Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

Vortigern stared at the blond boy with blue eyes—his long-forgotten child.

So that was the truth.

More than ten years had passed. The child had survived, grown strong.

Time was merciless.

This forgotten boy had matured. His appearance was aged—but the island was dying; age no longer mattered.

With the island's power blessing him, even his age was no obstacle. Who could stand against him?

"Aslan… is that your name?"

Vortigern's light golden eyes met Aslan's cool blue. No affection stirred in either—only cold indifference, silent opposition.

He never expected love from the son he'd abandoned.

Aslan blinked, surprised Vortigern knew his name.

He had assumed his father held no memory of him, no place in his heart.

But the dream… it had rekindled some spark.

Now that Vortigern spoke it aloud, Aslan would not stay silent.

He smiled gently, almost tenderly.

"I didn't expect you to remember. I'm sorry for returning after all these years."

Vortigern's smile deepened, a faint warmth briefly softening the decayed hall.

If a modern director were here, he'd marvel at their acting. No love between them, yet a convincing facade of warmth.

Gawain's suspicion deepened. He never trusted Aslan. A kind king like Arthur always bore hidden burdens. Gawain knew someone had to carry his crosses—and Aslan seemed that someone.

Artoria was stunned. She'd believed Aslan a child of King Uther, a brother unknown. She never suspected he was the dragon's son—a secret that explained his silence.

Gawain watched Aslan closely, wary. If he and Melusine sided with the dragon, the Round Table would fall.

Vortigern's black power surged, the shadow behind him twisting like a monstrous dragon.

"Since you are my child, one last chance remains, Aslan. Choose your side. If not, no mercy, even with my blood in your veins."

He never intended to leave heirs. Killing a grown son was no loss.

He extended his hand.

"You carry my blood. Even if the island falls to darkness, you will survive. The child at your side is not human—no matter what happens, it won't touch you."

He spoke no lies.

Whether the island became a hell or survived, Melusine and Aslan would remain untouched—for now.

But Great Britain was pivotal in human history. If it fell, normal history would be lost, unless Aslan created a new Britain far from original lands.

Aslan would not gamble on that. He felt no love for this wretched man.

Drawing his holy sword, he pointed it at Vortigern's throne.

"Enough reminiscing, Dad. Time to say goodbye to the father-son moments."

His smile faded.

He could not persuade Vortigern. Nor could Vortigern sway him.

The island was dying. It was time to fight.

"Let's begin."

Vortigern's smile vanished.

He rose slowly, gripping his magic sword.

Black power surged, devouring light.

His armor and sword turned to shadows that swallowed the hall's brilliance—even Aslan's glorious sword dimmed under the darkness.

Light devoured by darkness—the brighter the swords, the darker the dragon grew.

Yet three holy swords remained.

To weaken them, Vortigern could not consume one entirely—an advantage.

At least the three swords still shone.

"Only devouring? Fine. But kill the sword's masters, and their light will fade forever.

As my dear son said—let's fight. Let's see if that absurd prophecy comes true!"

Raising his sword, Vortigern unleashed a wave of darkness like a tsunami, engulfing the hall.

-End Chapter-

PATREON IS LIVE!!!

Read 30 chapters ahead, more on the way!

[email protected]/TrashProspector

150 Stone = 1 Bonus Chapter

15 Reviews = 1 Bonus Chapter