In this forest, full of scars from old battles, there was no sign of the Golden Sword of Victory. Aslan exhaled. That meant the broken blade had likely been taken to Camelot's treasury. He hadn't planned on involving himself with that city—at least, not yet—but it seemed he no longer had a choice.
He closed his eyes. The first time, he'd turned away from the sword because it had its own mission. But now… he would not abandon it again.
Then let's go to Camelot.
When they finally emerged from the forest after all these years, the land had changed. Compared to the dark ages of the past, the people now wore brighter expressions. The current King Arthur was no longer criticized for lacking humanity.
Today, King Arthur remained the spiritual pillar of both the people and the knights. At least until the island was truly unified, no one dared question him.
Camelot—the City of Light. A sacred place where evil magic was strictly forbidden. Even the gleam of its white walls under the sun forced passersby to squint.
Those radiant battlements seemed to declare that no one could breach its defenses—that justice and light would always prevail. The city attracted heroes, knights, and settlers from across the world. Aside from Glorious City, no other place had drawn such a tide of migration. Aspiring warriors beat their chests, swearing they'd earn a place among the Knights of the Round Table.
Well… easier said than done. But every dream has its worth.
Still, Aslan couldn't walk through the gates openly. A little magical disguise would be necessary.
He withdrew a large pile of weapons, armor, and enchanted gear from his space ring—failures by his standards, but treasure to most knights. Among Camelot's ranks, this would be more than enough to earn respect.
This time, he'd pose as a blacksmith looking to open a shop in the city. Hopefully, such an identity wouldn't invite scrutiny. With so many new faces arriving, the guards likely couldn't inspect everyone too closely. A modest illusion spell and a few tweaks to his appearance should suffice.
As his caravan approached the city, he spotted the grand gate at last—and the knight standing vigil beneath it, interviewing each visitor. Golden hair. Strong build. White armor, black cloak, and a silver-blue holy sword at his hip.
Even without inspecting the blade, Aslan could tell—it was a weapon on par with a holy sword. But more than that, the knight's face...
Wait a moment.
If he wasn't mistaken... wasn't that Gawain?
Yes. Gawain himself, guarding Camelot's gate. Well, that was fine. Nothing wrong with that, right? No need to call in the Gorgon Rangers, thank goodness.
"Welcome to Camelot," Gawain said warmly. "May I ask the reason for your visit? Ah—don't be nervous. It's just routine. Looking to settle down here? Understood. Please proceed to the East District; the knights there will register you."
The man in front of Aslan bowed and went on his way. Then Gawain turned to him. "Welcome to Camelot."
Aslan smiled, no fear in his eyes. He patted the wagon behind him.
"I came to do some business, and finally see this famous city with my own eyes. I've never been here before. Also, my sister's traveling with me—she wanted to see the world."
Gawain nodded and gestured for a scribe to take notes. Then he stepped aside and gave a respectful knight's salute.
"I wish you a prosperous trade. May your time in Camelot be joyful."
Aslan nodded in return. He now appeared as a brown-haired young man with freckles and a modest demeanor.
He entered the city without incident. True to his cover, he went to the marketplace and laid out his surplus equipment—practice weapons, prototype armors, and other experimental gear.
After living in the forest so long, his funds were almost gone. Selling off this inventory would cover their expenses for a while. And besides, daylight wasn't the right time to sneak into a palace.
When night fell, Aslan donned his enchanted cloak and motioned to Melusine. Together, they approached the palace under cover of darkness. His cloak, infused with Morgan's magic, concealed his presence well enough to evade ordinary soldiers. Still, Camelot's royal city was no ordinary place.
The patrols were too frequent, the security too tight. Aslan frowned.
What now?
Before he could finish thinking, Melusine swept him off his feet in a princess carry and pulled the cloak tighter.
"What are you doing—?"
"Leave it to me," she said, smiling confidently. "I'll break through before any soldier can react. I can outpace light itself. Just protect yourself with magic, dear."
Startled but recovering quickly, Aslan pulled a shield from his ring and layered it with his own magic, bolstered by Melusine's. He wouldn't suffer lasting harm, probably.
Though at this speed… he braced himself.
I'm not getting motion sickness… I'm getting dragon sickness.
Melusine crouched like a sprinter at the line, a rare grin on her face.
"Three! Two! One! GO—!"