Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

In the dimly lit hall, the witch stood before the steps, roaring angrily.

"The Holy Grail is real, and it is indeed on the island of Avalon."

Samael's mind replayed the entire battle for the World Tree, the eve of Marduk's fall, and the halo that poured forth the world and gave birth to new life. He answered earnestly.

Morgan remained unmoved, quietly looking at the man before her.

"What's the price?"

Samael turned his head to one side, remained silent for a moment, and then his tone became low.

Even if she gets it, she can't come back...

An ideal paradise isolated from the world, accessible only to the innocent.

The ceremony or the key, both are correct.

He only explained how to get in, but never mentioned how to get out.

Without the support of a host and having lost most of the elite forces of the Round Table, even with the Holy Lance that keeps Camelot running standing on this Tower of the End, it is destined that the survival of the British Age of Gods cannot be guaranteed.

All the problems were then easily solved.

The witch's face was gloomy, her cherry lips were tightly pressed together, and she stared intently at Samael.

"Why...why did you do this?"

The ancient snake looked up at Morgan, sighed, and looked sincere.

"Believe me, I have no ill intentions. I just want to eliminate the anomalies of this era and put everything back on track."

"You mean the future where the Celts lose their kingdom and land, and are oppressed by the Ansar?"

Morgan's lips curled into a cold smile, his eyes sharp as knives.

"Artoria, she told me everything!"

Upon hearing this, Samael lowered his eyelids, unable to meet Morgan's gaze.

This is indeed true.

And it was a fact that he was destined not to tell Morgan honestly.

"You faked your death, making her feel guilty and willingly give up the Holy Lance, upholding humanity, and even exploiting this weakness to deceive her. You are truly despicable!"

The witch's face was grim, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and her voice was icy as she coldly vented her anger.

"Do you know that Artoria's search for the Holy Grail is not only to quell the anomalies in Britain, but also to save you!"

Morgan repeated himself, each word deliberate, his eyes filled with irony and sorrow.

"Pursue that miracle, and save you from death because of her!"

It was precisely because of this answer that the drama of sisters killing each other did not actually unfold. Instead, they unexpectedly reached their first consensus in many years and were able to talk calmly for a long time.

Samael was stunned. His lips were pressed tightly together. He wanted to speak, but he didn't know how to begin. After a long silence, he finally lowered his head and sighed softly.

"I'm sorry, but I have reasons why I have to do this."

Morgan glanced at Samael with a hint of self-mockery in his eyes.

"So, you approached me, this witch, gained my favor, and helped me seize the throne—was it all part of your plan?"

"If that's all I'm after, I should have just joined the Knights of the Round Table..."

Samael raised his head with a wry smile. His eyes, which were now meeting Morgan's gaze, were calm and clear as still water.

"If you hadn't snatched me away in Cornwall and brought me into the team, I might have become the head of the round table by now..."

The witch was stunned for a moment, her expression stiffening, and she looked embarrassed.

It seems that it was indeed she who spoke to Hector first, actively recruiting this nameless swordsman...

Seeing the atmosphere ease, Samael took a deep breath, suddenly grabbed Morgan's hand, then knelt on one knee, lowered his head and gently kissed the witch's hand, pleading earnestly with burning eyes.

"Sister Wang, come with me..."

This country that abandoned you, since it can't accept you, isn't worth your lingering. Let's leave here, take Mordred and the others, and go back to Orkney to live a peaceful life together.

The burning heat in those vertical pupils, along with the tight grip and warm touch on his palm, instantly turned the tide of the battle.

Morgan froze, his icy face flushing red to his ears in an instant. He subconsciously lowered his eyelids, his gaze unfocused and wandering, his heart pounding like a drum, and his tightly pursed lips twitching several times.

"Once I get my hands on the Holy Lance, everything will be over."

However, as these final words echoed in her ears, the witch's heart suddenly clenched, and her face grew cold.

"Is this your purpose?"

"Both of them are..."

Samael paused for a moment, looked quietly at Morgan, and answered frankly.

"I promised Artoria that I would protect Britain in her place and wait for her to return."

But the witch Morgan resolutely withdrew her hand and looked coldly at the man in front of her.

"Therefore, I will not let you take away the Holy Lance that supports Camelot, nor will I allow you to shake this country in the slightest!"

"You really don't want to come with me?"

"You should give up!"

Upon hearing this resolute declaration, Samael took a deep breath, stood up, met Morgan's gaze, and asked in a low voice.

"Then, I'll ask you one more time: do you really want to bear the burden of this doomed nation? Do you really want to raise the banner of saving the world alone once again?"

"Yes!"

"Are you really determined to use your own fantasies to resist the constraints of human reason?"

"Yes!"

Even if they become my enemy?

"At all costs!"

Under the moonlight, the two faced off, their heated exchanges revealing their respective resolve.

It has to be said that the man in front of her was very strong; she had never seen him at his full strength.

Therefore, Morgan wasn't entirely confident that he could stop Samael from taking the Holy Lance.

But as he said, there are some things that have to be done.

As the standoff escalated, Morgan's ethereal energy coalesced, and a dark blue-black light wove together to form a sharp gun barrel, poised to fire.

The younger sister is like that! The older sister is like that too! Even knowing there's no future, they still persist!

Why are they all so stubborn?

However, Samael remained silent for a moment, then his momentum suddenly vanished. He turned his back to Morgan, waved his hand slightly, and seemed somewhat disheartened.

"Fine, do as you please. I won't interfere in British affairs anymore..."

This sudden abandonment startled the witch, leaving her somewhat bewildered.

The lonely figure that had turned to leave stopped again in front of the main hall, a low voice escaping from its lips.

"But likewise, I won't help you anymore..."

Morgan's body trembled, his lips moved slightly, but he ultimately remained silent, standing there watching the figure gradually disappear into the darkness.

A cool breeze swept in, and the night deepened. The witch, who had been standing silently for an unknown amount of time, lifted her stiff legs, turned her head to look back at the faint light behind the throne, and felt a strange sense of melancholy.

That night, she gained some things, but it seemed she also lost more.

At the same time, Shadow arrived outside Camelot City, his brow furrowed, and he turned to look at the side of the road.

Under the moonlight, the stunningly beautiful dream demon with white fur and pointed ears sat on a branch, cradling a slightly restless white-furred beast in her arms. She swung her slender legs, rested her chin on her hand, and asked with a playful expression.

"So, you're just going to let it go like this?"

"Without the support of its host, the Holy Lance will gradually weaken, and the power that sustains the Age of Britain will eventually fade away, and the mystery of this land will eventually disappear."

Samael glanced at Meryl and answered indifferently.

"Let's go, it's all over."

The ancient serpent glanced one last time at Camelot, shrouded in the night, before turning and heading into the wilderness, without looking back.

Is it all over?

Mary jumped down from the tree trunk, clapped her hands, and looked back at the city's tower with a meaningful smile.

Chapter 122 Camelot's Embers (2/5)

Months later, Cornwall, a small town on the outskirts.

As the bright morning sun shines through the thin mist in the forest, it awakens the earth, which has been asleep all night, bringing forth vibrant life. Wisps of smoke drift from every household, and the air is filled with the aroma of food and a peaceful atmosphere.

Perhaps because they had survived that cruel and long winter, the streets became lively again in early spring.

Meanwhile, a newly opened shop on the street corner, with its distinctive Roman pasta, delicious wine, and secret-recipe fig jam, has already attracted customers who come looking for food.

A steaming plate of focaccia was served, and after a few glasses of warm wine, the diners, their faces flushed from staying indoors all winter, couldn't help but gather in small groups, start chatting, and sigh with emotion.

"Phew, thank God, this winter is finally over. I thought I was going to freeze to death or starve to death at home."

"Yes, fortunately the lords are kind-hearted and willing to provide us poor folks with food and clothing to get through the winter; otherwise, who knows how many people would have died this year."

"Heh, they're kind-hearted? Why didn't these lords provide us with relief in previous years? It was all thanks to the King's benevolence!"

In the corner, a middle-aged man, dressed in relatively fine clothes, frowned and sneered, looking disdainfully at the people sitting with him.

"Huh? What do you say?"

As fellow drinkers who knew each other's temperaments to some extent, the group tactfully refilled the middle-aged man's empty glass, pulled him down to sit, and asked him questions out of curiosity.

"Do you remember that after winter set in, our king summoned all the lords to the Holy City for an emergency roundtable meeting?"

The middle-aged man's vanity was satisfied. He took a sip of warm wine, tapped his fingers on the table, and looked quite pleased with himself.

"It seems so. I heard that all the lords in the region are on the invitation list. Could the relief efforts be related to this?"

Immediately, someone recalled the recent situation in the territory and answered casually.

The middle-aged man nodded, looked around, and then lowered his voice.

"Of course! Don't you know that this round table conference lasted for two whole months? During this time, all the lords were forcibly kept in the Holy City, and all relief orders were carried out by the righteous knights and round table members dispatched from the Holy Capital!"

Then, the middle-aged man paused for a moment, piquing everyone's curiosity, before mysteriously revealing the inside story.

"To tell you the truth, I have a distant relative who is a purgatory knight in Camelot. According to him, the round table conference actually ended on the third day, but the issue of disaster relief could not be advanced. His Majesty the Lion King left all those lords stranded in the palace. Until a result was reached, they were not even given food and had to freeze in the main hall."

Even though the decision to open the warehouses and provide relief to the people was approved, His Majesty, to prevent these lords from going back on their word or carrying it out halfway, did not release them. Instead, he directly sent the Cavalry Knights and the Round Table to each territory to relay the order. Otherwise, how could we expect these lords to willingly cut off their own flesh to help us poor wretches?

"Ah, I see. We really have to thank His Majesty the Lion King!"

After hearing this, everyone was deeply moved and amazed.

But at the same time, some people looked worried and uneasy.

"But isn't Your Majesty going too far? Aren't you afraid of provoking a rebellion from the lords?"

"Can the heads of those lords be harder than the swords of the charioteers?"

The middle-aged man put down his wine glass and gave the person who had expressed concern a cold smile.

"Not only that, I think there is another reason why our lord is willing to cooperate."

The person opposite clicked their tongue, drawing everyone's attention, before slowly adding their own comment.

“I heard that the Knights of the Round Table who were sent abroad are returning one after another. Camelot has found the Holy Grail. As long as we can get through this winter, when spring comes, we, the people, are willing to work harder. Next year’s taxes, plus Camelot’s blessings, can make up for the lords’ losses. If it weren’t for these things, our lords would be in an uproar.”

"Really? Something that can make the earth covered in mana and ensure everyone has enough to eat and drink—does such a thing really exist?!"

As the topic grew increasingly bizarre, someone raised their voice, nearly drawing the attention of all the customers in the shop.

"Shh, keep your voice down!"

The middle-aged man glared at his impetuous companion, and after the atmosphere cooled down, he picked up the conversation and couldn't help but sigh.

"Perhaps it's true. Haven't you noticed that the land's transformation is reversing recently? The rice seedlings in the fields have already turned green. Have the beast plagues, insect plagues, dragon plagues, and even the wild hunt that caused the most trouble a while ago, all subsided?"

After a moment of thought, everyone nodded in agreement.