Merlin's Grand Magic

Spirit Tomb Albion.

When Leon was constructing the new city, he had intentionally left a passage leading directly underground in a secluded corner of the royal palace.

With the entire palace sent beyond the world by Morgan, the entrance to this passage was stripped of its cover, standing starkly exposed against the brown earth.

Looking down from above, it resembled an entrance to hell—deep, dark, and bottomless.

After resurrecting Vortigern, Morgan controlled him and entered the passage together. No sooner had they stepped inside than Vortigern struck with sudden, savage force, cleanly obliterating a hidden avatar of Merlin.

Morgan was secretly startled; she had completely failed to detect Merlin's deliberate concealment. Had Vortigern not discovered it and acted in time, her plans would have been ruined at this critical juncture, rendering all her schemes for naught.

Amidst Morgan's arrogant, mocking laughter, Vortigern waved a hand. "I simply saw clearly who my true enemy is—the same enemy you share."

Morgan, walking in front, halted her steps. She turned around, eyes narrowed and expression grim, looking at the tool named Vortigern behind her.

"Enemy? Are you referring to Leon?"

Hearing Morgan's calm tone, Vortigern raised an eyebrow. He could sense the trace of madness hidden beneath her composure, yet he still smiled with a look of feigned confusion. "Is he not?"

The moment those words left his lips, Vortigern saw that although Morgan was trying her best to remain calm, she could not hide the livid, dark shade beneath her skin. She slowly extended her hand and splayed her fingers.

Squelch! Squelch!

Vortigern felt the familiar, excruciating pain erupt from his chest and abdomen once more. His ribcage collapsed inward, and jagged, blood-stained ribs pierced through his skin, jutting outward.

He collapsed to the ground instantly, vomiting blood, and struggled to lift his head to look at Morgan. "Witch, what... are you doing again..."

One second she was fine, the next she changed on a whim.

The shift in her emotions was so rapid that even he was caught off guard.

"Who told you Leon is my enemy? He is my husband!"

Morgan frowned, standing in place. By the dim, eerie light, she looked down at the writhing, agony-stricken Vortigern with eyes full of disdain.

"As a wife, I love my husband deeply. Even if he deceives me time and again, even if he has always been using me, I do not care. I accept it willingly, and I will continue to love him hopelessly."

What right does an outsider like you have to gossip about the affairs between me and Leon?

Besides, you, Vortigern, are nothing but a defeated general under my husband's command—a loser betrayed and killed by his own subordinates. How dare you have the gall to consider yourself my husband's enemy?

"Know your place. You are merely a tool of mine." Morgan's tone was icy, devoid of any pity.

Vortigern was nothing more than a consumable to her, a tool to be discarded once used. How dare he speak so boldly of a "shared enemy"?

Are you even worthy?

"Ha, ha... you really are a witch through and through..."

Vortigern propped himself up, enduring the searing pain as he shoved his ribs back into his body, which made him feel slightly better.

He looked up, his eyes filled with deep mockery, as if looking at a madwoman whose reason and emotions were twisted beyond repair.

And what of Morgan?

In the end, she was nothing but a young girl trapped in the throes of love, a clown who hid herself away, terrified of what others might say.

The only difference between her and an ordinary person was the incomprehensible way of thinking inherent to a witch.

On one hand, she claimed to love her husband deeply; on the other, she did not hesitate to launch a rebellion against his kingdom, all while genuinely intending to kill the man she loved...

He couldn't understand it. Was this what they called a witch's love?

He didn't claim to be a normal person; he was a destruction device obsessed with slaughter and ruin. Yet, seeing Morgan's twisted state, he couldn't help but sigh that, by comparison, his own humanity was far more intact. At the very least, his reason and emotions remained functional.

In that light, it was truly pathetic that the Lion King had been loved by such a mentally chaotic and emotionally warped witch.

Thinking of the valiant Lion King marrying such a madwoman, a wave of gloating, ecstatic joy surged in Vortigern's heart.

Hahaha, delightful!

"You are correct. I am indeed the witch of Britain." Morgan nodded, accepting the title Vortigern had given her.

However, seeing the mockery in his expression, she felt a surge of irritation. She reached out and made a phantom gripping motion toward him.

"Urgh, ah!"

Vortigern's irrepressible scream rang out. His internal wounds had not yet fully healed, and as Morgan forcibly controlled him to stand, blood gushed out, soaking the ground beneath his feet.

"Let us continue. I have further need of your total devotion."

Ignoring Vortigern's injuries entirely, Morgan manipulated this newly crafted puppet, and the two continued to delve deeper along the newly opened path of the Spirit Tomb.

Ever since occupying the Spirit Tomb, Morgan had mapped out its general structure.

She divided the underground tomb into four main levels.

The first level, roughly ten thousand meters deep, housed her newly constructed magic workshop, used for research and exploration.

The second level was the Vein Corridor, spanning thirty thousand meters. It was covered in massive magic circuits and possessed exceptionally sturdy defenses; if one's mystery was insufficient, one could not even inflict damage.

Various Phantasmal Species nearing the Age of Gods inhabited the spaces and nodes formed by these magic circuits.

The third level was divided into two sections. The upper section, about twenty thousand meters deep, was the location of the Dragon Heart. The dragon bones shrouding the heart formed a barrier of the highest intensity found on the surface, and the surrounding strata were reinforced with incredibly sturdy defensive barriers. One could assume that even a giant dragon's body could only advance as far as this point.

The lower section, also twenty thousand meters deep, was where the dragon's head resided. The distance from the heart was not due to the dragon's body being that massive; Morgan speculated it was caused by the dragon's obsession—even with its body shattered and only the head remaining, it continued to push forward.

So many years after the dragon's death, she had even observed living tissue within the dragon's skull.

The fourth layer is a realm currently beyond the reach of humanity, and it is the Fairy Domain that she has always obsessed over.

After diving deeper for a while, Vortigern finally felt his breathing stabilize, and the wounds within his body had mostly healed.

He followed far behind Morgan, his gaze fixed upon her with a cold, murderous intent.

As the dignified Vile King of Britain, he would never have suffered such humiliation at the hands of a witch had he not been shackled by a thousand spells.

Yet, the moment he thought of the primary enemy he would soon face, and recalled the crushing defeat he suffered during their first encounter, he forcibly suppressed the malice he felt toward Morgan.

His enemy was not Morgan!

Moreover, Morgan's goals aligned with his own in certain respects.

Continuing his descent through the massive underground rift into the Spirit Tomb, Vortigern lost track of how deep he had gone. He had heard of this Spirit Tomb, the legendary resting place where the Last Dragon perished upon returning to the Inner Sea.

He could clearly sense the vastness of the Spirit Tomb, yet what he perceived and saw before him was not even one percent of its true scale.

Although he was also known as the White Dragon of Britain and counted as a dragon-kind, there was a chasm between dragons. Compared to the Last Dragon, the gap between them was like the difference between a human and an ape.

Sensing that the earth of the Spirit Tomb was riddled with structures resembling magic circuits, Vortigern could not tell if these were the remnants of dragon remains or something inherent to the land itself.

In any case, Morgan did not damage these massive circuits; she surely intended to make use of them.

"Since you intend to use me as a tool, you should at least tell me what to do next. I, this tool, will cooperate well so that I may be put to good use."

"Heh, Vortigern, I am quite satisfied with your current attitude." A tool should act like a tool.

Morgan did not stop moving, saying without looking back: "We are heading to the third layer of the Spirit Tomb, where the Dragon Heart resides. I have built an altar there, and that is where you, the White Dragon, will play your part. There..."

Hearing Morgan's brief explanation, Vortigern nodded.

"I see."

He knew a little about magecraft, and the moment Morgan spoke, he understood.

The Dragon Heart was a powerful furnace; Morgan could not start such a potent power source on her own, and he was being used by her as a sacrifice for the altar.

Combining this with the massive magic circuits he had seen, he instantly grasped Morgan's plan.

Is this woman, Morgan, really going to play for such high stakes?

"We are here."

As Morgan ceased her descent, the two arrived within a massive underground cavern, surrounded by a high-intensity mystery barrier and immersed in unparalleled magical energy.

Vortigern did not see the so-called Dragon Heart, but he could sense that he had arrived at an incredibly sturdy location, one that would not affect the outside world no matter how violent the attacks within might be.

At the very center stood a newly constructed altar, carved with mysterious runes and magic circles. A cylindrical stone block hung above the altar; as a whole, the structure resembled a giant mortar.

Vortigern looked at the altar before him, his eyelids twitching: "I'll ask just in case..."

Before he could finish, Morgan waved her hand, cutting him off.

"Get on."

Under Morgan's control, Vortigern's body stepped onto the altar, reached the center, and lay down flat.

He watched the massive stone pillar above with calm eyes. Although he knew he would be a sacrifice, he had not expected Morgan's method of ritual sacrifice to be so crude.

To put it politely, it was full of classical charm.

As Morgan waved the staff in her hand, a mysterious chant echoed through the empty underground cavern. A brilliant light erupted from the altar, and the cylindrical stone block crashed down.

Splat!

Vortigern, who had just been resurrected, had now become Vortigern-chan.

Blood flowed out from beneath the stone block, filling the pre-carved patterns and constructing a mysterious, complex magic circle.

Morgan's cold face could not hide her excitement. Having reached this point, her plan was already half-successful, and she felt satisfied with this ritual of Vortigern's self-sacrifice.

"Heh, to let you, this White Dragon, personally experience the might of a pure-blooded dragon—consider it your good fortune."

Magical energy surged and flowed.

Morgan closed her eyes, focusing all her attention on operating this unprecedented magical ritual.

Beads of crystal sweat trickled down her forehead. Her concentration was at an all-time high; she dared not allow herself the slightest distraction.

[Dragon Heart activated, magical energy manipulation complete]

She focused entirely on manipulating the concept of Vortigern as the White Dragon, using his sacrificed body as a key to ignite the Dragon Heart—that massive furnace—and transform it into a nearly infinite power source.

She then manipulated Vortigern's soul, casting it into the roaring furnace of magical energy, using it as her own arms and fingertips to guide the flow of the immense power within, directing it along the pre-planned routes.

[Massive circuits connected, magical energy flow stabilized]

In the earth above, the long-buried Great Magic Circuits connected with the furnace. The surging, massive magical energy poured into these circuits like a sluice gate opening. Nourished by this power, the long-dormant circuits were instantly revitalized.

In the blink of an eye, the entire network of magic circuits in the earth was completely saturated, and the flow of energy within them became unobstructed.

[Basic ritual operational, foundation constructed]

Using Vortigern's will as the operating platform, she took complete control of the furnace and the circuits.

As the Lord of the Island, she manipulated the concept of Vortigern's island-will, using the operation of the Great Magic Circuits as an energy flow to permeate the earth that covered the circuits within the Spirit Tomb, completing the magical infusion and activation of the land.

Using Vortigern's will to replace the soul of the Dragon of Albion—which had long since returned—she controlled the mysterious barrier upon the bones, turning them into load-bearing pillars to support the earth. Thus, the basic framework was complete.

The will of the island and the concept of the dragon combined, seizing absolute control over the upper strata of the Spirit Tomb and completing the most vital foundation.

As the ground beneath trembled, Morgan slowly opened her eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow with a look of joy on her face.

"Finally, it is finished."

Morgan had once investigated the great circuit on the second level out of curiosity.

Why would a dragon choose this specific location to bore through the crust and return to the Reverse Side of the World?

Surely some Phantasmal Species had done something here beforehand; the dragon must have seen the traces left behind and decided to dig here.

Upon seeing the familiarity of the massive circuit, Morgan surmised that this must have been the magic circuit used by the fairies of old when they shifted the Fairy Land to the Reverse Side of the World.

If that were the case, could she utilize these circuits to reverse the spell and pull the Fairy Land back to the surface?

It was entirely feasible!

Under Morgan's manipulation, the island of Britain actually stood up!

Rumble!

The ground shook as if struck by an earthquake.

Fortunately, the tremor was not severe and lasted only a short time; the people in the royal capital had barely reacted before the shaking ceased.

There were no aftershocks, no large-scale collapses, and not even a single building in the royal capital had fallen; there wasn't so much as a crack in the walls.

Within the city, the government of Britain had no idea what had happened, merely acting out of habit to deploy troops to suppress the unrest and force the populace to return to their homes, forbidding them from going out without notice.

Though the people complained about the earthquake, they dared not defy the explicit orders and could only huddle obediently in their homes.

Yet, in the eyes of Merlin, who watched from the continent across the strait, Morgan's handiwork was a feat that truly reached the heavens and shook the earth.

Physically, it reached the heavens and shook the earth.

He looked pale, coughing from time to time as he gazed toward Britain.

A massive, half-human torso rose from the surface of Britain; it lacked legs, its lower abdomen fused with the earth, while two arms extended from its sides, hands plunged into the crust to serve as auxiliary supports.

It had no head or neck; lush green fields and forests served as its skin, its height piercing the sky such that clouds could only drift across its chest. Upon its vast shoulders sat the chalk-white royal capital, and the land of the royal palace looked as if it had been gouged out, a pitch-black, gloomy hole leading straight to the earth's core.

Facing such a sight, only one thought crossed Merlin's mind.

"Morgan... has gone mad."

To dare play such a dangerous game—was she not afraid of being erased by the Counter Force, or punished by the Lion King?

Merlin immediately attempted to notify Leon of everything he had seen, only to find that Leon was currently entangled by an artificial god and could not spare the effort.

Although he could not see the figures of the Lion King and the god fighting, the sheer devastation of the local terrain caused by the shockwaves of their battle allowed him to infer the intensity of their clash; ordinary people would be reduced to ash instantly if even grazed by the aftermath, let alone participate.

With wolves in front and tigers behind, he found himself in such a predicament, yet he had been grazed by an attack from a black spear, leaving him severely wounded.

When faced with the Lion King's command—a directive that felt like both an empowerment and a plea—Merlin nodded heavily: "Yes, leave it to me, my King."

The current atmosphere was not one he could handle with his usual slacker attitude.

He had to get serious!

As for being grazed by the black spear, it was a mere mortal wound.

Looking at the situation in Britain, Duke Luther and Lord Joe were leading troops to suppress the various regions, while Sir Lancelot and Kay were rushing to the royal capital after receiving his notification and were now nearly there.

Merlin puffed out his chest; since everyone else was working so hard, he could not continue to slack off. If that was the case, it was time to reveal his true capabilities.

Coming up next was the supreme grand magic created by the son of a human and an incubus, the renowned master of heroes, the court mage of Great Britain, the candidate for Grand Caster among the world's strongest weapons, and the Flower Mage, Merlin.

"Artoria, it is time for your entrance!"