Britain's Peril

Dazed.

Anno lay on the bed in his quarters, staring silently at the wooden ceiling directly above.

Half a month had passed since he and King Uther fought against Vortigern.

At the end of that battle, he and King Uther had driven their swords into Vortigern's chest together, yet they could not kill the Demon Dragon at all; instead, they had only incited the ferocity of the beast, which had already lost its sanity.

A heavily wounded Vortigern had swiped King Uther, who was already at the end of his rope, aside with a claw, then swept his tail heavily against Anno before flying off unsteadily.

Now, King Uther lay in the royal court of Camelot and had yet to wake; it was said his injuries were extremely severe.

As for Anno himself, his left arm and left leg had been snapped by that tail swipe, several ribs were broken, and his internal organs had suffered varying degrees of damage, but he was faring much better than King Uther, who was hovering on the line between life and death.

Moreover, Merlin had helped Anno treat his injuries, and he estimated he would be able to get out of bed soon.

Anno's daily life now was basically being served by the two servants bought for him.

The royal court.

A group of knights and Merlin were sitting in a room discussing matters, with King Uther's daughter—Morgan le Fay Pendragon—sitting to the side.

A fat, big-eared knight's face turned beet red as he rebuked Merlin angrily: "You are talking nonsense! The King's life hangs in the balance, which is exactly why we must enthrone a new king as soon as possible; otherwise, who is to govern Britain!"

Merlin smiled, not flustered in the slightest: "The King had already laid out the policy for the next half-year before setting out to subjugate Vortigern, so you may all rest assured. Furthermore, I am doing my utmost to treat the King."

"You are nothing but an inhuman demon! Who knows if you are actually saving the King!" another knight also spoke with a stern, harsh tone.

Merlin's eyes turned slightly cold.

Sir Ector spoke up: "The King's will must be obeyed; that is the code of a knight! Yet you are here in such a rush to enthrone a new king—what are your true intentions!"

Those few annoying knights were instantly silenced, their eyes flickering.

In the end, the fat, big-eared knight from before spoke bitterly: "In short, my opinion is to enthrone Princess Morgan le Fay as the new king as soon as possible. The King is in a critical situation, and Britain is beset by internal and external troubles; you lot had better figure it out!"

Having said that, he led his party out, incidentally taking the young Princess Morgan le Fay, who was grieving on the side, with him.

Merlin and Ector looked at the room that had emptied in an instant and sighed in unison.

That leading knight, bloated and fat-eared, was the brother of King Uther's late wife, which meant he was Princess Morgan le Fay's own uncle.

His intention to rush and enthrone Princess Morgan le Fay while King Uther was severely wounded was self-evident, but he held significant resources, and it was not convenient for Ector to have a falling out with him.

Merlin shook his head and went to check on King Uther, who was still in a coma.

Even with magecraft assisting the treatment, King Uther's injuries remained far from optimistic; the most severe was a massive claw mark on his chest, which had already damaged his liver and intestines.

Merlin could only barely keep King Uther's life hanging by a thread for now; with all aspects of treatment combined, he estimated it would take another week for King Uther to regain consciousness.

Now, the small nations surrounding Britain, as well as the slightly more distant Rome and France, and the Saxons—a branch of the Germans who had just been repelled—seemed to have turned into wolves with glowing green eyes upon hearing the news of King Uther's severe injury, staring intently at Britain, that piece of fat meat.