Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Melting the frost of rejection, peeling away the hard, self-protective shell, her heart is quite soft and sensitive.

in case……

If fate were to show her more favor, and the world were to offer her another choice, perhaps she would become a queen no less than Artoria.

"Hahaha, just as I thought, just like Uther!"

The lowly king coughed up blood and laughed wildly, his deep black eyes looking down at his niece, his pupils unfathomable.

"Very good. As a reward for suppressing the calamity and defeating the demonic dragon, I will personally crown you king!"

Amidst the astonishment of the crowd, Voodoo slowly rose, spread his fingers, and reached into the gaping hole in the chest to search inside.

puff!

With a dull thud, a pulsating, purplish-red heart was forcibly pulled from the chest cavity by the old man.

On the decaying jade throne, the purplish-red heart was covered with spiderweb-like cracks, yet it radiated a jade-like luster, and the faint phantom of a dragon beast coiled within it could be seen.

Samael's pupils contracted slightly. The familiar fluctuations allowed him to gradually recognize the origin of this thing from his vast sea of ​​memories.

Dragon's Hearth...

Or it should be called—Dragon's Jewel Opal!

According to some legends, after the creation of the world in Norse mythology, there were four sacred artifacts.

They are the Fairy Bow [Sylvin], the Flaming Demon Sword [Leivadin], the Eternal Spear [Gungnir], and this last Dragon Jewel [Op].

It was probably by sheer coincidence that Vortigern himself was embedded in the heart of the dragon's furnace and gained control of the spirit tomb of the dragon Albion, which was integrated with the land of the British gods. This gave him such great power that he was able to successfully defeat King Uther, who was protected by mystery, and gradually complete the transformation from body to soul.

Now, the lowly king has personally dug out this core, which is tantamount to ending his own life.

Click!

Voodoo clenched his fist, and the Dragon Jewel shattered instantly, turning into dust-like particles that scattered beneath the decaying throne.

In an instant, orbs of light of all sizes peeled off the dragon bones and flowed into the body of the British witch.

"Morgan, my dear niece, accept my blessing; from this day forward, all the mystery of Britain will gather upon you."

An old man with a hollow chest sat back on a decaying jade throne, his bloodstained lips uttering a chilling curse.

Or rather, it is a prophecy of destiny.

"Pathetic king, laughable round table, and even more detestable, foolish people of Britain! Do not think that by destroying me, this nation built on distortion will prosper forever! There is no immortal nation, no eternal king. We are all the same, outcasts that the world cannot tolerate, and abandoned children who will ultimately be fooled by fate!"

In an instant, Vortigern, whose lower body began to disintegrate into sand inch by inch, fixed his expectant gaze on Morgan, and examined the almost perfect rare witch below with satisfaction, laughing heartily.

"And you are the one who will end it all. You will complete my unfinished task and avenge me against Uther, against Britain, and against that King of Knights! Hahahaha!"

Boom!

At this moment, without the support of the Dragon Jewel, the entire Dragon Remains Tomb shook violently.

Wow!

As the protective membrane collapsed, the water in the swamp surged back into the dragon's skeleton.

The witch, having received the gift, stood there in a daze, immersed in some kind of emotion, seemingly oblivious to the outside world.

"This place is going to collapse, hurry up!"

Seeing this, Samael picked up the stunned Morgan without saying a word and ran wildly towards the exit through the passage.

The others snapped out of their daze and hurriedly followed.

"This is your inescapable fate! This is Britain's destined end! I await that day, hahahahaha!"

As the surging waters poured back, the unrestrained laughter on the decaying jade throne was completely swallowed up.

boom!

Above the Misty Swamp, the water surface roared violently as the dragon's remains disintegrated and sank, the backflowing water forming a huge whirlpool that swept away all traces of the dragon.

The group stood on the churning water, gazing at the surging waves, speechless.

The witch, regaining her senses, gazed at the churning waters of the swamp, murmuring silently, her eyes filled with complex emotions and a hesitant expression.

This meeting felt to her more like a deliberately orchestrated test.

During their exchange, Morgan also noticed that Vortigern had another penetrating wound in his chest that had yet to heal, a wound inflicted by a lance…

From the very beginning, this man knew he had little chance of winning. Regardless of success or failure, everything he did was perhaps for the same purpose.

The fall of the old king serves as the coronation of the new king, thus continuing the cycle of revenge.

Fairy Knights... Knights of the Round Table...

Even the four great calamities could be the foundation prepared for her.

"Don't worry, I'm fine."

Morgan nodded to Bagst and Bavansh, who had gathered around him with concern, a look of relief on his face. He murmured to himself, his gaze resolute.

But you made the wrong choice.

Vortigern, I will never become you!

"Look! Something is rising from underwater!"

Just as the witch was lost in thought, the sharp-eyed Habertrot pointed to the area where a dragon's remains were shimmering with a purplish-red hue and shouted loudly.

Samael's expression shifted, he lightly touched the water, jumped towards the light source, and as he bent down and groped, he actually pulled out a wriggling lump of flesh from the water.

That shouldn't be the case. The dragon skeleton has lost its magic power, so how could it continue to breed degraded dragon species?

No, this magic is very pure. It doesn't come from dragon bones, but from... Dragon Jewel!

With their keen intuition, Mary and Morgan were the first to realize the reason. They exchanged a glance and stepped forward one after the other.

As the two approached, they were shocked to find that Samael was holding a petite girl with white hair and golden eyes, her body covered in amniotic fluid.

Clearly, this is a life created from a fragment of the Dragon Jewel.

Samael handed the sleeping girl to Morgan and murmured meaningfully.

Morgan took it instinctively, a strange sense of familiarity welling up inside him.

At the same time, the white-haired girl turned her head, opened her golden snake eyes, looked around in confusion, and then her gaze seemed to pass through the thin veil and freeze on the witch's beautiful face.

"Let's call her Melusin."

Morgan pondered for a moment, then smiled and named the new life in his arms.

Fate, oh fate...

Samael glanced back at the dragon's remains, which had completely sunk to the bottom of the water, and looked up at the sky, murmuring silently.

At the same time, the Wild Hunt army, which the Knights of the Round Table had driven to a desolate hill with great effort, suddenly turned into wisps of dust and scattered with the wind.

Even the Storm King, who had repeatedly thwarted the Knights of the Round Table, only lingered for a moment longer under the blowing sand before vanishing without a trace.

It was as if everything had never existed.

The Knights of the Round Table, poised to deliver the final blow, watched in dismay as the Wild Hunt army vanished into thin air, hastily ending their anticlimactic hunt.

A few days later, the exciting news spread throughout Britain.

The Twelve Dynasties Wars finally came to an end, and the Saxons were driven off the coast.

The North and the South were also completely unified.

Good things kept happening one after another. Seemingly thwarted by the knights' glory, the four great calamities—the insect plague, the beast plague, the dragon plague, and the wild hunt—also vanished into thin air.

The people, who had suffered greatly from the war, were overjoyed and spontaneously took to the streets to sing and celebrate, cheering for the rebirth of Britain.

Everything has finally come to an end, but everything is about to begin.

Chapter Sixty-Two: Give Me a Girlfriend?

As the sun rises, its brilliant, fragmented golden rays pierce through the clouds, showering Britain with light and illuminating the pure white, ideal land on the earth.

As the morning mist gradually dissipates, the majestic city of Camelot stands like a lion awakened from its slumber.

As the winch turned and the magic incantation lit up, two teams of fully armed charioteers slowly opened the closed main gate and separated their guards on both sides.

In the city, whether they were simply dressed commoners or splendid nobles, they all gathered on the main street leading to the gates of the holy city, looking out with anticipation and excitement.

Woo~woo~

Soon, a powerful horn sounded, and a torrent of steel, gleaming in the sunlight, like a silver tide, surged across the distant horizon and rapidly advanced toward the gates of the Holy City.

In an instant, the sound of ten thousand horses galloping thundered like lightning, and the ground beneath everyone's feet seemed to be a heavy drum being struck repeatedly, trembling violently and kicking up sand and stones.

Even before the army arrived, a chilling and desolate atmosphere permeated the air, making it almost impossible to breathe. Faced with this invincible army, even the holy city of Camelot could not provide people with any sense of security. Everyone felt as if they were in the midst of flashing swords and shadows, their bodies shivering with cold.

Under its sharp edge, any enemy who dares to block their path will have their courage and will to resist instantly swept away, leaving only the thought of throwing away their weapons, discarding their armor, and turning to run away.

Boom!

As they approached the Holy City, the massive army suddenly slowed down and quickly split into several groups, displaying superb coordination and horsemanship through their changing formations.

Each team was clearly defined yet coordinated with one another, each led by one or more Knights of the Round Table.

The righteous knights following behind then raised their own commander's crest and banner.

Looking into the distance, one can see Lancelot, the Knight of the Lake; Gawain, the Knight of the Sun; Gahoris and Gareth, the sixth and seventh seats of the Round Table; Agravine, the Iron Wall; Tristan, the Son of Sorrow; and many other renowned Knights of the Round Table.

In an instant, the army surged like a tide, and banners fluttered like clouds.

Surrounded by a multitude of stars, the King of Knights, clad in a lion-mane helmet and fully enclosed silver-white armor, stood at the forefront. His imposing presence was like that of a god walking on earth, causing people to instinctively hold their breath and feel an urge to prostrate themselves in worship.

It wasn't until the Knight King passed through the main gate and walked out onto the main street that the people of the Holy City who had been watching and celebrating nearby suddenly awoke from their reverie and shouted out the joy that had been suppressed in their hearts to the Knights of the Round Table who were entering the Holy City one after another.

Amidst the enthusiastic revelry, people waved their right hands vigorously and tossed flower petals and dried fruit at the knights from the legendary tales, including noblewomen and socialites who threw handkerchiefs and flirted with the characters.

The crowd was filled with the excited screams of the fervent fans who had met their idols, as well as the noisy discussions and boasts about the knights.

But almost no one mentions the king who was walking at the very front.

They felt either awe or fear, but lacked any sense of closeness.

Unbeknownst to them, the Knights of the Round Table, hindered by the enthusiastic crowd, had already fallen quite a distance from the King.

Amidst the clamor, the witch, lurking in a dimly lit corner, coldly observes this enthusiastic nationwide carnival.

Of course, this was a celebration excluding the monarch...

When people feel helpless and lost, they often chant the name of God and pray for His protection.

However, on ordinary days, if the gods actually descend and are right before their eyes, they will hesitate and turn away.

Yes, how could a god who sits high on the clouds be close to people who crawl on the ground?

Perhaps this is the price of becoming king in response to people's expectations.

Morgan murmured to himself, recalling Vortigern's dying mockery amidst the dragon's remains in the swamp.

It's so sad...

"You're not watching anymore? The excitement isn't over yet."

Seeing her employer turn and leave, Mary, who was on the roof, cracked open some sunflower seeds and dried fruit that she had somehow managed to get, and enthusiastically tried to persuade her to stay.

"Boring. What about Samael?"

Morgan declined curtly and turned to ask.

"He said he was going to take the kids for a walk around the neighborhood to see if there was anything to do, and he'd be back right on time for dinner."

Mary answered casually, then her eyes darted around, and she lowered her head from the eaves, smiling at Morgan.

"What? You've only been apart for less than an hour, and you're already missing him?"

"No one will think you are mute if you don't speak!"

Just as the white-haired succubus was making her usual teasing remark, a miniature curse bullet whistled out from below, nearly hitting her in the face.

"Just because I guessed what you were thinking doesn't mean I have to kill you to cover it up, does it?"

Mary shrank back, grumbled, and then, true to her nature, continued to verbally provoke him, maximizing her sarcasm before making her escape.

"But seriously, are all human females this aggressive during their estrus cycle? We can't afford to mess with them..."

"While you can still speak, you'd better make the most of this time and say as many words as you can!"