The Merlin of the present had not yet sealed himself within Avalon, and so the frequency with which he used his clairvoyance was still relatively low. More importantly, those he taught and observed were still right before his eyes. Having never suffered setbacks or regrets, this Merlin was not yet the kindly elder brother we would come to know later.
This current Merlin was a real piece of work—someone who truly didn't understand human emotions and acted entirely based on his own whims and preferences.
At the moment, the most deserving of a good beating on the whole of Britain was likely this very Merlin. What he didn't know was that events were slowly starting to unfold in ways he would never have predicted.
After Artoria and Kay finished handling the aftermath of recent events, they quickly set out again, calling upon Merlin to join them. Her brief period of wandering was nearing its end. The girl understood clearly that she would soon inherit the throne of this country. For now, she was still free, but not for much longer.
Living as a king and living as an apprentice knight were two entirely different things. This island was about to enter a time of increasing chaos, and the first thing she had to do was reunify the many lords and factions that had scattered after the death of the former king. During her travels, she'd already begun to form a rough idea of how she might do that.
But before that, she wanted to fulfill one last act of willfulness.
Perhaps this choice would change her life, but Artoria didn't want to leave behind any regrets during this fleeting time when she could still express herself freely. If she were not destined to bear the burden of this island, then of course she would want to do as she pleased. After all, she wasn't just some ordinary girl born on this land...
And so, unknowingly, the paths of Aslan and Artoria slowly began to converge.
They met in a small coastal town. Because it was frequently harassed by seaborne raiders, the town was far from prosperous. In fact, it was rather dilapidated—but precisely because of this shabby appearance, it managed to avoid the attention of most bandits and outlaws.
Aslan gazed out over the peaceful sea and took a deep breath, savoring the unpolluted ocean breeze. The air of this era truly was something else—clean, crisp, without any strange or unpleasant smells. Even the seawater was far clearer than in modern times, the whole scene resembling that of a first-class seaside resort.
Their reason for coming to this town was simple: to restock supplies. Compared to the inland areas, coastal towns at least had the advantage of fishing. Dried fish was a relatively practical and tasty commodity in this era, both for flavoring and for filling one's stomach.
Once in the town, Aslan's group split up. After all, they weren't conjoined twins—there was no need for everyone to stick together at all times. Besides, they were in the same small town. If anyone ran into trouble, the others could respond quickly.
Everyone in the group was strong in their own right—none of them would be instantly defeated the moment they encountered an enemy. And if that did happen, the enemy must be incredibly powerful. Was Vortigern himself in this seaside town? If that were the case, Melusine would likely have already sensed something amiss.
Aslan picked up a piece of dried fish from a stall and held it under his nose, gently inhaling the scent. The pure aroma of sea fish filled his nostrils. No elaborate seasoning—just dried fish, cured in the sun. That unique flavor alone was a delicacy. After all, the more exquisite the ingredient, the simpler the cooking method it required.
Such high-quality dried sea fish would count as a luxury food back in Avalon.
Melusine gently tore off a small piece of fish, chewing it slowly. A look of satisfaction appeared on her face. She had to admit—it tasted far better than the raw fish her original self used to eat in ancient memories. But then again, that was to be expected. Of course cooked fish tasted better—duh.
Aslan reached into his pocket and took out a few coins, preparing to purchase the dried fish from the fisherman. It was at that moment that a voice called out from behind the two of them.
"Hello again. Can you finally tell me your name this time?"
Aslan turned around—and upon seeing who it was, he couldn't help but raise his hand and cover his face. The person who had arrived was none other than Artoria.
Just as Aslan and his group had entered the town, Artoria's group had done the same. The three had also split up shortly after arrival.
The girl's goal was crystal clear. She followed the pull of the sacred sword at her waist, heading unerringly in a specific direction. Merlin, curious about the lives of ordinary humans, wandered aimlessly through town in search of some domestic melodrama to amuse him. As for Kay, the designated babysitter...
That poor guy was busy figuring out what to buy in order to keep their journey going.
If you saw Kay now, you'd swear he looked just like a housewife shopping in the market—only thing missing was an apron over his armor. Haggling, picking out the best produce, getting the right change, prioritizing long-lasting dried foods—he'd fully taken on the role of team dad and team mom all by himself.
Meanwhile, Artoria, guided by the pull of her sacred sword, had easily found Aslan. At that moment, the Golden Sword of Assured Victory gave off a resonant hum, quickly flying out of its scabbard and landing gently in Aslan's hand. The gemstone in the hilt glowed brightly, like a music box or a neon sign.
If this sacred sword were an animal, it would've been like a golden retriever—panting with its tongue out, pawing lightly at Aslan, tail wagging, eyes shining like stars.
Aslan stared down at the exuberant sword in his hand, at a loss for how to react or what expression he should be wearing.
To be honest, Artoria's mood was also rather complicated. The Golden Sword of Assured Victory had never been this excited or happy in her hands. If she wasn't so certain that she was the destined King Arthur, she might have started to wonder if this young man before her wasn't more suited to being king than she was.
"Quiet down. It's not your time to follow me yet..."
Aslan sighed, gently stroking the overly excited sacred sword. He channeled a bit of his magic power into it as a form of comfort. Only then did the Golden Sword of Assured Victory gradually settle down.