Reborn in Type-Moon, My Sister is Aoko Aozaki

The White City, Camelot.

As the glorious symbol of Britain's past, this fortress city, which should have been regarded as the ideal capital, had, since the death of King Uther, become a source of dread in the hearts of the British people. For no other reason than that this fortress city was the base of the rumored Usurper King, Vortigern.

Inside the palace, paved with pure white, flawless stones, an old man draped in a black cloak rested, his hand supporting his cheek, eyes closed. A moment later, he slowly opened his eyes; his normally emerald green pupils had, at some unknown point, turned into fiery gold, and faint white scales were subtly visible on his exposed neck.

"Your Majesty." A magus silently appeared below the throne, kneeling on one knee, head bowed respectfully.

"What is the current situation?" Vortigern's pupils were slightly rhomboid. Even with just a casual, indifferent glance, the magus below couldn't help but feel an invisible pressure.

"Artoria's army is very close to here. It is estimated that in three to five days at most, they will break through the defenses of the remaining two strongholds and begin the final offense and defense."

"Mm, no matter. I have already sensed the location of the Holy Lance. Three to five days are enough to pull it out. When that time comes, everything will be settled." Vortigern spoke dismissively, neither asking about his army's casualties nor worrying about the coming situation. It was as if the entirety of this war had merely been preparation for this very moment.

The magus seemed to agree with Vortigern's statement. Perhaps out of concern, after a moment's hesitation, he spoke, "...However, Your Majesty, there is something I believe you need to understand. According to intelligence from the front, Artoria not only possesses Caliburn, but now also appears to have the Holy Sword of the Stars granted by the Lady of the Lake."

"And what of it?" Vortigern's cold face finally showed a trace of human emotion, a scoff. "Can a 'fake' really gain the Holy Sword's recognition and unleash its true power? Even if we concede that 'tool' truly gained the Holy Sword's recognition, do you think we still have room to retreat now?"

"You have been with me the longest; you should understand why we are doing all this." The magus was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "It is for the continuation of the Age of Gods."

"Precisely. The Age of Gods will eventually end, and phantasms will disappear from this land. My brother Uther, and Merlin, they long foresaw this outcome, yet they had no intention of making any changes. Do you know why?" As if answering his own question, or perhaps lost in past memories, Vortigern stared straight ahead, his deep voice echoing through the palace.

"It was all for the future. If the Age of Gods were to remain on this land, Britain would be considered an anomaly by the planet, perhaps even subjected to 'judgment.' But if the Age of Gods were allowed to vanish, all the people of Britain, who are essentially a part of this era, would slowly starve to death as the land gradually withered, unable to yield abundant food."

"It was because I learned this truth that I resolutely chose to accept the power of the 'White Dragon,' even if it meant allying with the Saxons, even if it meant becoming the object of everyone's hatred... I could not stand by and watch the land that bore and nurtured me be abandoned by the planet, used to foster the future."

"What 'following the great tide,' what 'creating the future'—in my eyes, these are merely cowardly excuses. If we cannot even protect the present, what good is a glorious future? But my brother simply did not understand this principle. To stop me, he even went so far as to create a 'tool.' Tell me, between us, who is right and who is wrong?"

The magus did not answer the question; indeed, he did not know the answer. After all, what nobility or baseness was there in protecting the present versus forging the future? But he also knew that no matter which choice was made, a corresponding price would have to be paid. —No one could have both. And there would always be a regrettably incomplete outcome. To blame, perhaps, one could only blame Britain for being at such a fated crossroads.

Vortigern exhaled softly, as if breaking free from his memories. His golden eyes grew cold again, his emotions seemingly diminishing. A moment later, he continued, "There is no need to worry further; soon, all of this will end. Neither Artoria nor Merlin, they will all ultimately fail."

"Even if I lose this last battle, it will only accelerate our goal. As long as that child exists, all of this, even if merely as preparation, will be worth it." He recalled the blind boy he had encountered on his territory on a snowy day. Vortigern, now almost completely merged with the power of the "White Dragon," realized how shallow he had been then, to actually believe that such a being was "of the same kind" as him.

If he were to pull out the Holy Lance now, causing the planet's laws to be less firmly anchored to the land of Britain, coupled with the existence of that boy, the rules of the Age of Gods would slowly envelop this land, freeing it from the planet's "constraints." Even if the Holy Lance were re-anchored later, Vortigern estimated it would be of no avail. After all, Britain was still in the twilight of the Age of Gods. Once a catalyst for revival emerged, the rules of the Age of Gods would unhesitatingly begin to erode the current laws. So, even if he ultimately failed, it would essentially be a success.

The only potential problem in this process was that the overlapping of rules would likely cause a significant degree of damage to the current land. And, if the Age of Gods truly returned successfully, whether the planet would issue a "judgment" on it. However, the latter, if it were to happen, Vortigern estimated would be hundreds or even thousands of years in the future. And during that time, aside from the initial period when the rules began to overlap and some people suffered, after that, at least the people of Britain would no longer starve, nor would they be abandoned by fate.

Therefore, at this moment, he only needed to do one thing...

Vortigern stood up, white dragon scales gradually climbing onto his face. His golden eyes, like lights in the darkness, shone brilliantly as he gazed into the distance.

—Next, he would pull out the Holy Lance and shatter Britain's predetermined fate!

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