Killing Intent

"Merlin, I'll ask you this: you aren't talking about that Dragon of Albion, are you? I recall that only its corpse remains."

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at Merlin with a touch of helplessness.

"If the King has heard of it, then that is all the better." Merlin nodded affirmatively.

The last dragon to remain on the island of Britain was known as the Dragon of Albion, a phantasmal species that had existed since the birth of the planet. With 4.6 billion years of life data, it was the most primitive and supreme of existences.

Unlike those dragons that appeared due to dragon factors lingering on the surface, the Dragon of Albion was a true-blooded dragon in the literal sense. To draw an analogy with human heroes, it was the Grand class among dragon-kind.

As the Age of Gods drew to a close, many phantasmal species chose to depart for the Inner Sea of the Planet. As the final true-blooded dragon, Albion remained to witness the arrival of the human era. By the time it sought to leave, the passage to the Inner Sea of the Planet had already closed. It attempted to physically tunnel through the crust to return, but ultimately died of exhaustion.

Leon noted that whether in the current world or a Lostbelt, the fate of this primordial dragon was always to die of exhaustion. While he found it amusing, he looked at Merlin with confusion: "Since it is dead, what use do I have for it? Surely you don't mean to resurrect it?"

Merlin shook his head: "Albion is not truly dead. Its soul returned to the Inner Sea of the Planet, leaving only its body in the current world. Its remains transformed into a vast labyrinth, one that preserves mysteries long vanished from the human era and is haunted by many long-lost phantasmal species. It is known as the Spirit Tomb Albion."

"Mages have built a magical city atop the Spirit Tomb, constantly excavating and exploring this treasure trove. Just moments ago, they discovered a young dragon within the tomb that has yet to fully mature. While it does not compare to Albion, it is still a mystery unparalleled in this world."

"And so, the mages have obtained this young dragon. Knowing that the King has long desired a mount, they hope to strike a bargain with you."

Although it was not a true-blooded dragon, having a giant dragon as a mount would be quite fine. While Leon was interested, he also felt a surge of irritation. These mages were far too presumptuous; if they had something good, shouldn't they have offered it to him immediately?

Did they even consider him their King?

"What is the bargain?"

"They hope the King will destroy those little trinkets you crafted yourself, and guarantee that you will never produce them again."

Upon hearing Merlin's words, Leon's expression instantly returned to calm. The irritation in his heart vanished, replaced by a rapidly boiling intent to kill.

His eyes held an inscrutable look as he gazed at Merlin.

"Merlin, whose side are you on?"

"Haha, I am naturally your subject." Merlin's words were slow and calm. "King, I saw this by chance. The mages of Londinium have this intention, but they have yet to act upon it."

"That is good."

Merlin's reply dispelled the doubts in Leon's heart, and he felt much more at ease. Although Merlin was often unreliable, his abilities were exceptional; if he were to kill him, Leon would feel the loss.

"Merlin, I have no intention of trading with them, yet I still want that dragon. Tell me, what should I do?"

A group of people who didn't know their place, daring to try and sway his decisions—they were courting death.

"You already have your own ideas, my King."

Merlin bowed slightly. Based on his understanding of Leon, what followed would likely be another bloodbath.

"Since the King is now aware of this news, I shall take my leave."

Leon nodded. Watching Merlin's retreating back, his eyes flickered with unreadable emotions. Compared to those mages who weren't worth mentioning, he was more wary of Merlin alone. He pondered incessantly on Merlin's motive for telling him this.

Merlin was far too mysterious, and he lacked the emotions of an ordinary person; his expressions were merely imitations of humanity. Leon had always found it difficult to grasp his true thoughts.

It couldn't be that he was truly loyal, concerned with what concerned him, could it?

Heh, how could that be?

However, the matter Merlin mentioned had provided him with an opportunity.

Returning to his bedchamber, Leon was immediately entangled by his daughter upon entering.

"Ya ya, ee ya."

Mordred sat on his massive palm, clutching his forearm tightly with both hands and feet, swinging back and forth like a swing while babbling incessantly.

After playing with Mordred for a good while, he saw she was growing sleepy and handed her over to a maid.

Half-reclining on the bed, Leon gently stroked his wife's not-yet-swollen abdomen and asked her: "Morgan, what do you think of those mages in Londinium?"

"Them? They are nothing more than mortals devoid of both talent and vision."

Morgan's expression was one of utter disdain; she didn't hold them in any regard, nor did she even consider them mages.

That was to be expected. Morgan was of noble birth, born as the true successor to the power of the island of Britain. She was the embodiment of mystery itself, both a Fairy and a sorceress.

The mysteries that the mages outside spent their entire lives researching were, to her, things she could achieve with a flick of her finger. They were not worth mentioning.

Hearing his wife say this, the intent to kill in Leon's heart became firmly set.

Morgan asked curiously: "Leon, why are you suddenly concerned about them?"

"It isn't concern. I am merely wondering whether I should wipe them out."

Leon's words were thick with the scent of blood, yet Morgan ignored it, instead wearing a look of realization: "To conquer their territory, or for the sake of the Spirit Tomb?"

"Something like that."

Previously, out of respect for his agreement with the Old Man of Jewels, Leon had temporarily tolerated the existence of this group. But he would not endure it forever; he could not allow a faction that did not submit to him to exist within Britain.

It was also for the sake of the Spirit Tomb Albion. Knowing that such a treasure existed in Britain, how could he tolerate others stealing and occupying it?

Beyond that, those mages were arrogant and presumptuous, attempting to bargain with him as equals. Such disrespect was unforgivable; by law, they deserved to be executed.

And the content of the bargain—to destroy the Steam Engine and the Spinning Jenny he had just created? Did they have any idea what these things represented for Britain? To speak so insolently was simply throwing themselves onto his blade.

For all these reasons, Leon truly did not want to let these people go.

"Leon, I have something I want to tell you." Morgan held Leon's massive hand with both of hers, rubbing it against her face, her tone filled with softness: "Could you destroy those little toys you made?"

Leon whipped his head around to look at Morgan, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"W-what is it?" Startled by her husband's sudden movement, Morgan recovered and gave his chest a light punch. "Don't be so jumpy, you scared me."

"It's nothing, I just think you're beautiful." Leon stroked his wife's cheek, his peripheral vision sweeping over her lower abdomen as he chuckled in his usual tone. "Those little trinkets were just something I made to pass the time while handling state affairs. Do you not like them?"

"Mm, I really don't."

"If you don't like them, then we'll get rid of them. Don't overthink things right now; keeping your body healthy and your mood stable is what matters most."

Leon spoke in a gentle tone, soothing his newly pregnant wife.

Yet, his heart was in a terrible state. He didn't know if it was pure coincidence or if the mages had managed to get to Morgan, but regardless of which it was, he couldn't tolerate it for another second.

In the middle of the night, Leon tossed and turned. Unable to find sleep, he rose and looked at the empty bedchamber, feeling a sudden chill wash over him.

He took out a gemstone, which glowed with a dim red light in the darkness. As he stared at it, the expression on his face gradually twisted with murderous intent.