Morgan fell silent at once, her expression rather complicated.
The idea was indeed beautiful, but whether it was the Child of the Red Dragon blessed by faith or the British Witch endowed with nature's mystery, the continuation of either bloodline was filled with chance and miracles.
In this world where the Age of Gods was steadily declining, they were the lingering glow upon the isle of Britain—brilliant, yet difficult to preserve.
What Morgan wanted was to merge the entirely different bloodline traits within herself and Artoria into one.
This undertaking had been hellishly difficult from the start. Creating a life like Mordred from it had already been an unbelievable miracle.
Therefore, this child had developed severe flaws, flaws Morgan could not erase even after exhausting every effort.
After a brief silence, the Witch raised her eyes and gazed at Mordred, who sat at the dining table full of curiosity and an overwhelming desire to explore. Her tone grew subdued.
"A baby's body simply cannot bear the power of two bloodlines merging, so her rate of deterioration far exceeds my expectations..."
It had to be said that Mordred possessed extraordinary talent. In merely half a month, the aetheric reaction within her had become comparable to those Fae Knights born bearing calamity.
But at the cost of that, Mordred's physical deterioration was progressing even faster than Artoria's emotional erosion.
In just half a month, Mordred's growth had already covered what would have been five or six years in an ordinary child's life.
Even though Morgan had hidden in Orkney these past two weeks and used every possible method—cramming education through dreams, real-world instruction, mental imprints—to pass complicated knowledge and skills on to Mordred, she still could not keep pace with Mordred's aging.
Before the Lion King had fully become a goddess, Mordred's