Ian's warning put her fully on edge. She soon sensed it too. Although everything seemed calm, something had indeed crept in unnoticed.
"Hide, Artoria."
He placed her in the wagon.
"Ian, you—"
"Don't worry about me. I'm Tiamat's descendant."
Crack—crack—
The sound of joints cracking filled the air as Ian flexed his limbs. Years of soaking in the Sea of Life had granted him immense strength.
"This way?"
His crimson eyes scanned the area. He suddenly lashed out with a powerful punch.
Artoria was stunned. From her perspective, he had punched at empty air. But the next moment, she saw something unbelievable—a shadowy black figure appeared right where his punch landed, as if it had rushed into his fist. In an instant, the figure was crushed and vanished from her sight.
"Ian, what was that?"
"I don't know."
Ian's glowing eyes swept the surroundings.
"But... they smell terrible. And they seem to have a problem with you."
"Huh?"
Artoria was stunned. She hadn't expected those shadow creatures to be hostile toward her.
"Ian, let's just run!"
"Run? Why would we run?"
Ian exhaled a puff of hot air. Another punch came down, preemptively striking a spot where another shadow had yet to appear.
"If we run, they'll just see us as prey."
"We need to turn the tables—make them feel like they're the prey."
"Just stay put, Artoria."
A powerful gust of wind swept through, making the campfire flicker. Then, the light went out completely.
In the wagon, Artoria heard a long howl. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was Ian. It matched the one she'd heard in her dreams.
And she was right.
The moment the fire went out, Ian's body transformed. If his usual self—the one she had intimate contact with—was his human side, and the dragon from her dreams was his true form born of Tiamat's blood, then now... he was something in between.
He had a tail and sharp claws, but his face remained recognizable to Artoria.
Not fully dragon, but not entirely human either.
In the silent night, blood-red eyes were the only light. In front of him, the black shadows were gathering. A fierce battle was inevitable.
Outside, chaotic noises erupted. Artoria knew—he was protecting her. Unable to do much, the girl clutched her chest. Her heart was racing fast…
Who knew how much time had passed. As the first rays of morning sunlight streamed into the carriage, Artoria rubbed her eyes and woke up. Almost instantly, she recalled the surprise attack from the night before.
"Eh? When did I fall asleep?! I was supposed to—"
"You got tired," the boy's voice interrupted her. He appeared not far away.
Seeing his appearance, Artoria's face turned bright red.
"Where are your clothes?! Put something on!"
"They're ruined."
"Ruined…?" Artoria leaned out of the carriage and was stunned. Around the carriage, trees were bent and flattened outward, as if a storm had radiated from their location.
If even the trees were like this, no wonder the clothes didn't survive.
"Did you do all this?" Artoria's pupils trembled.
"Not all of it. Those nasty-smelling things had some power too."
"But—" She was about to speak when she noticed the injuries on him.
Without hesitation, she said, "Come here."
"Huh?"
"Just hurry up and come here!"
"Okay."
Inside the carriage, the wounded Ian sat facing Artoria.
"Idiot. Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"
"No need."
"Of course there's a need!"
Artoria began unbuttoning her clothes.
If last night was passive, then this time she was taking the initiative.
"You said you'd protect me. So I have a duty to take care of your basic needs too, right?"
"Today… you can go a little overboard."
"If you drink some, you'll recover faster, right?"
"Alright. It's settled then. This can make up for last night."
Artoria clearly underestimated Ian's desire for her. No sooner had she said that than he pounced. It felt like she was being devoured. But perhaps only this kind of closeness could truly match her resolve to stand by him.
The carriage began to rock.
Meanwhile, in the royal capital of Britain—Camelot.
A young woman, bearing a striking resemblance to Artoria, stood on her balcony. But her expression was grim. Her name was Morgan, eldest daughter of King Uther. By right of succession, she should've been the next ruler of Britain.
But everything was ruined. Artoria—that girl who was only her sister in name—had already been secretly designated the heir by their damned father. The ritual to choose a king was just for show. That sword was meant for Artoria alone.
What a joke.
How was this fair?
She hadn't lost to that countryside girl in anything!
Jealousy and bitterness twisted Morgan's heart. Britain was hers. All of it. Artoria had to be eliminated.
But…
Why did it turn out like this?
She remembered using her secret magic to control the shadow beings—no one was supposed to know—but then encountered that half-human, half-dragon creature.
Morgan clenched her fists, cold sweat dripping down her brow.
What was that monster?
Why could it wipe out her shadows so easily?
She couldn't understand. Her faith in her own power wavered.
"Artoria… what did you summon?"