On Avalon Island, Samael stood by the lake, silently gazing at Britain beneath the mist. His slit pupils opened and closed as he watched a faint glimmer pierce through the dark clouds. He could not help but let out a long breath, and his clenched hands slowly relaxed.
It had been over a month since the holy light of the Tower of End had gone out.
As an ancient king experienced in governance, he knew all too well what those shortsighted nobles were like.
Morgan's harsh rule had offended practically every class that wielded mysterious power.
Though Samael had not left the island during this time, he could perceive traces of Britain's unrest almost every day through his extraordinary vision.
A glimpse of one spot revealed the whole picture. This was Cornwall, Camelot's original stronghold.
One could only imagine what the other regions looked like.
Cutting off someone's source of wealth was no different from killing their parents.
Those nobles who had been squeezed dry were never meek little rabbits who only knew how to submit.
It was not hard to imagine that once the rats lurking in the gutters realized how weak the Queen atop the tower had become, they would certainly swarm at the scent.
Yet even though he saw everything clearly, Samael still did not take that step.
Because this was their promise to each other...
Fortunately, the long night had finally passed. Camelot had seen clear skies after the rain once more, and everything had finally calmed down.
As a cold wind carrying frost fragments blew across the lake, Samael spread out his hand and caught the tiny ice crystals condensing in the air, quietly watching them melt slowly in his palm.
When several drops of clear water flowed across his palm, the faint chill seeping