Vortigern's Strength

"I knew that witch wouldn't let me off so easily."

Watching the three figures sprinting toward him, Vortigern let out a soft sigh, his expression turning solemn as he gripped his sword tightly.

He had been sacrificed by Morgan to jumpstart the Dragon Furnace Core; his body was ground into pulp, and his soul and will were forced to obey her, guiding magical energy to manipulate the Great Magic Circuits and churn the leylines.

Originally, his soul had been resting peacefully within the Dragon Heart, warm and cozy—to him, it felt like being an infant returning to a mother's womb, a comfort so profound it made one want to sink into oblivion.

Vortigern hadn't yet figured out how to break free from Morgan's shackles when she simply flicked a thought, pulled his soul out, molded a new body, and tossed him like a puppet at the entrance of the Spirit Tomb to block the intruders.

Morgan's methods were truly exhaustive; she was literally scraping the marrow from his bones, squeezing every ounce of his strength and utility, recycling him repeatedly without wasting a shred of surplus value.

Vortigern hadn't even known he had so many uses.

Yet, for all the devastation Morgan had wrought upon him, he was currently powerless to resist.

Of course, he had no intention of resisting; in fact, he would even actively assist her.

Morgan's goal was to return Britain to the Age of Gods, but the True Ether that saturated such an environment was lethal to modern humans who had long since departed that era; ordinary people simply could not withstand it.

Once Morgan achieved her goal, every human on the island of Britain would perish.

Britain would become a silent, uninhabited hell.

His own goal was also to return Britain to its primordial state, turning it into a dark hell where humanity could never dwell, so their objectives happened to align perfectly in this regard.

Such a beautiful outcome—I cannot let Morgan enjoy it all alone.

Vortigern blocked the three who intended to storm the entrance of the Spirit Tomb.

Most of his attention was fixed on Artoria, who carried a heavy sword and a wooden staff; feeling the sheer killing intent radiating from her dignified aura and piercing his skin, Vortigern frowned, his expression turning serious before his lips curled into a cruel smile.

He had already decided to use his full strength; he wanted to weigh the power of the Red Dragon of Britain, his fated enemy as spoken of by the masses.

"Vile King Vortigern!"

Seeing the figure blocking the entrance, the three stopped in their tracks; though their faces were stern, they were not surprised by his appearance.

Based on their earlier deductions, Morgan, deep within the Spirit Tomb, was busy excavating the strata and had no energy left to block their intrusion, leaving Vortigern as the only remaining combatant.

"Time is of the essence. We must defeat Vortigern and stop the Queen."

Lancelot drew his golden sword, the blade shimmering with the luster of moonlight on a lake, and circled to the side, his magical energy surging as he launched an attack toward the pitch-black, dragon-like figure.

"Sir Lancelot, please be careful. He feels incredibly dangerous."

Artoria was seeing this man—her fated enemy—once again; the last time had been at the King's ceremony, where she had witnessed the gruesome sight of Vortigern's decapitation.

Now, facing him directly, Artoria's intuition screamed warnings; the overwhelming sense of danger was like standing in the maw of a magical beast, surrounded by the scent of death, her skin crawling from the prickling bloodlust as if she would be hacked to pieces in the next second.

But since she had come here to save Britain, she had long since cast aside thoughts of life and death, so she drew her sword and charged straight at Vortigern.

"Even if it's dangerous, we must break through!" Seeing his sister move, Kay also drew his sword to cover Artoria's flank. "Artoria, watch your safety."

All three were knights of exceptional martial skill, and even Artoria, who had never experienced the battlefield, possessed a profound understanding of the fight before her, thanks to her intellect and intuition.

The moment they engaged, the three spontaneously formed a simple attack formation.

Artoria, possessing the greatest strength and magical power, served as the primary attacker, and Lancelot, recognizing this, utilized his superior martial arts to harass and flank, disrupting the enemy's rhythm.

Kay remained on the other side, cautiously covering the two to prevent Vortigern from dealing any significant damage.

Despite this being their first time fighting as a team, their responses and offensives were flawless, reaching a level of coordination usually only seen in long-time comrades-in-arms.

Boom! Clang! Crash!

The moment they clashed, the battle reached its peak intensity; the roar of steel meeting steel echoed across the palace grounds, one after another in rapid succession.

Neither Vortigern nor the trio held anything back; every step was a trap, every strike a lethal blow.

Figures flashed by at high speed, magical energy erupted, and the glint of blades lit up the air, carving deep gashes into the brown earth, instantly scarring the landscape anew.

In the midst of such a fierce battle, the three maintained a perfect balance of offense and defense.

Yet, even so, they found Vortigern's attacks exceptionally difficult to handle, struggling to keep up, knowing that a single moment of carelessness would result in a grievous wound.

Conversely, Vortigern's expression remained unchanged, his movements appearing effortless and relaxed even under their combined assault.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Parrying their latest joint attack with a single sweep of his sword, Vortigern wore a savage grin, his bloodlust intensifying, his gaze terrifying.

"Hahaha, weak, so weak! Is this the power of the Red Dragon of Britain? Is this the strength of the knights trusted by that lion? You are so pathetic, not even a tenth of that lion's power! Disappointing! Utterly boring!"

Vortigern's arrogance left the three with no room for retort.

In the brief exchange, they had fully realized the extent of his power; his strength and martial prowess were so great that even by giving their all, they could only hold him off temporarily.

"Haa... how can he be this strong?"

Lancelot's forehead was slick with sweat as he took a deep breath, steadying his racing heart.

During the fight, there had been several moments where they had nearly been struck by Vortigern's blade; had it not been for their seamless coordination and timely cover for one another, they would have been fortunate just to dodge.

If any one of them had been caught by Vortigern, they would have been killed or severely wounded, and the battle would have ended in an instant.

"He is so relaxed—I fear he hasn't even used his full strength yet!"

Artoria gripped her sword tightly, focusing all her attention on Vortigern, not daring to look away for even a second.

Kay, standing to the side, was the same; he dared not let even a part of Vortigern leave his sight, terrified that the slightest lapse in caution would lead to total annihilation.

"Back on the battlefield, how did the King manage to finish him off in an instant?"

Recalling the King's past record, it was said that Vortigern couldn't even withstand a single exchange before the King; he had been pierced through the chest by the King's spear, fled in a pathetic, solitary state, and was ultimately beheaded by his own subordinates...

Before the battle began, although the three could see that Vortigern's battle aura was surging and his strength far surpassed their own, they had treated him with importance but felt no overwhelming sense of dread.

Now, having crossed blades, the three could finally grasp the true, crushing nature of Vortigern's power.

If that was the case, just how immense must the strength of the King be, who had dispatched Vortigern in a single blow!

Artoria and the others, including Merlin watching from afar, felt their hearts tremble and their thoughts churn in a state of utter, profound shock.

They could not fathom the extent of the King's power; they could not even begin to comprehend it.

All that remained in their hearts was an endless sense of awe.

"After all, that is the King..."

Merlin's voice echoed in their minds, and for a fleeting moment, an absurd, complex emotion surged within them, yet it felt entirely natural.

The three were undoubtedly warriors of great strength; whether comparing themselves to their fellow knights or their own self-perception, they acknowledged they were fighters capable of taking on a hundred men.

Yet, an enemy they could not defeat even by joining forces had been brushed aside by the King with ease. Could there be anything more preposterous in this world?

It was unimaginable just how vast the gap between them and the King truly was!

In the end, it could only be distilled into a single exclamation:

That is the King!

The group instantly suppressed their wandering thoughts as Merlin's voice resonated in their minds once more: "I will support you from here on. It is fine to take the occasional injury; follow the plans we laid out beforehand."

The three exchanged glances and gave a slight nod.

While on their way here, Merlin had anticipated that Vortigern would come to intercept them and had provided them with several contingency plans.

Although Vortigern's strength currently exceeded their initial expectations, it was still within the scope of their planning. With Merlin's assistance, if the three of them fought with their lives on the line, they would surely hold the upper hand.

Artoria and her companions looked on with resolve, hearts set on death, and launched another assault against Vortigern. Unlike their previous caution, this attack was reckless, disregarding their own safety and survival.

The atmosphere on the field grew even heavier than before. Watching the three, whose killing intent had become more solidified, Vortigern immediately saw through their intentions: they were launching a suicidal attack.

He let out a cold laugh: "Hmph, very well. I, too, shall unleash my true power and crush you all into dust!"

The body he possessed now had been molded on the spot by Morgan. Rushed into completion, its overall quality was far inferior to the body he had in life, and his strength was nowhere near his peak... yet, there were aspects where it surpassed his original form.

When Morgan fashioned it, she had incorporated high-quality materials: the biological tissues of the Last Dragon.

Those dragon tissues still possessed vigorous vitality and served as the most vital power furnace for Vortigern—his Dragon Heart.

Under Morgan's manipulation, she used this as a conceptual link, connecting Vortigern's body to the Dragon Heart, thereby granting him an inexhaustible, infinite supply of magical energy.

Beyond that, Vortigern had gained many additional advantages he never possessed in life.

As Artoria and the others charged forward together, Merlin's voice resounded across the battlefield.

"Flowers, bloom."

As the words fell, the ground of the palace erupted with dense clusters of flowers. In an instant, a layer of brilliant, vivid blossoms covered the brown earth. The entire palace was filled with nothing else; under the sunlight, the red and pink hues were dazzling to the eyes.

The gale outside, filtered through the towering walls and barriers, was reduced to mere wisps of breeze that stirred layers of petals into the air. A thick, cloying floral scent wafted over, filling everyone's nostrils, causing them to frown in unison.

Artoria and her companions trampled over the flowers without a second thought, feeling their spirits soar and their vitality surge. The stamina they had previously expended was replenished, and their magical energy overflowed, begging to be unleashed.

"Pfft!"

Far away on the continent, Merlin's face turned deathly pale as he coughed up blood. His chest and abdomen were soaked through, his pristine robes stained a deep crimson.

Exerting such immense magical energy had made it nearly impossible for him to suppress his previous wounds. His body could no longer hold up; he leaned heavily on his wooden staff with both hands before slowly sliding down to the ground.

With half his face pressed against the earth, he looked utterly wretched, yet his eyes remained bright and piercing, fixed in the direction of Britain.

"Heh, witness it well... This is the true essence of the Magician of Flowers!"

Unlike the refreshed and invigorated Artoria and her companions, Vortigern, caught in Merlin's sea of flowers, felt a heavy restraint pressing down upon him. It was as if he were performing strenuous exercise in an oxygen-deprived environment; a sense of suffocation washed over him, draining his massive energy reserves every single second.

"A mere Merlin, resorting to such petty tricks!"

But to Vortigern, who possessed infinite magical energy, Merlin's curse was nothing more than a minor pressure, hardly worth noting.

What mattered now were the three attacking him.

This time, the trio changed their strategy. Lancelot and Kay took the lead as the primary attackers, while Artoria positioned herself slightly behind, as if providing support and harassment.

Lancelot and Kay, having traded blows with Vortigern, poured eighty percent of their energy into their strikes, attacking relentlessly even if it meant trading wound for wound.

Attack!

They only dodged when faced with a fatal blow; they remained unmoved by ordinary slashes and grazes. Under Merlin's blessing, the injuries they sustained were healed rapidly. Before they could even feel the pain of a new wound, it had already vanished, restored to normal in the blink of an eye.

Facing their suicidal onslaught, even Vortigern found himself stretched thin, flustered and unable to keep up.

After fighting for a while, just as he began to adapt to the rhythm of the battle, the two in front of him suddenly ceased their fierce assault, leaped back, and retreated to a distance, causing Vortigern's sword to swing at empty air.

"Hm?"

A dissatisfied snort escaped his nostrils. Just as Vortigern prepared to pursue, his peripheral vision caught a flash of silver light from the side, and a sense of imminent crisis instantly surged in his heart.

Turning her head, the golden-haired girl raised her silver-white sword high. Magic surged across the blade, emitting a dazzling silver radiance that was as crystalline and brilliant as it was lethally dangerous, shining intensely even under the scorching midday sun.

With every breath Artoria took, she generated immense magical power, channeling the entirety of her internal strength into the sword held in her hands.

The sword grew increasingly radiant. Seeing Vortigern turn his attention toward her, she swung the blade down with ferocity. The scorching beam of light that had been building up within the sword was aimed directly at Vortigern's pitch-black silhouette, and with a release of all her surrounding magic, it poured forth in a sudden torrent.

"Clarent!"

The brilliant, shining sword of the king unleashed its true power in Artoria's hands. The silver-white beam of light, carrying an aura of destruction, reached Vortigern in the blink of an eye.

"Playing petty tricks!"

Vortigern hurriedly raised his sword, imbuing it with magic that transformed into a pitch-black beam. Aiming it at the incoming attack, he unleashed a strike that resembled both fire and light.

"Dragon Breath!"

Boom!

The black and white beams collided, causing the magic to explode. It tore through the atmosphere, whipping up layers of shockwaves that sent the sea of flowers churning and flying in every direction.

After the collision, the entire palace was illuminated in nothing but black and white.

Faced with Artoria's long-prepared attack, Vortigern had responded appropriately, but his charging time had been too short, and his magical output was a beat slower.

Once their attacks clashed, the silver-white magic quickly overwhelmed the pitch-black beam, even pushing the dark color back.

In an instant, Vortigern's vision was filled with nothing but silver-white.

Rumble!

A massive roar echoed throughout the palace as a blinding explosion of fire erupted, pushing back layers of the flower sea and exposing the brown earth beneath.

Wherever the beam passed, it carried intense heat; the sea of flowers burned, and the earth melted, turning into a patch of charred black soil. Rolling waves of heat transformed the area into a purgatory of fire.

"It's a hit, the attack landed dead on target!"