Aslan looked at the girl standing before him. Of course, he hadn't forgotten what he'd said to her the last time they parted—if she wanted to know his name, she would have to wait until fate brought them together again. What he hadn't expected was that they would meet again so soon.
As his fingers idly brushed the hilt of the Golden Sword of Assured Victory, Aslan let out a faint sigh and turned his gaze to the girl.
"Aslan. Aslan Pendragon. That's my name. Anything else you want?"
The ease he usually showed around Melusine had vanished from his expression, replaced by a calm that bordered on cold indifference. This made Artoria hesitate, the words she wanted to say catching in her throat. No one liked being met with such a chilly reception—not even her. And now, she had no idea how to dispel the awkwardness that had descended between them.
Truthfully, Aslan didn't want to come into contact with this girl so soon. But dislike? That wasn't it either. It was just that he didn't feel any particular need to go out of his way for her. So he wouldn't display overt hostility, but neither would he show warmth.
For a moment, an odd silence settled over the scene.
"Artoria… and Aslan…"
A familiar voice called out from nearby. Petals fluttered through the air as Merlin appeared on the scene, looking at the two youths with an expression full of mixed emotions. Both of them were chosen by the Sword in the Stone to become king. Though it seemed Aslan himself had no intention of claiming that title.
Still, Merlin couldn't help but worry. After all, it was the throne of all Britain. How many could resist the temptation of such power?
As a nightmare who never truly understood human hearts, the more Merlin observed human thought and behavior, the less confident he felt in them. Humanity had far too many flaws. He didn't dare to bet on them. Truth be told, he hadn't expected Artoria to choose this route just to meet Aslan.
"Merlin…"
The moment Aslan saw the familiar magus, he instinctively raised the Golden Sword of Assured Victory, channeling magic into it. After all, the urge to punch Merlin every time they met had long since become second nature to him.
"Grant me victory—!"
Aslan swung the sword sharply in Merlin's direction. A blast of golden magic burst from the blade's tip, streaking toward a rather unspeakable part of Merlin's anatomy. With a brilliant explosion of light, it resembled fireworks more than a strike.
But the moment Aslan poured magic into the sword, Merlin had already prepared a counter. As the energy burst, his illusionary body scattered like petals and then slowly reformed nearby. Clearly, it had been a projection from the beginning.
"I must say, Aslan, your way of greeting old friends has gotten more and more shocking. Were you seriously trying to kill me just now?"
Holding his staff in one hand, Merlin wiped his forehead with the other, his expression still laced with lingering fear. He honestly hadn't expected Aslan to fire off a strike from the Golden Sword of Assured Victory so casually. If it had hit him, he'd be spending the rest of his days mourning his lost chances with a cute little succubus.
Not that he was sure he'd ever meet one anyway.
What Merlin didn't know was that in the centuries to come, not only would he fail to find a succubus, he'd end up masquerading as a female virtual idol online—and fooling a certain Grand Caster into an embarrassing mess.
When it came to ridiculous antics, few could match him.
Aslan silently handed the Holy Sword to Artoria. The Golden Sword of Assured Victory, sensing his intent, pulsed with reluctant golden light, its weight suddenly increasing as if unwilling to part from him. Aslan felt the change and his expression grew increasingly strange.
Buddy, if you act like this, how am I supposed to explain it to Merlin…?
If the sword could speak, it'd probably just say, Don't bother explaining.
After all, it did look like the setup for one hell of a messy love triangle. Fate had brought a golden-haired girl to the king destined by the Sword in the Stone—except this girl had, in the meantime, met a boy who had barged into her story unexpectedly.
This boy was also worthy of kingship, and perhaps even better suited to be the island's ruler in terms of ideals. But sadly, the boy didn't want to be king. Nor did he want to marry the golden-haired girl. In fact, under his persuasion, she had temporarily stayed beside the one who was destined to be king.
But human souls are free. So too should be love. The golden-haired girl never forgot the boy she'd once met. When she finally sensed his presence again, she crossed land and sea just to come to his side.
And yet, the boy still wouldn't accept her. All he said was that it wasn't the right time.
Now, he was trying to send her back to the man who was fated to be king. Who knew when they'd meet again? The girl didn't want to leave—but she didn't know how to express her feelings. And to the boy, this golden-haired girl was becoming a burden he couldn't explain away.
A story of a girl chasing love.
A story of a boy who just didn't get it.
A story where the rightful king was relegated to the background.
In the modern world, the boy would probably get roasted by advocates of free love. But really, no one here was in the wrong.
Aslan looked at the Holy Sword in his hand with his pale blue eyes, suddenly feeling as if he was turning into the kind of heartless jerk he never wanted to be. If he really took the Golden Sword of Assured Victory with him now, someone was bound to go summon the Lady of the Lake and chase him down with the Sword of Promised Victory.
"For the sake of my future happiness… be good, alright? Just think of it as following my command, okay?"
Aslan turned around, crouched down, and whispered quietly to the Golden Sword of Assured Victory. After all, if Artoria heard this, it wouldn't look good. It would feel like the sword had made her the fallback option.
After much gentle coaxing, the sword finally stopped resisting, its weight slowly returning to normal. Aslan handed it back to Artoria with some reluctance.