"You won, Morgan..."
The old man seated upon the decaying jade throne fell silent for a moment, then coughed up a mouthful of dark blood and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
But Vortigern soon gave a cold laugh, mockery gleaming in his pitch-black eyes.
"This conflict will not end. Everything has only just begun! You will never escape the fate you carry!"
Samael's brow twitched. After a moment of thought, he understood what Vortigern meant.
The entanglement between the sisters Artoria and Morgan would, just like the conflict between Vortigern and Uther, eventually be driven to an irreconcilable extreme.
"They have their choices, and I have my answer. Even if fate cannot be overturned, I will never become like you, betraying this land and slaughtering my own subjects!"
Morgan gave a solemn snort. Her gaze was clear and unwavering, without the slightest trace of the calamity-bringing witch who, in another future, would divide the Knights of the Round Table and overthrow Camelot.
A complicated look surfaced deep within the Ancient Serpent's eyes.
Samael vaguely remembered that, in a future that should never have existed, the Six Great Fairy Clans killed the Horned God Cernunnos and replaced humanity as the rulers of Britannia.
The fairy Morgan sent from the Inner Sea of the Planet had originally been meant to guide the Six Great Fairy Clans toward repentance, eliminate the cause of that distorted history, and bring Britannia to an end.
Yet after reaching the surface, being hidden and raised by the Rain Clan, and growing up surrounded by love, she turned against her original purpose. At any cost, she did everything in her power to preserve that distorted history.
Even when the Rain Clan that had raised her was surrounded and exterminated by the other clans for sheltering the Savior, she chose not hatred, but forgiveness.
Even after the hopeless fairies betrayed her again and again, she still spared no effort to suppress the calamities that kept erupting, doing everything she could to save that land and the lives upon it.
Even when the Inner Sea of the Planet sent another Savior to correct history, she still chose to fight against the mission she was supposed to bear, refusing to begin the Pilgrimage and refusing to let the Bell of Calamity toll.
Even though that world should already have died, even though it was destined to have no future and few would ever understand her, she still crowned herself Queen and upheld Britannia's continued existence through tyranny.
Until her very last breath, what she still wanted was to return to the throne, become the Pillar, raise the Barrier, and prolong the life of a Britannia already approaching its end.
No matter how filthy and corrupt it became, no matter how deeply it was stained by sin, it was still her land, and they were still her subjects.
It was the earthly paradise she had created through immeasurable effort and sacrifice.
Yes, Morgan was not a born schemer.
The moment she set aside old grudges in Cornwall and stepped forward to suppress the calamity had already proven that, in the beginning, this witch had loved the land just as deeply.
Melt away the frost of rejection and peel back the hard shell she had built to protect herself, and underneath was a heart far softer and more emotional than it appeared.
If...
If fate had shown her a little more kindness, if the world had offered her another choice, perhaps she could have become a ruler no less worthy than Artoria.
"Hahahaha! Just as I thought. You really are just like Uther!"
The Usurper King laughed wildly even as he coughed up blood. His pitch-black eyes looked down upon his niece, their depths unfathomable.
"Very well. As your reward for suppressing the calamities and defeating the Demon Dragon, I shall personally crown you King!"
Under everyone's astonished gaze, Vortigern slowly rose. He spread his fingers and reached directly into the gaping hole in his chest.
Squelch!
With a dull sound, the dying old man tore a beating purple-red heart out of his own chest.
Above the decaying throne, the purple-red heart was covered in spiderweb-like cracks, yet it gleamed like polished jade. Within it, the faint silhouette of a curled dragon beast could just barely be seen.
Samael's pupils contracted.
That familiar fluctuation gradually allowed him to identify the object from the vast sea of memories in his mind.
A Dragon's Core...
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it the Dragon's Jewel, Op!
According to certain legends, after the creation of the Norse world in the Age of Gods, four great Sacred Gears existed.
The Fairy Bow [Silven], the Blazing Demon Sword [Laevatein], the Spear of Eternity [Gungnir], and finally, the Dragon's Jewel [Op].
It was probably because Vortigern had, by some twist of fate, embedded this Dragon's Core within himself and gained control over the Spiritual Tomb of the Dragon of Albion, which had fused with Britannia's land during the Age of Gods, that he possessed such extraordinary power.
With it, he had defeated King Uther, who was protected by Mystery, and gradually completed his transformation from flesh to soul.
And now, by tearing out this core with his own hands, the Usurper King was personally ending his own life.
Crack!
Vortigern suddenly clenched his fingers.
The Dragon's Jewel instantly shattered, becoming countless grains of luminous dust that scattered beneath the decaying throne.
At once, countless motes of light, large and small, peeled away from the dragon bones and streamed into the Witch of Britannia.
"Morgan, my dear niece. Accept my blessing. From this day onward, all of Britannia's Mystery shall gather within you."
The hollow-chested old man leaned back against the decaying throne. His bloodstained lips then uttered a chilling curse.
Or perhaps it was a prophecy of fate.
"A pitiful King, a laughable Round Table, and even more detestable, the ignorant people of Britannia! Do not think that destroying me means this distorted kingdom can prosper forever! There is no immortal nation and no eternal King. You and I are the same. We are anomalies this world cannot tolerate, abandoned children who will ultimately be toyed with by fate!"
As Vortigern's lower body began crumbling into sand inch by inch, he fixed an expectant gaze on Morgan.
He examined the almost flawless, peerless witch below the throne with satisfaction and laughed with complete abandon.
"And you will be the one who brings everything to an end! You will complete the great work I left unfinished and take revenge on Uther, on Britannia, and on that King of Knights! Hahahahaha!"
BOOM!
At that moment, without the Dragon's Jewel supporting it, the entire Spiritual Tomb formed from the dragon's remains began shaking violently.
Crash!
As the protective membrane collapsed, the marsh water surged violently into the dragon's remains.
Morgan, who had received the inheritance, stood frozen in place, immersed in some indescribable emotion and seemingly unaware of everything around her.
"This place is collapsing. Move!"
Without another word, Samael scooped the dazed Morgan into his arms and sprinted down the passage toward the exit.
The others snapped back to their senses and hurried after him.
"This is the fate none of you can ever escape! This is Britannia's destined end! I'll be waiting for that day to come! Hahahahaha!"
As the torrent of water poured in, the Usurper King's wild laughter from the decaying throne was finally swallowed completely.
BOOM!
Above the mist-covered marsh, the water churned with a deafening roar.
As the dragon's remains collapsed and sank, the rushing water formed an enormous whirlpool that swept away every trace of what had once been there.
The group stood atop the turbulent marsh, staring at the surging waves in silence.
Morgan, finally recovered from her daze, looked at the violently churning surface. Her expression was complicated and uncertain as she silently reflected.
This encounter had felt less like a battle and more like a deliberately arranged trial.
During the fight, Morgan had also noticed another wound in Vortigern's chest, a penetrating injury that had never fully healed.
It had been left by a lance...
From the very beginning, that man had known he had little chance of winning.
Whether he succeeded or failed, perhaps everything he had done had served the same purpose.
To use the fall of the old King as the coronation of a new one, allowing his revenge to continue through her.
The Fairy Knights...
The Knights of the Round Table...
Even the Four Great Calamities might have been foundations he had deliberately prepared for her.
"Don't worry. I'm fine."
Morgan nodded toward Barghest and Baobhan Sith, who had gathered around her anxiously. A faint look of reassurance appeared on her face.
But inwardly, her gaze remained firm.
You chose wrong.
Vortigern, I will never become you!
"Look! Something's floating up from beneath the water!"
Just as Morgan fell into thought, the sharp-eyed Habetrot pointed toward the place where the dragon's remains had sunk, where a purple-red glow shimmered beneath the surface, and shouted.
Samael's expression shifted.
He lightly tapped the water and leapt toward the source of the glow. Reaching into the water, he felt around for a moment before pulling out a writhing lump of flesh.
That shouldn't be possible.
The dragon's remains had already lost their Mana. How could they still be producing degraded Dragonkind?
No.
This Mana was extremely pure. It did not come from the dragon's remains.
It came from... the Dragon's Jewel!
Mari and Morgan, both exceptionally sensitive to such things, realized the cause first. They exchanged a glance and stepped closer.
When they approached, they found Samael holding a petite young girl in his arms.
Her entire body was covered in birth fluid. She had white hair and golden eyes.
Clearly, she was the final life created from a fragment of the Dragon's Jewel.
Samael handed the sleeping girl to Morgan, murmuring meaningfully.
Morgan instinctively accepted her.
An inexplicable sense of familiarity immediately welled up inside her.
At the same time, the white-haired girl turned her head and opened a pair of golden serpentine eyes.
She looked around in confusion before her gaze seemed to pierce through Morgan's thin veil and settle upon the witch's exquisite face.
"Melusine. Let's call her Melusine."
Morgan spoke almost instinctively, then smiled as she bestowed a name upon the newborn life in her arms.
Fate...
What a thing fate was.
Samael glanced back at the dragon's remains, now completely submerged beneath the water, then raised his eyes toward the sky and murmured silently.
At the same time, the army of Mad Hunters, which the Knights of the Round Table had exhausted themselves driving onto a barren hill, suddenly dissolved into wisps of smoke and dust that scattered with the wind.
Even the King of the Gale, who had repeatedly frustrated the Knights of the Round Table, merely lingered for a few moments longer before disappearing silently into the blowing sand.
It was as though none of them had ever existed.
The Knights of the Round Table, fully prepared to deliver the final blow, could only stare in frustration as the Mad Hunter army vanished into thin air.
Thus ended their hunt, which had begun so dramatically and concluded with almost absurd anticlimax.
A few days later, exhilarating news spread throughout Britannia.
The Twelve Dynastic Wars had finally ended.
The Saxons had been driven beyond the coastline.
The Northern and Southern Realms were now fully united.
One piece of good news followed another.
As though defeated by the radiance of the Knights, the Four Great Calamities, the insect plague, the beast plague, the dragon plague, and the Mad Hunt, all vanished as well.
The people, who had suffered through years of war, were overwhelmed with joy.
They poured into the streets of their own accord, singing songs of celebration and cheering for Britannia's rebirth.
Everything had finally ended.
And everything was about to begin.