In this world, there are always some people who are extremely sensitive to external things. One moment they will be感慨 the beauty of life because of the gentle sunshine and blooming flowers, and the next they will become sentimental because the sun will always dissipate and the flowers will always wither.
Morgan was such a person. In fact, even she herself knew that this was a kind of illness, a mental illness. But she had no desire to change this condition.
From a noble Red Dragon Princess to an exiled princess of a fallen kingdom, only she alone knew the hardships and heartaches. And in these ten years, she had long since forged a shell for herself called [Avenger] with her raging anger and hatred—she was forced to become strong, forced to swallow the bitter fruits that she should not have had to swallow. This experience once made her think that the little princess who once swung on a swing with her mother in the garden would never return.
But, now.
"Are you... Mother?"
When Artoria's clear and foolish voice sounded by her ear, Morgan was somewhat surprised to find that those long-blurred images seemed to gradually become clear again. It was just that this time, she was no longer the little girl sitting on the swing—but the adult standing next to the child, her face showing a look of disdain, but definitely not disgust.
"Idiot."
"It's 'older sister'!"
"Eh???"
The atmosphere suddenly became harmonious. This was perhaps related to the surrounding environment—on the fragrant grassy ground, glittering little fairies danced in the air. In such an environment, even the most gloomy woman would slightly relax her brows and show a more relaxed appearance.
Not to mention, the current Morgan was actually far from the later [Witch of Britain] who "wanted to bury Camelot, along with all of Britain."
It was probably because the great enemy, the White Dragon King, still existed. Morgan suddenly realized that having a younger sister was not a bad thing—at least after her death, the bloodline of the red dragon could still be passed on from another person.
What puzzled Morgan, however, was why her illegitimate little sister had such a good relationship with the White Dragon King... could this be another of that White Dragon King's despicable tricks? Did he adopt this illegitimate daughter and raise her, thus making her take a thief for a father, and then stage a tragic drama of sisters killing each other?
"Um, that's not the case."
"Although they are both white dragons, one is a king and the other is a god. They are two completely different individuals."
"Mmm... Merlin, that very famous great magus Merlin, you know him, right? He can testify!"
Artoria tried to prove to Morgan that "this white dragon is not that white dragon"—but she failed. Her understanding of the mystical side was actually not much better than this half-baked magus Morgan. She could only try to bring out an authoritative person to prove that what she said was not false.
But—
"Merlin?"
"Do you know where he is?"
As if a trigger word had been activated, upon hearing this man's name, Morgan's eyes, which had begun to soften, instantly narrowed and became extremely dangerous.
"Ah, I don't... know... he, he's always appearing and disappearing, I don't know where he is either."
"Ah, I know! The tavern... he should have gone to the tavern..."
Artoria's answer was very difficult. And Morgan noticed the golden ahoge on top of her head, which had begun to sway from side to side like a blade of seaweed, looking completely helpless.
Clearly, her foolish little sister had no idea how to lie.
"But... that's fine too."
If she were a little sister who lied as easily as that magus, I wouldn't want her anyway!
...
The misunderstanding was resolved. Next was the time for the sisters to catch up. But to be honest, the reunion of these red dragon sisters was far from as exciting as the onlookers (Vena) had imagined. The two of them would not hug each other tightly, crying and smiling at the same time, as if they had endless things to say.
—Regarding the distant past, they didn't even have much to talk about with each other.
Yes, what was there to say? Whether it was the day-to-day study and training or the life of exile in the dark, these were clearly not things that could be brought up for reminiscence at this time.
Therefore, after a brief reminiscence of their common father, and recounting how she had carried a white stone home from a pile of rubble, the two sisters tacitly began to talk about the only common topic they could discuss at the moment:
[How is your progress in restoring the country?]
"It should be said that it's alright."
"Although I have encountered some difficulties... but I think there will always be a way to overcome them."
Artoria was the first to speak of her predicament. It had to be said that Merlin had really cultivated her into a very outstanding king—at least in terms of kingdom building, this was really the case.
In just less than half a year, that small tribe of only thirty or forty people had developed into a large town of three or four hundred people. The vast majority of them were refugees who had fled from disaster-stricken areas, and a small number were high-minded knights like Bedivere who had followed her because they also held the dream of saving Britain.
But up to this point, Artoria also knew that the development of this "kingdom" had reached a limit. With their current size, if they did not expand through war or other means, they could no longer continue to expand—but the surrounding kingdoms seemed to have made an agreement, and they maintained an attitude of "indifference" towards her and her kingdom.
No communication, no contact, no trade... they completely ignored Artoria and her country, as if it did not exist at all.
At the same time, a rumor had recently spread on the Isle of Britain: Artoria, chosen by heaven, was actually a disgraceful illegitimate daughter. King Uther had framed the Duke of Tintagel and had taken his wife by force.
"What a bunch of despicable villains!" Morgan cursed through gritted teeth. She certainly knew what those kings were thinking—her, no, it should be said, their father, had been brought down by these kings using the same means!
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