In this world, there are always those who are acutely sensitive to the things around them.
One moment, they marvel at the beauty of life under gentle sunlight and blooming flowers; the next, they sink into melancholy, lamenting how sunlight fades and flowers wither.
Morgan was such a person.
In truth, even Morgan herself knew this was an affliction... a mental one.
Yet, she had no desire to change it.
From a noble Red Dragon Princess to a fallen princess forced to wander foreign lands, only she knew the bitterness and heartache of that journey. Over the past decade, she had forged a shell called [Avenger] from her burning rage and hatred... forced to become strong, forced to swallow bitter fruits that should never have been hers to bear.
Those experiences led her to believe that the little princess who once swung on a garden swing with her mother was gone forever.
But now.
"Are you… Mother?"
When Artoria's clear, foolish voice rang in her ears, Morgan was startled to find those long-blurred memories growing vivid once more.
Only this time, she was no longer the little girl on the swing... she was the adult standing beside a child, her face showing disdain but never disgust.
"Idiot."
"Your sister!"
"Eh?!?"
The atmosphere suddenly warmed.
Perhaps it was the surroundings... the fragrant grassy field, glowing spirits dancing in the air.
In such a setting, even the gloomiest woman would soften her brow, adopting a slightly more relaxed demeanor.
Moreover, the current Morgan was far from the [Witch of Britain] who would later seek to bury Camelot and all of Britain.
Perhaps because the White Dragon King still loomed as a great enemy, Morgan realized that having a sister wasn't such a bad thing. At the very least, if she died, the red dragon's bloodline could live on through another.
What puzzled Morgan, though, was why her illegitimate sister was so close to the White Dragon King… Could this be another of his vile schemes? Did he adopt and raise this illegitimate child, turning her against her own kin to stage a tragic sisterly showdown?
"No, it's not like that."
"Though both are white dragons, one is a king, the other a god... two entirely different beings."
"Um… Merlin, the famous great magus Merlin, you know him, right? He can vouch for it!"
Artoria tried to convince Morgan that "this white dragon is not that White Dragon King"... but she failed. Her knowledge of the mystic arts was barely better than Morgan's half-baked magecraft. All she could do was invoke an authoritative figure to back her claim.
But...
"Merlin?"
"You know where he is?"
As if a trigger word had been spoken.
At the mention of that man's name, Morgan's eyes, which had begun to soften, narrowed instantly, gleaming with dangerous intensity.
"Ah, I don't… know… He's always appearing and disappearing; I don't know where he is."
"Oh, I know! The tavern… He's probably at a tavern…"
Artoria answered with difficulty.
Morgan noticed the golden ahoge on her head swaying like seaweed, a clear sign of her sister's aimless panic.
Obviously.
Her foolish sister had no idea how to lie.
"Well… fine."
If her sister were someone who lied as easily as that magus, she wouldn't want her anyway!
…
The misunderstanding was cleared.
What followed was a time for the sisters to catch up.
But honestly, the reunion of the red dragon sisters was far less emotional than the onlooker (Vena) had imagined. There was no tight embrace, no tears mixed with smiles, no endless words to share.
... What was there to say about a distant past? Neither the endless days of study and training nor a life spent hiding in the shadows of exile were topics worth revisiting now.
So, after briefly reminiscing about their shared father and how Artoria had carried a white stone home from a pile of rubble, the sisters tacitly turned to the only topic they could both discuss:
[How's your progress on restoring the kingdom?]
"It's going… decently, I suppose."
"There have been some challenges… but I believe we'll overcome them."
Artoria was the first to share her struggles.
It had to be said, Merlin had truly molded her into an exceptional king... at least in terms of kingdom-building.
In less than half a year, the small tribe of thirty or forty people had grown into a large village of three to four hundred. Most were refugees fleeing disaster-stricken areas, with a small number of noble knights like Bedivere, drawn by the dream of saving Britain.
But Artoria knew this "kingdom" Had reached its limit.
At their current scale, further expansion was impossible without war or other means. Yet the surrounding kingdoms seemed to have made a pact, treating Artoria and her kingdom with utter indifference.
No communication, no contact, no trade… They completely ignored Artoria and her nation, as if it didn't exist.
At the same time, a rumor had spread across Britain: Artoria, the heaven-chosen one, was an ignoble illegitimate child, and King Uther had schemed to betray the Duke of Tintagel, taking his wife.
"What a bunch of despicable cowards!"
Morgan gritted her teeth in anger.
She knew exactly what those kings were thinking... she, or rather, their father, had been killed by the same tactics!
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