Chapter 63: That Is the Dark Dragon

If Kay did not know the King's gender, he might have thought the adoptive father Aslan mentioned was his King. But the King was too young to have such a grown child.

Of course, Kay didn't know the King had a grown son in Camelot. Since Morgan disappeared, she secretly trained Mordred. After Arthur's war victory, Mordred would likely join the Knights of the Round Table—the zenith of Arthur's brief glory.

But glory fades, and King Arthur's would decline before the march to Rome.

None of that concerned Aslan. He only worried whether he could present his cheap adoptive father with a stunning Father's Day gift.

"Aslan Pendragon—that's my name. So yes, I am of the royal family."

Aslan introduced himself, then commanded the Knights before him: "Knights of the Round Table, consolidate all frontline forces. Your King may be trapped within enemy lines. If we remain stalled here, we won't be able to help."

Kay frowned. Whether to trust this man claiming royal blood could decide their fate. As a Knight, he shouldn't blindly accept a stranger's word, but the worsening situation urged caution.

Should he trust Aslan?

Aslan said no more. If Kay and his knights followed, excellent. If not, it didn't matter. With Meluseen's aid, he could still deliver an unimaginable Father's Day blessing. He brought the Knights to aid in searching for the trapped Altria.

Whatever the soldiers decided next, Aslan mounted a warhorse, summoned his dragon, and charged toward his adoptive father's black-fog-shrouded territory.

Straight into Vortigern's heart!

Watching Aslan's back, Kay clenched his teeth. "We'll be willful this once. Maybe we do need change. This is unlike any battle before."

"All Knights, heed my command! Reorganize immediately! We ride to support the King!"

Meanwhile, Artoria led Gawain and others retreating into Vortigern's domain for rest. They'd already challenged the dragon once, but the outcome was grim. Without distant Gensokyo to sustain him, King Arthur remained weaker than the dragon, who now harnessed the island's power.

In the darkness Vortigern controlled, even the holy swords' light began to dim. Gawain refused to recall those past days.

When they stormed the dragon's castle with many soldiers, Great Britain hadn't yet seen such changes. Though Vortigern's castle was dark and oppressive, it wasn't terrifying—just grim, underscoring the old man's arrogance.

Vortigern did not seem surprised by their arrival. Perhaps he had long awaited them. Though aged, he appeared much as in his prime, clad in black armor glowing with dark light, lazily seated on his throne.

With a hand on his cheek, he straightened upon seeing Altria. "Arthur? How interesting. Look what my dear brother has done—created an artificial King. Does he think he can compete with me?"

Gawain, unaware his King was artificial, refused to listen. Raising his sword, he declared:

"King Vortigern! You've ushered in Great Britain's Dark Ages. Today, we, the Knights of the Round Table, will fight against you!"

Vortigern eyed the knight—his grandson—mocking him. He laughed loudly, a sound that echoed throughout the hall.

"Huh? Hehehe... Huhuhahaha! You attack me? With mere knights? The greatest joke of this era!"

His laughter and words insulted all who heard, especially the soldiers who had overcome countless hardships to arrive here.

They were no weaklings. To be dismissed so casually stung deeply.

"Don't underestimate us! We'll show you the Knights' might!"

But was this dark king merely mocking?

Vortigern rose slowly, his smile fading. He picked up a black magic sword resting beside his throne and raised it.

The knights charged as he prepared to strike.

Suddenly, thick darkness exploded from Vortigern's body. The earth seemed to wail. All holy swords grew dim.

The throne began to decay. In the shadow of decay stood a black-armored figure, engulfed in darkness despite the noon sun.

A hole in the world, swallowing molten iron and all warmth.

The evil dragon—Vortigern.

"Why resist? Why deny? Why cling to humanity?

Britain must be destroyed.

You must be exterminated.

If this island is to be defiled by humans, I will restore it to its original state with my own hands.

I will turn Great Britain into hell—a land of darkness where humans may never dwell again!"

Casting aside all pretense, Vortigern swung his sword coldly, madly, and with fury.