Fairy Lancelot, Nearly Taken Out Solo by a Pair of Huge Pecs

This peace quietly overlapped with a certain time from thousands of years ago in her memories.

Back then, she had still gone by the name Ash.

Yes, in that long journey, in the brief intervals between hurrying to save Britain, there had been quiet moments like this, fishing by a stream.

No mission to save the world, no disputes between clans—only rippling water, a fishing line sinking ever so slightly, and the occasional low murmur of the companions beside her. That time had been as brief as morning dew, yet it had left an indelible trace of soft light within her iron-hard heart.

At the thought, even Morgan herself did not notice that the corners of her lips, frozen over for so many years, had curved into the faintest, shallowest arc. The heart in her chest, kept constantly taut by rule, betrayal, and obsession, strangely eased at this moment, as though washed clean by the river and her memories together.

However, that peace did not last long.

Suddenly, the seemingly ordinary fishing rod in her hand sank sharply downward! A tremendous force far beyond expectation surged up from beneath the water!

Morgan's gaze sharpened. Almost on instinct, power burst through her wrist, her waist twisting with the motion. The entire movement was smooth and explosive, worlds apart from her languid stillness a moment ago.

"Splash—!!!"

A huge spray of water rolled backward like an upturned waterfall! Immediately after, a massive silver-gray figure burst from the water and, pulled by the fishing line, traced a powerful arc through the air before crashing heavily onto the grass by the bank with a bang.

It was a fish... of an utterly exaggerated size! It was almost as long as a grown man, its scales the size of palms, reflecting a cold, hard sheen