Because of Vortigern's abnormal behavior, among the many tribes of the Angles under his command, even rumors began to circulate—that Vortigern was cowering in fear of the birth of a new King in the southern kingdom of Camelot.
For the very first day that Vortigern hid himself away atop the castle was the same day the sage Merlin proclaimed his prophecy in Camelot, and with the "Sword in the Stone" began the choosing of a king.
Merlin's prophecy—that the child of the Red Dragon would strike down the White Dragon—had even reached the ears of the Angles.
At first, of course, no one found it worthy of belief.
Even though Vortigern's myth of invincibility had already been broken.Even though he had been defeated by Subotai—before the eyes of many Angles.
Still, the power of the White Chalk Dragon was not to be doubted.That day's scene, all clear-eyed onlookers knew: it was Subotai's scheme against the White Dragon, not a true and total suppression by sheer strength.
Yet Vortigern's unnatural behavior, paradoxically, lent credence to those rumors.
It seemed he really was afraid.
Afraid of that "King" in the south.Afraid of that so-called "child of the Red Dragon."
"Foolish savages!"
The dragon's fury erupted instantly against the wizard's seemingly earnest persuasion. Blazing dragonfire seared the very air, burning layers of pitch-black folds and cracks into space itself. The wizard wailed, crumbling into ash and bone, while within the fire the dragon's eyes flared wide, like a solar corona hanging above the vast hall.
Vortigern was truly, utterly enraged.
The so-called prophecy of that fraud Merlin—This so-called child of the Red Dragon—how could they possibly inspire fear in him?
What I truly fear—
"...Is not that nameless little brat!"
Vortigern did not deny his fear.
Any who had once tasted death could not help but feel it.Any who, after giving everything, still met defeat—would inevitably collapse for a time.
Even if afterwards, all vanished, and he had inexplicably "revived."Even if afterwards, two years of Britain's history had disappeared.
Only he remembered.
Though he was the embodiment of the isle itself, a manifestation of its malice, Vortigern still existed as a living being.
And living beings have always feared death.
That is inescapable.
But if it were only this, he might suffer a setback, but he would not remain fallen forever.
The embodiment of the isle, driven by the instinct of endless evolution—so long as it does not truly perish, it can always mend its flaws and rise to fight again.
Yet—
He did not only remember dying.At the instant he reached the threshold of death, he also beheld a far more dreadful sight.
He saw that man.
"Subotai Equinus!"
Vortigern's deep roar shook the castle high above, rattled Hadrian's Wall that linked to it inside and out, and set the stretching mountain ranges to rumbling in chorus.
In this upheaval, dark magic spread wantonly, the dragon's rage intermingled with fear.
In this upheaval—
A figure seemed to tear through a rift in space itself.
"You called for me?"
A voice resounded.
Every utterance is heard.
This, too, was one of the traits Lucan possessed ever since he had forged "psychic magecraft."
No matter the era, there were always too many speaking his name for him to respond to each. But still—this trait persisted.
Vortigern, however, was different.The White Chalk Dragon, by the sheer weight and mystery of his existence, was enough to stir Lucan's instant response.
Of course—
What arrived was not his true body, but a phantom projection manifested through magecraft. His true self remained in Camelot, gathering knights from across the realm.
The Lucan that appeared now stood amidst the hall aflame with dragonfire. Gazing at the glaring White Dragon, he only grinned.
"You really are a pitiful sight, 'Vortigern the Vile.'"
"Subotai Equinus..." Vortigern's draconic eyes widened, his pupils narrowing.
His roar rumbled like thunder, his breath heaving in waves like a storming tide.
Yet despite his oppressive presence, Lucan—separated by a thousand miles—could still sense the hollowness and dread within him.
The dragon's spirit had a flaw.
"So afraid of dying?" Lucan asked.
...It was only once....He had only died once.
Lucan, shameless as ever, thought to himself: I've died three times already—thanks to the [Simulator].
"Of course I fear death."
But though he admitted it, the Isle Dragon was no lesser being. Even if beaten, Vortigern would not truly lose his composure. After that moment of panic, he calmed. His gaze narrowed, casting a piercing cold light.
"But what I fear even more is to have my very existence erased into nothingness!"
"You know what you're doing, don't you—Subotai Equinus!?"
"What I'm doing..." Lucan blinked, then suddenly understood. "Ah—so you saw it too."
That a dragon who had brushed against death would glimpse such a vision—was not strange at all.
"So what?"
Still, Lucan remained utterly at ease.
Looking at the dragon before him, he repeated, word by word:
"So. What?"
"So what!?" Vortigern's eyes shook, losing composure again. "You—!"
He wanted to denounce Lucan's recklessness.He wanted to condemn his madness.He wanted to warn him of the consequences—
"But isn't it merely twisting one strand of human history, severing one span of time, deceiving the 'World' once?"
Lucan said: "Even if it ends in failure—"
"Humanity, and knights above all, were born precisely to do this!"
Since he had chosen to challenge the Counter Force—he had already prepared for everything.
Even for the possibility of failure.
"You would drag the world itself to the grave with you?" Vortigern's voice sank lower still.
"Die and dig graves, live and soar together," Lucan said. "That's only fair, isn't it?"
"You..."
Vortigern's words faltered.
Regardless of consequence.Regardless of cost.Regardless of loss.
And above all, never once placing those outside his world in his eyes.
"You really are a madman!"
At last, that was all Vortigern could say.
"To be a magus, to be a knight—when is one ever not mad?" Lucan answered carelessly. "A knight is one who challenges the windmill monster that can never be defeated—that's what makes them knights, isn't it?"
"But you won't succeed," Vortigern said. "The Age of Gods will still end. The Kingdom of Camelot as well. They cannot last."
"Then wait and see, Vortigern." Lucan's gaze locked on him with a smile. "In the Underworld, keep your eyes wide open—and watch me play my hand."
"I'll dazzle you until your scalp tingles!"
As his words fell—
The projection vanished.
Only the dragon's heavy breathing remained.
And then—
The earth rumbled with a thunderous quake!
"Great White King, the new sovereign of Camelot, Arthur, is marching upon us!"
...
[You ended your dialogue with Vortigern, separated by billions of li.][And before it ended, you glimpsed faintly, in the distant north, the radiance of the holy sword and holy lance.][Artoria Pendragon—the new King of Britain, Arthur.][She had already, a month before, marched north with her host.][Leading a mighty army of five thousand knights.][Bearing the Sword in the Stone, the Sword of the Lake, the Holy Lance, and many other armaments.][She would surely triumph over Vortigern the Vile.]
"So then."
"You'd best stay in the Underworld... if this age still has such a thing as an Underworld."
Within the deepest chambers of Camelot's palace, Lucan murmured softly.
[One week later][News spread across Britain—Vortigern had been defeated by 'King Arthur.'][The Kingdom of Camelot subdued the northern lands. For the first time since Vortigern's secession, the entire isle of Britain was united.][The kingdom's power expanded, the knightly class grew.][In your mind, the [Armory] that had long since fused as one blazed ever brighter.][It seemed ready to break forth from your very thought-circuits.][It now faintly bore the outline of a 'Crown.'][And faintly, the shadow of an 'Angel' stirred.]