"Duke of Oxford has raised an army?"
On Avalon Island, Samael glanced at Melly, who had brought the news with a beaming smile.
He then turned and skimmed the contents of the paper at a glance, his brow gradually furrowing.
The details of Morgan nearly falling from her throne had allowed the lords to glimpse the goddess's weakness, making them believe there was an opportunity to exploit.
Five years had passed. The nobles who had long harbored deep resentment toward the royal court had finally been unable to suppress their thoughts, which had spread like wild grass, and launched a rebellion.
This chaos quickly spread like wildfire, vast in scale. Within just a few months, it swept across two-thirds of the southern and northern territories.
Then, Samael looked toward Camelot, which was likely already ablaze with war, and a cold smile curled across his lips.
But weren't they underestimating Morgan—and the Fae Knights he had personally trained—far too much?
Britain's Age of Gods had not yet fully faded. The destructive power and lethality displayed by the exceptionally gifted Knights of the Round Table on the battlefield were not something ordinary people could make up for with sheer numbers.
King against king, general against general, soldier against soldier. That was the proper scale of warfare in the Age of Gods.
Without the appropriate trump card, no matter how many soldiers Duke of Oxford gathered, they would only be marching to their deaths.
Wait!
Duke of Oxford... Samael had some impression of him. A man who put profit above all else, and a notorious fairy slave trader besides. For him to stand against the long-established might of the Lion King, either the situation was already a sure thing, or he possessed enough bargaining chips.
Even if something had happened to Morgan herself,