Several days after the Dragon Disaster.
"Sigh, how did it ever come to this..."
Sitting alone in a small tavern, Mélusine downed another cup of wine, drinking away her sorrows.
"What's the point in protecting anything now!" she muttered.
"Artoria handled everything herself, didn't she!"
For a moment, Mélusine felt that her past self, the one who had sworn to protect the love between those two, looked like a complete fool.
And speaking of which...
Mélusine stirred the wine in front of her with her finger.
What did he mean when he said that to me?
This is so frustrating!
So frustrating!
So damn frustrating!
"Check!"
Slamming a gold coin on the table, Mélusine stormed out of the tavern with her head down.
However—
The environment outside wasn't much better.
The blood left behind by the dead dragon was a catastrophe for Camelot. The sight of crimson was deeply etched into every corner of the royal capital. The immovable dragon carcasses were left piled up in the open, emitting waves of a foul odor under the blazing sun.
Already simmering with frustration, the smell was the last straw. Mélusine drew Arondight.
She was going to slash these things, cut them up, and chop them to pieces!
But just as she arrived before the dragon remains, puffing her cheeks in anger, she saw someone unexpected.
It was Morgan.
She was just standing there, watching from a distance as several of Camelot's soldiers organized the skeletal frames they could barely manage to move.
Mélusine's first instinct was to run.
For the past few days, she had been actively avoiding Ian to keep her mind off the whole affair. Seeing Morgan now, she certainly couldn't stay for long.
Run!
Run now!
Mélusine turned, preparing to make her escape, when she suddenly heard Morgan's voice.
"Lord Lancelot, do you wish to flee the moment you see me?"
"Have you come to hate me?"
"..."
Damn, I've been caught.
Mélusine turned back around and shrugged.
"It's nothing like that."
"I just happened to remember something I need to do."
"Can you not spare me even a few minutes?" Morgan pressed. "I won't keep you for long."
"..."
With things put that way, Mélusine knew it would be rude to refuse any further.
"I understand."
"But please be quick."
"After all, my time is very limited."
"Rest assured, I only have a few questions," Morgan said, walking over to her.
"Let's go."
And so—
Morgan and Mélusine began walking together towards the castle. The former appeared relaxed and at ease, while the latter felt tense and awkward.
"You and Ian are good friends, aren't you?"
"It's... it's alright."
"Just alright?" Morgan smiled faintly. "I recall him saying you were the only rival he ever acknowledged."
"Don't take the words of a fool like that seriously!"
"Besides..."
Remembering the time Ian had utterly humiliated her, Mélusine couldn't help but shiver.
"His strength is far beyond mine."
"But if you're asking if we're friends, then yes, that's correct."
"Then—"
Morgan stopped walking.
"Do you know where he's been lately?"
"I haven't seen him for several days."
"..."
"You'd have to be a ghost to see him," Mélusine muttered under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!"
"He's probably very busy!" Mélusine quickly tried to make an excuse for Ian. She knew that if Morgan couldn't find him, he was most likely with Artoria. And compared to Morgan, Mélusine felt she was much more willing to stand on Artoria's side.
"Look, just cleaning up all these dragons that came from who-knows-where is already exhausting, right?"
"He... he might still be working, don't you think?"
"..."
Seeing Morgan fall silent, Mélusine quickly added another line.
"Don't worry!"
"If I see him, I'll let you know immediately!"
Since I won't be seeing him anyway, there's no harm in saying that.
"Oh, alright."
Morgan smiled.
"Then, I'll be counting on you, Lord Lancelot."
"Just call me Mélusine! You don't have to be so formal!"
"No."
Morgan wagged a finger.
"That is a title that belongs to you. I will not ignore it."
"Oh, by the way, if you see the King later, would you be so kind as to give her my regards—"
With that said, Morgan walked into the Royal Court without waiting for Mélusine's reply.
"Why does it feel like every sentence she says has a hidden meaning..." the petite swordswoman couldn't help but complain to herself.
What she didn't know, however—
—was that the moment Morgan entered the empty Royal Court, her expression changed completely.
It was a look of anger, yet it was restrained.
"Just as I thought."
"This one... is also lying to me."
"Hah."
"Artoria, since you've arranged your people this way, you can't blame me for what I'm about to do."
Turning this way and that through the corridors, Morgan ran a hand along a wall.
A secret passage appeared before her.
Click-clack—
Click-clack—
The princess's footsteps echoed on the quiet stone steps.
Finally, she arrived before a great door.
She pushed it open.
Before Morgan was a large container, holding something submerged in liquid. It glowed with a blue light, staining the once-silent space in an otherworldly hue. Surrounding it were countless, incredibly complex magic circles.
If one listened closely—
—the sound of a heartbeat could be heard.
Looking at it, Morgan smiled.
But it was a smile that sent a chill down one's spine.
She hadn't been doing nothing.
Nor was she watching the Camelot soldiers clean up the dragon carcasses out of boredom. She needed to plant her own influence among the Knights of the Round Table, and the best way to do that...
...was naturally to create a knight to rival the likes of Ian.
"The Numbers of the Saint, I bestow upon you."
"The appearance of the British Fairies, I grant to you as well."
"And—"
Morgan took out a small vial.
Inside was a mysterious liquid that shone with a white light, appearing incredibly precious and rare.
As she looked at it, a trail of moisture slid down between her thighs.
"The bloodline of a Dragon."
"This is my personal gift."
"Treasure it. It's not something so easily obtained."
Drip.
The contents of the vial fell into the container.
A crimson light gradually replaced the original blue glow.
A madness began to gleam in Morgan's eyes.
"Right, what should I call you—"
"How about Barghest? A name that symbolizes death... that would certainly be just like him."
"Or perhaps, like that liar Mélusine, you should have another name, like Gawain?"
"Never mind. Either will do."
"Grow quickly, and enter the ranks of the Round Table."
"For me..."
"Take back both him and Britain!"
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