Chapter 53: Target—Dissecting Ares

What does it mean to be a royal chef? This is what it means! No doubt, that damn thief must have admired the King so much that they wanted to steal something from her side as a keepsake. That's the only reason they would dare commit such a bold act. Damn it… Just thinking about that little thief doing something disgusting to the King's treasured sword makes one jealous...

No, wait… makes one furious!

For the first time, Agravain felt that Gawain's speculation actually made sense. And for the first time, he found his brother so pleasing to the eye. At the same time, a deep sense of guilt rose within him. For something like this to happen in Camelot—it was a failure, a lapse on his part. It seemed it was time to cleanse this city. He had always believed that everyone within the capital was loyal to the King. But now, it seemed that wasn't entirely true.

Beneath the throne of the King, there could be no shadows.

There would always be matters a King couldn't personally handle. And he, Agravain, was the instrument to carry out those acts!

All for the sake of Britain!

"The Golden Sword of Assured Victory, is it?"

Artoria froze slightly upon hearing the name of that sacred sword. A thoughtful light emerged in her eyes. Almost instinctively, she thought of that boy she had met twice—the one connected to her so-called sister. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call him a young man now.

"Sir Gawain, the person who took the Golden Sword of Assured Victory… was it a blond-haired man and a white-haired girl?"

Gawain was stunned for a moment before bowing deeply. "My King, how did you know? There's no need for you to concern yourself with such a trivial matter. I, Gawain the Knight of the Sun, will retrieve the Golden Sword of Assured Victory for you!"

But to his surprise, Artoria gently shook her head.

Their King made no move to reclaim the sword. Instead, she sighed—her face, for once, showing a trace of guilt. Even Gawain couldn't understand what it was exactly that his King felt guilty about.

Having ruled over such a vast kingdom, Artoria had matured significantly. During her time wielding the Golden Sword of Assured Victory, she had gradually realized that the sword had never truly acknowledged her. Or rather, that it had acknowledged someone else—someone besides her.

And that someone… had seemingly been chosen ahead of her.

That young man named Aslan… It must have been him who came to take the sword from her treasury this time. As for this sword, broken as it was—if Artoria claimed she had no regrets or sorrow over it, that would be a lie. The Golden Sword of Assured Victory had witnessed her journey from a naïve girl to the throne.

Even after it broke—no longer able to withstand her magical power—Artoria had still wanted to have it repaired. Unfortunately, throughout all of Camelot, no one possessed the ability to do so.

From Merlin, she had heard bits and pieces about Aslan: first, that the girl by his side wasn't human, but one of the top-tier dragonkin on the island; and second, that Aslan himself was a master blacksmith, one capable of forging weapons that only fairies were once able to create.

Now that the sword had been taken by Aslan, it should finally be restored, right?

Besides, she already had the Sword of Promised Victory—a sword far better suited to her magical power. She would likely never use the Golden Sword again. So perhaps it was time to let it go, to let the sword follow someone who was more suited to it.

Artoria wiped her expression clean and issued the final verdict. "This matter ends here. As for calming the people's hearts… I leave that to you, Agravain."

Upon hearing their King speak thus, none of the Knights of the Round Table present had any objections.

After leaving Camelot, Aslan immediately made his way to his next destination: the city under King Fisher's domain. There, the legendary Christian relic—the Spear of Longinus—was stored.

On one hand, Aslan intended to retrieve the spear, which might later be kept in Camelot for protection. On the other, he wished to see an old friend one last time.

When Balin wielded that spear and unleashed its destructive strike, it would mean his life was nearing its end.

Aslan planned to complete the restoration of the Golden Sword of Assured Victory in the outskirts of that city. At the same time, he would also finalize the contract ring between him and Melusine. He had realized that the reason the contract ring hadn't fully formed was because he and Melusine still didn't understand each other well enough. The more they understood one another, the easier the ring would be to complete.

After all, this was only a shard of the Machine God. If it were the core, there would be no such issues.

Speaking of the Machine God… Aslan had already made plans for the future.

When Arthur set out on her expedition to Rome, he would go too. Amidst the flames of war, the guards on ancient ruins across the land might relax a little. Even if he had to use some… brutal methods, it would be difficult for anyone to trace his tracks afterward.

To fulfill his grand ambition, he needed to understand the Machine Gods—preferably to lay eyes on their core.

In this era, Rome itself was under threat from the west—from Attila. The age of the Roman gods had passed; the light of God had replaced their glory and now spread across the land. This was the perfect chance for him to explore the ancient ruins of old Rome and search for traces of the Machine God—Ares.

If he could somehow dissect Ares… that would be the best outcome of all!

After all, this was a divine-era mecha—one revered as a god itself. And it was red, too—a color that paired well with his name.

After all, Aslan didn't merely want to be admired.

He wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with the gods.

And to do that, understanding the gods was a necessary step. Among Aslan's greatest goals was one that most people could never even dream of:

To "dissect" the Greek god Ares.

What a blasphemous ambition that would sound like if spoken aloud!

But he couldn't let Melusine hear that. If she did, his dear dragon would think someone was trying to steal him away again. If it were a goddess, perhaps she'd let it slide. But Ares was a man. That would only make her jealousy worse.

Aslan had noticed it clearly—his dragon seemed especially sensitive whenever another man grew close to him, or when his goals involved a male figure. It was as if it challenged her own charm somehow.

Every time something like that happened, he had to spend a long time comforting her.

After buying a small house with some coin, Aslan turned and looked toward his beloved dragon. Then he took out a pair of pliers from behind his back and said with a grin:

"Come, Melusine~ Ah—"