CRACK-BOOM—CRACK-BOOM—
Thunder roared. Rain began to fall over Britain. The downpour washed over the streets as if to sweep away all dust.
By the window, Morgan watched with a blank expression. Her thoughts were no longer on the rain before her. After her shadows were utterly torn apart by the monster at Artoria's side, the forsaken princess of Britain realized that path was no longer viable. The opponent's power was palpable.
Damn it... Could this be another move from my biased father?
At the thought, Morgan grit her teeth in anger. She loathed this unjust fate.
However, Morgan quickly composed herself. She knew that just being angry was useless. Artoria could still hum a little tune and take the throne, while she could only watch helplessly. But what should I do?
CRACK-BOOM—
Another loud crash. Lightning struck not far from Morgan. The flowers and grass it touched burst into flames for an instant before being extinguished by the wind and rain.
"Are even you mocking me?" Morgan felt the urge to raise a certain finger. But in the end, as a member of the British royal family, she refrained from such an act.
However, as if in response to her restraint, she soon noticed something unusual where the lightning had struck. It was... the trace of magical energy.
As the rightful heir of Britain, Morgan was well-versed in the magecraft of this era. To call her the most outstanding magus would likely draw no argument. And she certainly understood the source of magical energy. Everything in the world could provide it; it was only a matter of quantity.
But this time, it was clearly too much. It was a level that completely surpassed what a normal lightning strike could produce.
A cold wind blew against Morgan's face, lifting a few strands of her beautiful silver hair. Her intuition told her something was amiss.
After a moment's hesitation, despite the storm raging through the city, Morgan left her room. Without informing anyone, she crossed the royal court and went out into the streets. The cold rain fell on her, but it did not extinguish the desire in her heart to understand the situation.
She was getting closer. Morgan soon found that her intuition was correct. There was an extraordinary amount of magical energy at the spot where the lightning had struck. It was definitely not something that could be produced by a normal thunderstorm.
Braving the downpour, Morgan looked up at the sky. It was still clamoring, as if with an endless, unvented rage. Speaking of which, it was indeed strange. Britain hadn't seen a rain like this for a long time, not since the prophecy began to circulate. After all, the entire land was in a state of decline. For such a rain to suddenly fall now, it was as if something beyond the norm had interfered with this land that should have continued its slide into stillness.
CRACK-BOOM—
Another clap of thunder. This time, Morgan thought she heard a faint wail. Was it my imagination? Surely not.No—that's not what I'm here to investigate.
Putting aside the thought, she bent down in the strange rain to examine the site of the lightning strike. To her surprise, in just a short time, blood-black crystals had grown where the lightning had struck. They were emitting a thick magical energy.
"..."
Morgan looked around. The crystals were too conspicuous. She quickly confirmed that there were none in other places. It seemed to be both a coincidence and an inevitability.
The abandoned princess of Britain hesitated no longer. She quickly began to collect the things from the ground, heedless of her appearance. Though she looked disheveled, Morgan felt that something appearing before her at a time like this could not be simple.
An unknown amount of time later, she returned to her room, soaking wet. The damp feeling was unpleasant, but she felt incredibly excited.
Clink, clank.
The crystals were placed on her bed. She carefully studied each one and soon came to a further conclusion. High purity. High quality. Each of these crystals probably contained the equivalent of an ordinary magus's entire lifetime of magical energy. Even Morgan had to marvel at such a thing. This was likely her only stroke of luck in many years.
But... what can I use them for? Morgan pressed a hand to her forehead. She felt like a nouveau riche, with enough wealth but no idea where to spend it.
Just then, with another crash of thunder, Morgan's attention was drawn once more. She couldn't tell if it was a sign or her own imagination, but looking in the direction of the lightning strike, an idea suddenly formed in her mind.
It was the location of the Sword of Selection.
The moment the prophecy was born, a sword embedded in a stone had appeared in the square there. Naturally, that place became the site of the prophecy. "He who draws the sword from this stone is rightwise King of Britain."
Every day, countless knights came here. They were all eager to try and pull the sword from the stone. But Morgan knew none of them would succeed. It was all a play put on for everyone. There was only one person who could draw the sword: Artoria. The rest were just "actors" unwittingly drawn in to legitimize this succession.
Morgan could also feel that the stone had been enchanted with an extremely powerful spell. It was impossible to destroy it with her own power alone.
But now, everything was different.
Morgan looked back at the black crystals on her bed. If before it was impossible due to a lack of means, the situation was now completely different. She had so many magical crystals. She could set up a higher-level spell, one that would prevent even the predestined Artoria from drawing the sword from the stone. If that happened, the fixed selection of the king would be void, and everything would return to tradition.
Yes. This must have appeared so that I could do this. This is a gift from fate! So I haven't been completely abandoned after all—I will absolutely not hand over a single inch of Britain!
In the rain, the sneer of the princess gradually became twisted. Her struggle had begun.
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