[However, although you were curious, you did not directly open your mouth to ask. You knew—even if you asked, it would be pointless. The being called Merlin would never so easily disclose what he knew. Just like how, despite already knowing the conclusion of King Arthur, he never revealed a single hint—toward the king he "assisted," he was always like this. Toward you, there was even less reason to say anything.]
[You turned your gaze toward Morgan, whose expression had already returned to normal, and you began to ponder another question.]
[Should the path of your "martial arts" be something you needed to put on the agenda as soon as possible?]
[Though in the clash of magecraft you had undeniably achieved victory, the young "Lord of the Island" had yet to grow up, and was not your opponent.]
[Though you could rely on various mysteries to compensate for your lack in martial ability—]
[If one were to speak purely of "martial arts," you had indeed been suppressed. And you had not forgotten your promise—that if one day, you were to meet Attila again, you would show her the "martial arts" you had mastered.]
[Even if you had not a shred of talent, even if you might be utterly clueless in this area—]
[Still, that same saying applied.]
[You were human, and moreover a "magus."—You rarely relied on tools, but that did not mean you could not. It was merely that most of the time, there was no need.]
[To make up for one's insufficiencies through tools—this was precisely what humankind ought to do.]
[What you were thinking of was to create something like the "Crown of Metatron," like the "Dragon of Avalcalián"—to forge yet another highest-grade Mystery Mystic Code: the "equipment" of a warrior.]
[These days, you had already formed some ideas.]
[In the years past of leading armies to war—though you never personally charged forth, never fought alone against thousands—by watching your elite soldiers' various performances on the battlefield, you had already come to understand what needed to be done, and had grasped a direction.]
[You knew that the so-called "martial" encompassed not only "valor," but also "strategy."]
[The former—an instinctive sense for close combat—was something you were not skilled at, something you lacked innately. The latter, however, was your domain: to gather all possible information, enumerate every possibility, and from within them, select and enact a "movement."]
[For ordinary people, this was of course impossible.]
[But for you, possessing the "Mind of God," existing as the "Brain of God"—it was by no means difficult!]
[As long as there was a proper vessel capable of carrying nearly infinite amounts of "information."]
[For you, possessing Thought Circuits, this too was not a problem. Circuits were the pathways by which thought was conducted—but they could also serve as conduits for storing "information." At least for the initial stage of short-term storage, it was not a problem.]
[This would not even restrict your triple circulation—for among the two hundred seventy-two Minds of God, there was already surplus. In your original conception when laying the foundation of this Mystery, it was already sufficient to allow you, while operating the Spirit of God and the Body of God, to also operate the Crown of Metatron and the Dragon of Avalcalián—and still wield them freely.]
[Of course, Thought Circuits were ultimately Thought Circuits. They were where thinking was processed, not truly places for storage. Under normal circumstances, there was no hindrance. But if you encountered a moment when you needed to analyze and probe with your full strength—even the slightest discrepancy in thought could result in a completely different outcome.]
[Thus, the storage function of "Thought Circuits" could only serve for the "short term."]
[—In your conception, once this accumulated "information" reached a certain point, it would finally need to be extracted from the Thought Circuits.]
[And then, seek out a proper vessel.]
[Either as a weapon exclusive to you, or as a Mystic Code exclusive to you.]
[Yet not merely a "magecraft" Mystic Code!]
[Of course, this too would be "exclusive."]
[—For, after all, in this world, what could be more suitable as a vessel than your own "soul," capable of recording everything and growing infinitely?]
[In this way, even projected into the future, it could still continuously gather the martial strategies of different eras—not restricted merely to the present.]
[In this way, its upper limit too would become immeasurable—just like yourself.]
[This was the true way of thinking that a magus ought to have.]
[You thought: external things were never something that could not be relied upon—as long as their absolute ownership was ensured.]
[Yet even though you already had the conception, it was still a vast, immensely long project.]
[From beginning to completion, it might require an extremely long span of time.]
[This was nothing more than the initial, immature blueprint.]
[But you still had enough time to contemplate, to practice.]
[You had a lifetime to complete it.]
[You were not in a rush.]
[You were merely thinking about from which step you should begin.]
[And being stared at by you, Morgan couldn't help but let out a cold snort, her face faintly flushed.]
[You returned to yourself, yet you still continued to gaze.]
[Until Morgan herself was forced to withdraw her gaze.]
[You smiled, merely thinking: youth truly is a wonderful thing.]
[And at this moment, Merlin spoke again—]
[Utterly spoiling the mood.]
"Though I'm sorry to interrupt you two."
The silver-haired, handsome youth narrowed his pair of red eyes, saying: "I'm afraid that next, we must immediately return to the banquet hall."
"What did you see?"
Lucan turned toward the voice, meeting in an instant the crimson eyes of the Nightmare Magus, and suddenly realized that it must have been those "eyes" which saw through the present world that had glimpsed something.
Though displeased, Morgan still cast her questioning gaze over.
"Ah..." Merlin scratched his head, smiling: "How should I put it?"
"It's that uncle of Princess Morgan—Vortigern, who has arrived!"
...
The "Base King" Vortigern Pendragon.
He who occupied the vaster northern lands of Britain—the younger brother of King Uther.
Though nominally, Vortigern was still under Uther's dominion, everyone with eyes could see clearly. This northern lord, who dared openly to usurp the title "king," had in truth rebelled. To such a degree that he even drew in foreign barbarian invaders—the Anglo-Saxons. This was a fact too blatant to be denied.
His title of "Base King" was no honorific, but a definition of his actions—it meant "the Despicable King."
Yet, before such naked rebellion, the southern King Uther could do nothing about him. Not merely due to familial bonds, but because of strength.
Because of the great power under Vortigern's command.
And because of Vortigern's own might!
Thus, the banquet that just a moment ago had been bustling and lively, held to welcome the distant Huns, became abruptly silent in the next moment.
The British nobles, who had been clinking glasses and exchanging pleasantries, froze as they saw the sudden entry of pale-armored figures. At their head, one man rode foremost, causing them to shrink their heads, terrified of being noticed.
"It seems you are not very welcoming toward me, my foolish younger brother."
The foremost spoke thus, his gaze fixed upon the seat of honor at the top, where sat Uther Pendragon, his brows tightly furrowed.
"What are you doing here? I do not recall inviting you, Vortigern." Uther's voice was cold and hard, bearing not a trace of fraternal warmth.
"I merely came to see what kind of state my younger brother, who lost to me five years ago, has fallen into."
Vortigern spoke: "As for your soldiers outside the gates, as for this city's guards—they could never stop me."
This man, who claimed the title of king upon Britain's soil yet bore the epithet "base," resembled Uther greatly. Though older in years, he appeared instead younger, and was even more massive than the already robust Uther. If Uther was like a mighty but aging lion, then Vortigern was a colossal dragon still in its prime.
Same age, same blood—but they could almost be called different "species."
This was the difference brought by strength!
"Younger brother? I have never had an elder brother such as you, Vortigern."
Uther slowly stood, speaking thus. Indeed, he was not the equal of the man before him. His only advantage lay in the legitimacy of his title, and in the will and spirit that did not waver in the slightest: "You brought the Anglo-Saxons here, staining Britain, land of the Celts, with barbarian blood!"
"And you?" Vortigern sneered coldly: "Look at what you are doing now. And these people you have brought—what are they?"
"They are my loyal friends, willing to integrate into the soil of Britain, to safeguard peace, not to bring destruction!"
Uther declared with righteousness.
"Hahaha..." Vortigern's laughter held nothing but scorn: "Look at my dear brother. He still clings to that idealistic way of governing a kingdom."
"Peace? Destruction—?"
"Those things are meaningless."
"Only the strong may decide everything. Only the victor may obtain everything."
"Just like now: I stand here in mighty Camelot itself—and you remain powerless against me!"
Rumble—!
Vast magical power burst from within King Uther's body. Rising to his feet, Uther Pendragon's glare was ferocious, and in the air could faintly be heard the lion's roar born of magical reverberation.
The tremendous pressure swept across the hall, leaving the assembled guests breathless. Even the Hun nobles and generals quailed. Closest to Uther was Oktar Ural, father of Subutai. Though he did not cower, he could not help but feel a deep awe—no wonder his son had chosen to come to this isolated island nation. From the presence and power displayed by the "King of the Island," one could already judge the extraordinariness of this land.
This was magical power that only the strongest of warriors, rare even in Rome's heyday, could exude!
And yet—
Facing this torrent of magical energy, Vortigern remained unmoved, though the slabs at his feet shattered, and his pale-armored guards staggered back. He stood as a reef against the tide, as a mountain rising from the sea.
Subduing all unrest in every direction: "Are you angry, Uther?"
"But you are truly old."
"My younger brother—your magical power, your 'King's Protection'—should not be only at this level."
"You deserve to die!"
With a thunderous sound, Vortigern stepped forward, his boot slamming down.
Roar!
The sound that surged forth was greater than the lion's bellow. A mightier torrent of magical power, far surpassing King Uther's, gushed forth. It was the roar of a "dragon."
With merely the breath from his nostrils, Vortigern generated overwhelming, searing magical energy. Around his body, pale radiance welled like steam, coalescing into the shape of a great white dragon, visible to the naked eye, roaring aloud.
In that booming sound, King Uther staggered back, his face pale.
Pure magical power unleashed.
A pure contest of scale.
The King of Britain was defeated by the usurper from the north.
"You... monster..."
Uther's eyes remained resolute, without retreat—but his strength fell short.
This sight made Oktar's aged beard tremble. He had never imagined that so powerful a King Uther would fall so quickly, so decisively. Vortigern's dragon-like form filled him with dread.
In that moment—
King Uther panted heavily.
Vortigern's gaze turned toward Oktar.
"I think, my foolish younger brother is not a very fitting king for you to follow."
"And I am. Am I not?"
This was Vortigern's true purpose in coming.
He could not allow Uther to gain the allegiance of nearly ten thousand Huns!
As his pair of golden eyes met Oktar's, the old general drew in a deep breath, striving to suppress the faint trembling of his hand.
Just as he was about to speak—
"Strength and kingship do not have the most direct correlation."
"—Lord Vortigern."
A youthful, immature voice suddenly rang out.
Standing in Oktar's way.
...
[Upon hearing Merlin's words—]
[You and Morgan rushed over without pause.]
A voice.
But it brought with it two figures.
The forms of a boy and a girl.