Samael raised a hand to take the ** Sword, lightly brushing its edge with his fingertips. He stood silently in the sunlight for a long while, staring fixedly at the holy relic that bore witness to Britain's rise and fall.
Before he knew it, surging thoughts rose within him.
Lancelot, the Knight of the Lake, who chose endurance and perseverance; Gawain, the Sun Knight, who chose loyalty and integrity; Tristan, the Sorrowful Knight, blessed with kindness and sensitivity; Agravain, the Iron Wall, who cast aside his schemes and past; Galahad, the Grail Knight, who walked toward sacrifice and devotion...
Lion King Artoria Pendragon, the proud goddess who bore the burden of her nation...
And Artoria Castor, his foolish little disciple, who had sensed something yet continued to believe in him...
Likewise, a Calamity Knight born for destruction, yet tamed by protection...
And finally, a Queen abandoned by her nation and people, who had never abandoned her nation or people...
Britain's past turned page by page. Name after name, figure after figure, appeared before him as though the sword itself wore their faces.
The past flooded his mind like a tide. Samael lowered his gaze, and it finally settled upon the sleeping face amid the flowerbed. The tightly drawn corners of his lips inadvertently lifted into a faint curve.
He seemed to be smiling...
Just as the surrounding Fae Knights thought it was merely an illusion, a faint smile bloomed across the ancient serpent's face.
"Did you think that handing this thing to me meant you could just leave?"
The Fae Knights froze slightly, unable to hide their bewilderment.
At that moment, Samael bent down and gathered the letters covered in writing one by one. He carefully stacked them, patted them lightly in his palm, then leaned close to Morgan's ear