Morgan's Technology

"Haa~"

Artoria exhaled a breath of stale air, retracting her sword to steady the surging magic power within her. The ahoge atop her head stood upright in response to her mood. With a solemn expression, she dared not relax, her gaze locked firmly onto the center of the attack.

As the aftermath of the light cannon dissipated, Merlin's sea of flowers surged forth once more, drowning the exposed earth.

The pitch-black figure, though tattered, still stood tall in its original position.

"Hahaha, Red Dragon, is this your attack? It is nothing more than this!"

Vortigern's armor was shattered, his chest scorched black, and his body was covered in dirt, ash, and gore. His once-lustrous silver hair was now disheveled, matted with blood and stains into tangled clumps; it no longer held its former sheen, hanging down in a slovenly mess.

The greatsword in his hand had turned to ash, disappearing along with the palm that held it. The end of his forearm looked like charred wood, split by deep fissures that extended into the muscles of his elbow—a truly gruesome sight.

Yet, he paid it no mind. His eyes were fixed solely on Artoria in the distance, laughing wildly, his face filled with contempt and mockery.

"Artoria, your power is still insufficient."

Vortigern instinctively seized magic power, causing it to erupt vigorously from his heart. It flowed along his internal circuits to the wounds on his skin, and his injuries began to heal rapidly. In the blink of an eye, the char on his forearm faded significantly.

Just as he was about to take a step forward, he sensed a figure striking from both his sides. Constrained by his injuries, he had no time to turn his head to see clearly. In his peripheral vision, he saw only two cold glints flash by, carrying surging magic power and force as they tore through the air and struck his body.

Puchi!

Two sharp blades sliced through his flesh almost simultaneously, and a head soared into the sky.

Vortigern's expression froze, and he felt the world spinning. When he finally reacted and looked, he saw, through blurred vision, his own headless torso severed in two at the chest, already collapsed on the ground.

If one counted this head, that made three pieces.

As Vortigern floated lightly in mid-air, a thought suddenly surfaced in his mind: Have I... been decapitated once again?

"Hoo~"

Lancelot withdrew his stance and gave a slight nod to Kay at his side. Although a sneak attack went against the honor of a knight, the situation was dire. To end the chaos caused by Morgan as quickly as possible, and to guard Britain for the King, he had no choice but to act this way.

Moreover, this fellow Vortigern was a typical practitioner of evil arts; to speak of chivalry with him would only sully the very word.

Kay, standing nearby, remained expressionless. He simply extended his blade and, in a few swift strokes, hacked Vortigern's corpse into a pile of mangled limbs.

Seeing this, Lancelot followed suit to search for Vortigern's head. He intended to completely destroy this despicable enemy, leaving not a single scrap of flesh in this world.

He had only taken two steps when he heard a faint, sharp whistling sound from his side. At the same time, the anxious voices of Kay and Artoria reached him in unison.

"Watch out! Lancelot!"

Lancelot's nerves were already taut, and he dared not slacken for a moment. Upon sensing the anomaly, he immediately shifted his stance and turned to the side, as sporadic cold glints grazed past him.

The first thing to enter his sight was Kay, not far away, wearing an anxious expression. With his mouth still open from his warning, he was rushing toward Lancelot's position with his blade drawn.

Next came a short, cold blade flashing with a chilling light, hacking toward his waist. The force was so great it tore through the air, seemingly intent on cutting him in two.

Clang!

Arondight hastily parried the blow, yet Lancelot still felt a warm, numbing sensation in his abdomen and waist. Looking down, he saw that the blade had already pierced his armor and slashed into his gut.

Fortunately, his reaction had been fast enough to block it in time, preventing his spine from being severed; otherwise, he would have been cut in half on the spot. He did not care for his own life, but he feared dragging Kay and Artoria down, causing the battle to fail and all their efforts to go to waste. He would have no face left to confront the King's long-standing favor.

With a single strike, he knocked the blade away from his waist. Lancelot's face turned pale as he finally saw the true form of the attacker.

It was not a person, but a severed arm. A short, cold sword protruded from the end of the limb, stained with blood, and a wisp of pitch-black magic power drifted from the end of the arm, extending toward the distance.

"Oh, to think you dodged my sneak attack. You are worthy of being the finest knight under that lion."

Vortigern's familiar voice rang out. Not far away, a head floated alone in mid-air, the magic power of that severed arm extending to the space beneath his head.

Seeing that the sneak attack had been dodged by Lancelot, Vortigern's eyes turned vicious. He manipulated the severed arm to strike the Knight of the Lake once more, who was severely wounded and unable to react in time.

But at this moment, Kay had already arrived at his side, using his sword to block the attack. A crisp clashing sound rang out, and with a flick of Kay's longsword, the severed arm was batted away into the distance.

"Sir Lancelot, are you alright?"

"I am fine, but this needs immediate attention."

Lancelot's brows were tightly knit, and his bloodless face was covered in sweat. One hand leaned on his sword, while the other clutched his wounded waist and abdomen, blood gushing out uncontrollably between his fingers.

Originally, Vortigern's attack had only been a slash, which at most would have left a gaping wound in his abdomen. However, because he had parried the blade away, it had torn off a palm-sized chunk of flesh as it left his body.

If he were not currently pressing his hand against it, his intestines would have spilled out entirely.

That Lancelot could remain conscious at this moment was a testament to his astonishing willpower.

Artoria had also arrived, standing to the left and right of Lancelot with Kay, shielding him behind them.

She kept her gaze fixed on the head in the distance, remaining vigilant of the surroundings, while saying to Lancelot behind her: "Sir Lancelot, tend to your wounds first. My brother and I will hold Vortigern back."

Lancelot's injuries would normally require a time-consuming and arduous healing process, but here and now, they had the blessing of Merlin, which was greatly conducive to closing wounds. Furthermore, the current crisis of the battle did not allow Lancelot the luxury of a slow recovery.

"Do you think the two of you can stop me?"

Vortigern let out a loud shout, and strands of pitch-black magic power extended from beneath his head, connecting to the pile of remains on the ground.

Seeing this, Artoria and Kay immediately attacked with their swords, but were intercepted by the severed arm and a broken blade manipulated by Vortigern. Although the lack of a body meant the arm and blade lacked full force, they were agile and versatile, managing to entangle the two of them for the time being.

Vortigern took this opportunity to drop his head onto the pile of flesh. Pitch-black magic power surged forth, shimmering as it enveloped all the limbs.

In the blink of an eye, Vortigern's head rose higher, and the body beneath it took shape, fully restoring his human form.

"Morgan certainly has her talents."

With a sneer, Vortigern retracted his severed arm. As magical energy flooded the mangled limb, flesh and bone began to sprout with frantic speed.

This was another advantage of his new body: top-tier immortality.

With the dragon flesh within him and an endless supply of magical energy, he could recover instantly even if his body were hacked into mincemeat. Regenerating a mere limb was child's play.

He had to admit, while Morgan's craftsmanship was crude, she certainly had the skill and used solid materials.

Vortigern rolled his neck and stretched his body, feeling completely limber. This resurrection was the first time he had directly experienced the superiority of his new form. Having gained a rough understanding of his immortality, he felt a surge of joyful satisfaction.

The coming battle could be even more savage.

He flicked his hand, and as magical energy churned, a brand-new blade coalesced in his grip. He looked toward Artoria, only to see that Lancelot's wounds were also nearly healed.

It seemed that not only Morgan but Merlin, too, had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Lancelot walked to the side of Artoria and Kay, his complexion much ruddier. Beneath the armor at his waist and abdomen, tender new flesh was visible where the wounds had already closed.

Merlin's voice, sounding even weaker than before, echoed in the minds of the three.

"Sir Lancelot... has regained his combat capability. The rest will require... your absolute best to have any chance of victory."

Artoria's eyes flickered with worry. Merlin's voice was far frailer than before, barely a rasp, as if he were running out of breath.

She couldn't even hear her teacher's breathing. Between maintaining the field's blessing and performing emergency healing on Lancelot, the strain on him was clearly far beyond the norm.

Merlin continued, "Vortigern now possesses an incredibly high level of immortality; he is nearly impossible to kill... With our current strength, the four of us cannot finish him off. We must suppress his immortality."

Suppress his immortality...

In the knowledge of all four, only one person in all of Britain could accomplish such a feat.

"We need a summoning circle to bring the royal palace back into the present world... Artoria, I will guide you, and you will carve the circle. Now is the time to show your mastery of magecraft."

Merlin's tone suddenly shifted, dropping sharply.

"Hold Vortigern back. Do not let him disturb Artoria... You must also keep him pinned to one spot and prevent him from scratching the summoning circle. That will be up to Kay and Sir Lancelot..."

Upon hearing this, Kay and Lancelot nodded with grave expressions; they naturally understood the subtext of Merlin's words.

Facing Vortigern with just the two of them was already a disadvantage. Now that Vortigern had gained immortality, and they were merely bolstered by Merlin's blessing, they were at an even greater deficit. Merlin's implication was that they must hold Vortigern back even if it cost them their lives—they could not let him run wild!

The two had long since steeled themselves; at this moment, they were simply ready to die for the cause.

"May fortune favor you all."

With that final blessing—or perhaps prayer—Merlin cut the connection.

"Have you finished whispering? Have you decided how you intend to defeat me?"

Vortigern had fully recovered by now. His body was seamlessly reconnected, his internal organs had returned to their places, his severed limb had regrown, and even the greatsword in his hand had been perfectly replicated.

Seeing the three of them nodding and exchanging glances, he knew they had been communicating with Merlin in the distance. He immediately swung his blade and launched a full-scale assault.

This time, Vortigern's attacks were utterly insane.

If a blade was blocked by Kay or Lancelot, he would strike with a fist; if an arm was severed, he would use his magical energy to manipulate the detached limb to keep attacking; if his head was lopped off, it would fly at them to collide; if his body was split in two, each half would fight one of them independently.

This suicidal style of combat kept Kay and Lancelot scrambling. After only a short while, they were covered in wounds and drenched in blood, with not a patch of unblemished skin left.

Fortunately, Merlin's support remained, and their wounds healed quickly enough to keep them in the fight.

Their hearts were filled with curses for Vortigern.

"Damned monster!"

"Vile wretch!"

Compared to Kay and Lancelot, Vortigern was reveling in his immortal body, developing a variety of creative attacks with nothing but immense pleasure and joy in his heart.

"Hahaha! Delightful, truly delightful!"

Endless magical energy paired with an immortal body made Vortigern feel an unprecedented sense of exhilaration. This was a collision of souls; he had never realized combat could be so unrestrained.

This was true slaughter!

The only regret was that once a limb was severed, the flow of magical energy was interrupted; the energy remaining in the detached limb was insufficient to fire a beam.

But such a minor issue was not worth mentioning compared to the advantages of an immortal body.

Vortigern's severed hand gripped the greatsword and swung with all his might, but it only shaved off a patch of scalp from Lancelot, who had dodged in time.

Seeing the greatsword about to strike himself, Vortigern's expression didn't change. The force in his severed hand remained undiminished, and the blade sliced smoothly down, hacking into his own shoulder and splitting his body diagonally in two.

The halves of his body separated, yet not a drop of blood was seen. Pitch-black magical energy erupted, binding the two halves tightly together before pulling them back into place. The seam vanished in the blink of an eye.

Vortigern thought of another good idea and was about to attack again when he saw Artoria in the distance. One hand held her sword as if to guard against him, while the other held a staff, carving a pattern into the ground.

Wait... was she not participating in the battle just now?

The question surfaced in Vortigern's mind.

He recalled the previous fight. In his excitement, he hadn't noticed that only Kay and Lancelot had been fighting him, while Artoria had been hiding in the back, not joining the fray.

Vortigern looked over from afar. She seemed to be drawing a circle around the perimeter of the palace, filling it with strange and mysterious symbols.

What was she doing?

A magic circle, or a curse?

Vortigern could not immediately discern what Artoria was planning, but stopping her was never the wrong move.

He snatched up a longsword and charged toward Artoria's position; as long as he killed her, any scheme she had would be rendered useless.

"Don't even think about it!"

Seeing Vortigern about to strike Artoria, Kay appeared in his path, hastily blocking the attack.

Clang! Clang!

A rapid succession of strikes rang out. Before they had exchanged more than a few blows, Vortigern spotted a momentary opening in Kay's defense, countered with a backhand strike, and brought his hand down like a blade toward Kay's arm.

"Hiss!"

Half an arm sprayed blood as it was sent flying high into the air.

The agony was so intense that Kay felt nothing at all, only a surge of genuine terror erupting from the depths of his heart, which he forcibly suppressed before gritting his teeth to continue his obstruction.

Before Vortigern could revel in his success, the Purple Knight arrived, enduring his own wounds to strike and cleave him in two once more.

"Damn it!"

Vortigern roared inwardly, intending to hurl the sword in his hand, but his haste led to frequent lapses. Kay, having waited for this moment, struck again, severing Vortigern's wrist and sending the greatsword tumbling to the ground.

Yet, Vortigern still controlled his right hand, reaching for the sword to strike at the magic circle Artoria was carving.

As long as he destroyed the magic circle, his opponent would not get her way.

Lancelot stepped forward to intercept him once again.

Just then, Artoria's clear voice echoed across the desolate palace grounds.

"Return, palace of Britain!"

As the words fell, magic power surged, and the magic circle on the ground emitted a pale blue light that grew increasingly intense with each passing moment.

Lancelot knocked the severed hand and the greatsword into the air, a hint of joy appearing on his face at the sight.

Artoria let out a long sigh of relief, her expression relaxing.

The summoning circle had been activated; even if Vortigern killed her now, he could not stop it.

Amidst the pale blue light of the summoning circle, the pointed roof of a white marble palace began to emerge. Before Artoria could identify which palace it belonged to, a crimson beam of light shot out from the summoning.

Thwip!

The beam churned with a unique, crimson magic power, the spear shaft suppressing an incredibly pure killing intent. With an unstoppable momentum that pierced through space, it struck Vortigern's heart with lethal force!

Vortigern spat blood, staring at the crimson spear embedded in his chest, as a name surfaced in his mind.

"A weapon of... causality..."