As the door opened, the seated baron promptly rose to his feet.
The Marquis of Orkney, in a show of welcome, spread his arms wide to greet his returned son.
“Agravain! You’ve returned!”
“Father, it’s been a long time.”
Agravain bowed his head courteously.
His dark green hair and gaunt cheeks, which were so hollow they created deep dimples, made him appear far more mature than his years.
He gave a faint smile upon seeing his family after so long, causing those hollows in his cheeks to dip in like actual dimples.
Compared to the Marquis of Orkney, he seemed a bit eccentric.
The Marquis strode forward to embrace his son, but Agravain took two steps back.
“I’ve just arrived from the academy and haven’t had a chance to wash up. I would prefer to change into formal attire and see you again later.”
“You rascal. What does that matter between us?”
“Nevertheless, we have a guest.”
His slightly smiling eyes were sharp.
The baron, who had been standing quietly behind them, started in surprise and awkwardly greeted him.
“O-oh, it’s been a long time, Sir Agravain.”
The way he acknowledged the greeting with merely a slight, almost imperceptible nod made his character difficult to read.
However, his skill was so exceptional that even the Marquis of Orkney would vouch for it, enough to be Mordred’s swordsmanship instructor.
He had been Mordred’s teacher and friend since Mordred could first walk, a boy raised like family.
The Marquis of Orkney cleared his throat awkwardly and asked.
“So, how is the Prince?”
“He was greatly shocked by the news of His Majesty’s passing. He was so affected by the news at the academy that he didn’t leave his room for some time.”
“Of course, I suppose so. The death of a parent is always difficult.”
The person least interested in King Vortigern’s death was Viscount Melwas Aestiva.
It was a brazen answer, yet no one pointed it out.
Viscount Melwas Aestiva asked again, a subtle expectation in his eyes.
“Did you hear about the temple on your way here?”
“Yes. You must mean the news that the oracle could be false.”
“Ahem… As you know, the Princess places her absolute faith in the oracle.”
Agravain didn’t need to hear the rest to understand.
Why else would they have brought Mordred back from the academy in the first place?
The young prince, still a child, in whom he had invested his entire life.
“Understood. Once we enter the palace and look around, we can discuss this in detail.”
It was to make him king.
The prince, whom Agravain and Viscount Melwas Aestiva had been with since he started walking, was very favorably disposed toward them.
He would believe any word from Agravain.
Though he had grown, he was still a young boy.
After exchanging a meaningful look, Viscount Melwas Aestiva stroked his mustache with satisfaction.
“Let’s do that. I wish I could have offered you some tea as well.”
The tea from Tir na Nog was still in short supply.
Having been left off this round’s VIP invitation list, he had to purchase the tea through another family at an exorbitant price.
Now that the factions were divided between the Princess and the Prince, it was essentially a power struggle to win over the neutral parties.
Naturally, they would side with whoever offered the best conditions and vision.
The tea from Tir na Nog had become the most basic courtesy, the fundamental offering for laying that foundation.
Until he left for the academy, it was a custom he had never seen before, so he asked again in a tone that made it clear he didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t know, having been at the academy. In the meantime, the trends in Britain have changed a bit. Well, it’s not important, so you don’t need to worry about it.”
If he wanted to save her, wouldn’t he save her again? Just as he had bought her by giving up his ship.
Viscount Melwas laughed, patting his son’s shoulder.
💫
After Merlin was imprisoned, Nimue was elevated to the new High Priest.
It was a smooth process without a single objection from anyone.
In his High Priest robes, he was just…
“Ha, whoever’s body it is, it’s handsome.”
He was a High Priest overflowing with decadent charm.
For some reason, because of Excalibur, who was devouring her with his eyes, Morgana felt like she was being cuckolded by proxy.
She pretended not to hear and laughed.
“Congratulations, Lady Nimue.”
“Not at all. Given the circumstances, it is a position I have inherited without even an inauguration ceremony.”
His voice, devoid of even a smile, was listless as he spoke softly.
“More than anything, I…”
His sensitive eyes scanned the surroundings.
After confirming no one was there, Nimue lowered her voice to a whisper.
“I must be united with Excalibur for the location of the Holy Grail. A prohibition has been placed on it, so I cannot tell you.”
He too seemed listless, as if it were not his own will.
The problem was that the one who separated them was Merlin.
‘And I can’t very well tell him to reunite them before he dies.’
If I had known a way for the two to merge, I might have tried it long ago.
Even if Merlin disappeared, that nameless demon still remained. Though there was no way to know where it was.
Nimue awkwardly shook her head with an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry. In the meantime, I will do my best to look into it at the temple as well.”
Herzel, who had been a priestess, had now cleared her dishonor and decided to return to Britain, especially since Percival was also there.
Just when it seemed everything was settled, a letter suddenly popped into view before Morgana.
The letter floating in mid-air used the same method as the one she had once received from Kellive.
Bewildered, Morgana snatched the letter.
Unsurprisingly, it was in Kellive’s neat handwriting. Though this time, it seemed tinged with a hint of dissatisfaction.
〈Dear Morgana,
Princess Guinevere sent a letter to Avalon. She seemed to think you were at the palace; I was going to just burn it, but thought you might be sad, so I’m attaching it.
Kellive of Avalon〉
Attached to it was Guinevere’s letter.
〈To my fiancé, Morgana,
I heard the news about the temple’s corruption. Because of this, some nobles in Britain seem displeased with our wedding. What do you think, Morgana?
Mordred has returned from the academy. How about meeting him? He’s a rather cute and kind younger brother, you know.
I hope the next time I see you, it’s your face and not a letter, darling.〉
Morgana felt momentarily dizzy from Guinevere’s letter, which never broke character.
‘We’re not even married yet, and I already have a wife…!’
From a distance, Nimue, who had been watching, looked flustered as she rushed to support Morgana.
“What’s wrong? Did Merlin do something…?”
“No. I just received quite an extraordinary letter.”
Morgana straightened herself calmly, then turned and called out to Herzel, who was standing far away.
“Herzel, let’s return to Britain together!”
“Oh, wonderful, Lady Morgana!”
Nimue, who had assumed Morgana would go to Avalon, cautiously asked again.
“You’re going to Britain?”
Morgana tilted her head with a resigned smile.
“Yes. It seems I must go. If you hear anything related to Excalibur, please let me know.”
💫
Merlin was dragged deep underground and thrown into a narrow solitary cell.
The holy knights who had shoved her inside slammed the heavy iron door shut with a clang.
There were no windows—only a small iron grate on the door.
Everything was pitch black, just like the room where he had been imprisoned with his mother during his days as a slave.
But now was different from then.
“I created Nimue. You fools…”
He had been slumping in defiance, but now he rose with a sly grin.
There was a reason Nimue couldn’t break free from him—because she was bound to Merlin.
So, if the opportunity arose, she could use Nimue to escape. He had only pretended to resist; what she had really been waiting for was the moment Morgana left the temple.
Now, there was no need to hold back the curse.
His priority was to fill the thirteen empty souls as quickly as possible and deliver them to ‘him.’
‘When will I get out…’
Merlin, who had been biting his nails and looking around, felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Ugh, what is this…?”
It wasn’t an overwhelming intensity, but it was agonizing, like being poked repeatedly with a needle.
Merlin clutched his heart and curled his body into a ball.
“A curse? Is it a curse? But who could use black magic…?”
Following his gaze, he spotted the statue of Coventina standing tall in the cell.
A holy relic. The most sacred of objects, possessing faint divine power, however slight.
The stone eyes of the goddess Coventina, holding a water vessel as if making an offering, looked down at Merlin.
Staring, as if looking at an utterly insignificant insect.
Still clutching his chest, Merlin crawled toward it.
“Who… who brought a holy relic into the underground dungeon…?”
For a half-human, half-demon, just being in the same space with one was fatal.
It was only because he had human blood mixed in that the pain stopped at this level—otherwise, it would have felt like his body was burning up.
Merlin groped along the floor, trying to summon black magic.
“Nimue, I need to call Nimue…”
For a very brief moment, a black magic circle started to form beneath her, but it vanished without even activating.
The cold stone floor was left without a trace.
Merlin gripped his chest tightly.
“No… The summoning was so close! No!”
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