As one of the oldest Celtic heroic legend systems, the story of King Arthur was not merely about Arthur Pendragon alone.
That era brought together countless legendary figures, gathered at the Round Table, forming the ring that surrounded and protected the "King." It was only then that the legend of the Knight King was able to come into being.
Among those figures, some were strong, some brave, some wise, and some decisive.
But if one were to ask who embodied the very essence of "chivalry," it would be none other than the man called Subotai.
He bore the same given name as the Hunnic emperor Subotai, though their surnames were different. Thus, most believed they were not the same person.
His presence in the Arthurian lays was not high, his existence not strongly felt, yet without doubt, he was one of those who inspired the Round Table.
He shared a deep connection with Arthur's elder sister, Morgan le Fay.
He was also once regarded as a formidable adversary by Arthur's very first and greatest enemy in life—the Vile King Vortigern.
— The History of the Kings of Britain, Geoffrey of Monmouth (1136)
At this moment, within the grand hall of Camelot's royal palace—
The air currents raged madly, the dragon's roar whipped up a storm that seemed intent on crushing everything. From that towering figure standing still—Vortigern—came forth an eruption of rampaging force.
Born from the hatred and rejection the native Celts bore toward the Britons, as the "atavistic" Dragon, Vortigern's body housed an incredibly dense concentration of magical energy.
He possessed the body of a dragon, the heart of a dragon; even his breath itself gave rise to magical energy infinitely close to "True Ether," the lifeblood of dragonkind.
This magical energy required no sophisticated method to drive it. Merely releasing it into the world brought forth devastation that shook heaven and earth.
In that instant—
From the rear, King Uther's face darkened further.
Even without going all-out, Vortigern had already completely suppressed him. Now, the power that the "Vile King" revealed towered far above this nominal "King of Britain," the sovereign of Camelot.
Yet in the face of this—
The raised hand of Lucan simply swept forward, and in that single motion tore apart all the surging magical energy.
At that very instant, he did not retreat but advanced.
His hand glimmered faintly with invisible radiance, wrapped in the True Ether magical energy that he himself actively unleashed—tearing apart everything rampaging before him.
Be it dragon or man.
Be it island or living being!
The white shockwave of dragon's magical energy was like a curtain being torn apart, disintegrating beneath his fingers.
And then, in the next moment—
The figure of the Vile King emerged from within, his fist roaring forth!
Fist and palm collided like tidal wave against crashing sea!
It was mystery against mystery, "god" against "dragon," and more still, "god" against "god."
For the so-called Vile King was both a dragon species and, in essence, akin to the outstretched tendril of an island in the form of a dragon—an embodiment of nature itself.
A dragon, yes—but closer to a "divine spirit."
As was said before, Vortigern's existence was akin to those ancient gods birthed directly from the planet in primordial times.
Within him dwelled a terrifying density of magical energy, and the very mystery of his being made his fists the mightiest of weapons.
A blow enough to shatter armies and annihilate cities.
Like a "heavy cannon"—or more like the Vile King's hammer swung down upon the earth.
And yet—
Lucan simply pressed forth with steady strength.
He layered the Threefold Circuit, causing the fierce clash to crumble and dissolve between his fingers.
Four fingers closed, leaving only one.
And with a single finger thrust forth, his strength unchanged, still powered by the Threefold Circuit—but now piercing through surface and point—he broke through the explosive barrier of draconic magical energy before him.
That finger strike forced Vortigern to stagger backward, his form recoiling into a defensive retreat.
The surging dragon's magical energy fell back, leaving behind a fading trail.
The retreating Vortigern felt a searing sense of crisis.
He fixed his gaze on the youth before him, that single raised finger, guided by divine thought, spirit, and flesh. Though not the full might of the Threefold Circuit, it was enough to tear apart his "Vile King's Hammer"—and pierce through his magical-energy-shrouded body.
All around, the spectators had not yet recovered from the shock.
Even Morgan, who stood closest to Lucan's side, only now reacted.
She realized Lucan had already repelled Vortigern—and she had not even managed to lend him her aid.
In the blink of an eye, the clash was already decided.
"Hu… ha!"
The aged figure of Vortigern lifted his head, his Pendragon-gold hair flaring wildly.
That aged yet vigorous face curved into a smile:
"To think that in this era, there exists one such as you—"
"What is your name…?"
He had already sensed something unusual before their clash.
But only through this exchange did he confirm the true strength of the one before him.
That impenetrable, perfect circulation—forming itself into a "round," an endless cycle of absolute mystery.
Yes, it was real.
And truly worthy of being treated with all seriousness!
"Subotai Equinus."
Lucan responded calmly to the towering figure's question. His tone was even, his expression composed. The glow within his eyes wove in streams of light.
In that instant, he was not only contending with his foe—he was already feeding Vortigern's "Vile King's Hammer" into the system of divine thought within his mind.
First gather.
Then condense.
Next, extract.
Finally, bear.
These were the three steps Lucan envisioned for constructing a Mystic Code of war.
"I am the next head of the Equinus family."
"Subotai Equinus… Subotai Equinus… So it is you!" Vortigern mouthed the name, and in the next moment, a flash of realization struck him.
But then his lips twisted upward into a wider, harsher grin.
He gazed upon the youth before him with an expression closer to gleeful mirth—
"It seems, until I tear you all apart, I will not know boredom!"
"My foolish brother."
"And you… false nightmare!"
Vortigern's gaze shifted toward the aged King Uther in the rear, and the handsome young man who stood smiling calmly by his side.
The dragon's roar threatened once more to erupt.
An intangible white dragon-shade began to manifest as magical energy swirled and gathered, forming clarity from haze—
Emanating from Vortigern's very body—
It was the dragon's body itself.
The manifestation of Britain's negativity—
The Chalk White Dragon!
Lucan smiled faintly, though his stance grew taut.
Vortigern's power was beyond question.
This humanoid form was far from his strongest—dragonkind were strongest in their dragon bodies.
In human shape, Vortigern was not difficult for Lucan to face.
But in dragon form… that was something that had to be tested.
Yet just at this momentary pause, Morgan, standing at Lucan's side, finally seized her chance. She raised her staff high.
In the next instant, the air shimmered with magical ripples.
Like mercury, a mirrored surface manifested in midair, reflecting distorted visions of reality.
"Don't you dare forget me, Uncle Vortigern."
The girl stepped forward in her long dress, her graceful figure at last standing truly shoulder to shoulder with Lucan.
Her golden hair swayed as she spoke:
"Though my Water Mirror Thaumaturgy is not yet perfected, even you cannot ignore it, can you?"
Even with merely her authority as "Lord of the Isle," Morgan's mystery already surpassed all magi, even most magi of the Age of Gods.
Yet she had never abandoned her pursuit as a magus.
Gifted as she was, she had already developed a series of grand thaumaturgies on the level of the Age of Gods.
They had not yet been formed into a complete system, but their beginnings had already taken shape.
The Court of Reverse Flow she had previously used against Lucan was one such spell—the strongest binding within her "Court Thaumaturgy."
And now, the Water Mirror was another.
Not for attacking an enemy, but for inverting truth and void, for transferring space itself!
Court and Mirror—these were Morgan's twin pinnacles of thaumaturgy.
Before the unfurling Water Mirror, Vortigern's expression hardened.
He glanced once at Lucan, then once at the maiden standing at his side.
In the end, he gave a cold snort and pulled back the emerging dragon's body.
For this was still within Camelot.
Here stood countless warriors and heroes, and above all, the holy city of Britain under the protection of the Crown.
Even he could not act with complete abandon here—could not unleash his full strength wantonly.
If the battle could not be swiftly concluded, he himself would fall into trouble.
And even with his dragon body, two against one… Vortigern had no absolute confidence of victory.
Especially against Morgan's Water Mirror.
As her uncle, he knew well how troublesome such thaumaturgy was.
Though it lacked independent offensive might, in support, it could be an enormous threat.
Thus—
"Today, it seems fortune smiles upon you."
"Uther, Merlin."
"And you… Subotai!"
With those words, Vortigern withdrew his dragon's magical energy completely.
He turned without hesitation and departed.
In the shattered ruins of the palace hall, all present exchanged glances. Their eyes fell upon the youth and maiden standing at its center, and at last, they exhaled in relief.
King Uther met Merlin's smiling eyes.
Merlin nodded, still with that look of one amused by the spectacle.
Morgan, catching Lucan's sidelong glance, gave only a cold snort.
"There is no need to thank me…"
"This is merely a little payment."
Payment…
"I don't recall this being the payment I asked for," Lucan replied.
Her answer was nothing but a roll of her eyes.
That moment had already passed.
To make her call him "elder brother" now—it would be a thousand times more difficult than before!
[Yet in truth, within your heart, you did feel a flicker of gratitude toward Morgan's aid]
[For to fight Vortigern in his dragon body here, the outcome was far from certain. Aside from Uther, Merlin, and Morgan, none of those present would have survived]
[That would hardly serve your plans]
[You did not cross mountains and seas merely to serve yourself up as fodder to Vortigern]
[Though that gratitude was slight]
[Though even had Vortigern truly "raged," you had the means to lure him away—shift the battlefield elsewhere]
[For since you dared to provoke him, you naturally had your own reliance]
[But Morgan's presence, in the end, spared you much labor in magical engineering]
[Thus the banquet of this day, ruined by Vortigern's arrival, came to an abrupt close]
[Yet the news of you and Morgan together driving back the "Vile King" Vortigern spread like wildfire]
[Soon, it was known throughout Camelot—throughout half of Britain]