid—before anyone could make sense of what had just happened.