Inside a secured meeting room, all the Knights of the Round Table had gathered. The knights looked toward their king, awaiting the next course of action. After all, this was the greatest crisis the Round Table had faced since its founding. At the same time, the Knight of the Sun, Gawain, couldn't help but keep glancing over at Aslan.
No matter how one put it, he had let these two take the king's former sword from the royal treasury. That guilt weighed heavily on his heart. If Gawain had truly been able to let go of everything, he wouldn't have blocked Lancelot from seeing King Arthur when Mordred launched his rebellion in the legends of old.
Even though Lancelot had only wanted to do his part and help quell the rebellion, perhaps Gawain hadn't wanted a knight who had once betrayed the king to now stand by and aid him. That may have led to the final outcome—mutual destruction—for both himself and their king.
Just as Gawain had once admitted in his later years, it was his own stubbornness and pride that had kept Lancelot from supporting their king, which ultimately led to such a tragic end. It wasn't until after becoming a Heroic Spirit that he finally began to change.
But the Gawain standing here now was still that "young and proud" version, one who hadn't yet known regret.
To Heroic Spirits, one could say they were all still young at heart, just as they were when alive.
"All right, everyone. This is our war council regarding the campaign against Vortigern. We've all faced him before, and by now, you've surely seen just how powerful he is. Although we now have reinforcements supporting us, the number of people actually capable of engaging Vortigern in combat is still very limited. Ordinary soldiers simply cannot enter that castle."
No matter how many regular knights they sent, they would be helpless before a single swing of that demon dragon's pitch-black sword. That sword alone could reduce an entire squad to dust.
So strictly speaking, aside from Aslan, Melusin, and Kay, none of the other reinforcements could be counted as true combat strength. Could just three people really turn around such an overwhelmingly disadvantageous situation?
As the room fell into thoughtful silence, Aslan removed the scabbard from his waist and placed it on the table. Only then did the surrounding knights realize what had been bothering them—something they'd overlooked. That scabbard, once belonging to King Arthur, now strengthened the impression that Aslan might indeed be the king's successor.
"I never thought you'd actually lose your own scabbard. I'll just borrow this for a whi—"
Bang!!
The scabbard, which he had been casually holding just a second ago, suddenly grew heavier and slammed onto the table, shattering the wooden surface and even cracking the stone floor beneath it.
Aslan stared at his now-empty hand mid-air, swallowing the rest of his words. An awkward smile crept onto his face. What was he even supposed to say at this point? He'd just socially died right then and there.
"Sorry… this scabbard seems to have a bit of a temper."
Aslan wondered if it had something to do with his White Dragon blood awakening. The magic power, which used to be like catnip to magical equipment, had now become even more alluring. What metaphor would best fit his current magic power?
Probably something like Tang Monk's flesh—impossibly enticing. Once weapons and artifacts stuck to him, they just wouldn't let go.
It hadn't even been that long, yet Avalon, the last piece of gear to come to his side, had already learned the habits of its two "seniors." Or… could it be that these weapons and relics could communicate with each other behind his back? Had his two predecessors already passed on their bad habits?
No way. With how jealous the Sword of Glorious Victory was, it would've preferred if all other gear kept their distance, leaving only itself and the sword to enjoy some alone time.
Artoria looked at the scabbard in front of her, and a flash of nostalgia flickered in her eyes. Even though she hadn't been separated from the scabbard for long, just the first defeat against the demon dragon already had her missing Avalon's powers. But as she looked at the golden scabbard before her, Artoria made no move to reach out.
Even if she couldn't hear the scabbard's voice, Artoria understood—it had chosen a new master. After all, when Merlin had once asked her what was more important, she had chosen the Holy Sword. Given that choice, a bit of resentment from the scabbard was only natural.
Though she was a king, Artoria wouldn't ignore her own mistakes. She had no intention of forcefully reclaiming her old scabbard.
A mistake was a mistake. Whether it was choosing the sword at the beginning or later losing the scabbard due to Morgan, the consequences shouldn't be borne by its current wielder.
Though this youth's identity wasn't fully clear yet, he clearly shared her bloodline and had been chosen by the Sword of Selection. Artoria had no intention of suppressing Aslan—in fact, she saw him as one of her own people. That was just the kind of person Artoria was.
In another country, under another monarch, just the fact that Aslan had royal blood and had been chosen by the Sword of Selection would have been enough to arouse jealousy—and possibly even get him killed.
"No... the one responsible for losing Avalon was me. It's only right that she refuses to return to me now. Aslan, I'm entrusting Avalon to you. In the hands of a blacksmith like you, I'm sure she'll be happier than she ever was with me."
Avalon slowly rose into the air and returned to Aslan's hand, its entire form glowing with a soft, warm light.
Artoria gently lowered her gaze, then quickly gathered her thoughts. She looked seriously at everyone present, her expression firm and resolute.
"Everyone, though we suffered a defeat, we must not give up. If we cannot slay the demon dragon, this island will become a land of darkness and despair.
Knights, even if we turn back now, all that awaits us is the final countdown to the end. For the families we protect, for the land we cherish—even if there's only a sliver of hope—we cannot abandon it!
Let us once more march against the evil dragon!
With Aslan at our side this time, I am certain—we will claim victory!
Let the sunlight shine upon Britain once more—
Victory shall be ours!!"