If he had not chosen to leave the forest, there would never have been rumors of a powerful blacksmith in this era. Without such rumors, the lord's daughter would naturally not have held such a party. Everything would have unfolded differently because of that single choice. At the very least, Morgan's magic workshop would have held overwhelming power.
At that time, even if he had been injured by this dagger, he could have immediately retaliated using the magic formula of his workshop. He would never have fallen to the point of being killed outright by such a nobody.
What a joke. How could I let Morgan die here?
Morgan plays an extremely important role in the entire legend of King Arthur. If something were to happen to her now, the world would truly diverge from its intended path. I don't want to live on a branch of fate that could be cut off at any moment!
After sensing that the enemy behind her had been killed, Morgan turned her blurred gaze toward the gate. Though she didn't want to trust anyone, upon seeing the familiar colors, she finally allowed herself to believe. After all, what other choice did she have?
So, when Aslan summoned back his forging hammer, he saw Morgan collapsing toward him with her eyes closed. Naturally, Aslan couldn't let her fall to the ground. He rushed forward and caught her in time. Glancing at Morgan's still-bleeding abdomen and listening to the sounds of chaos around them, Aslan made up his mind—he could no longer stay here.
"Melusine! Come pick me up with our luggage!"
Upon hearing the silent call in her heart, Melusine—who had been tossing and turning on Aslan's bed—suddenly sat upright. She grabbed the luggage in the room, kicked open the window instead of using the door, and dashed along the castle wall with impossible speed and agility.
At the same moment, Aslan, cradling Morgan in his arms like a princess, stepped onto the window ledge. A white and blue figure rushed toward him, leaping out into the night. Aslan had no doubt that his dragon would catch him with ease. Even though she now had the body of a young girl, her physical prowess remained undiminished.
Although Melusine was initially displeased at the sight of Aslan holding another woman, she couldn't help but feel a touch of joy when she realized how much he trusted her—so much so that he jumped out of the castle window without hesitation.
And she recognized the woman in his arms. This was the powerful magician she had sensed earlier.
As she made contact with Aslan, Melusine frowned. The air reeked of blood. Fortunately, none of it smelled like Aslan's. That was a relief. If he had been wounded, she might have laid waste to the castle herself.
Even without her full dragon form, she could still make this castle vanish from the world.
While chaos reigned inside the castle, Aslan first retrieved the hemostatic potion the elves had given him from his luggage. After stopping Morgan's bleeding, he went to the stables, saddled his own horse, and took a carriage as well.
After all, while the potion was effective, it couldn't completely heal Morgan's wound immediately. If they traveled on horseback alone, the jostling would reopen her injury again and again, forcing it to slowly close each time under the potion's influence. The cycle would repeat—and wear her down.
He didn't understand why Morgan had ended up like this, and while he looked down on her actions in traditional history, that didn't mean he could stand by and watch her suffer.
Although he disapproved of Morgan, her deeds had nothing to do with him. He couldn't say he hated her.
Not long after Aslan's hasty departure, a dusty knight arrived at the castle. Upon seeing the mess, he scratched his head and asked the servants what had happened.
The servants didn't know much, but the daytime attack by the wyvern remained vivid in their minds. Not long ago, they had discovered one VIP room empty and another littered with corpses. All of this, happening on the lord's estate and inside his castle, was a significant blow to his prestige.
Luckily, the matter was already far beyond anyone's ability to control, so it didn't affect the lord's reputation too deeply.
After listening to their account, the dusty knight stroked his chin. He more or less pieced together what had happened—but he hadn't expected this much to go down while he was away.
This knight, of course, was Balin. Unlike Aslan, who rode a horse, the poor knight had no mount and had to follow on foot. Even so, he still arrived only half a day late.
After asking the servants about the blacksmith's whereabouts and learning that he was already gone, Balin sighed, covering his face with his hands. He slumped against the wall. He had run as fast as he could—but he was still too late. He no longer had the strength to catch up.
Maybe tomorrow morning, he could ask the lord for a fast horse.
Knights are poor. There's nothing to be done about it.
Balin rubbed his legs and didn't venture further into the castle. Instead, he asked a maid where the general guest rooms were located. His fate with the red-handled sword had not yet arrived.
Meanwhile, the carriage rumbled forward. After traveling a fair distance, Aslan slowed it down. After all, he had cursed the lord's daughter—essentially placing shackles on her. No matter how kind the lord might appear, he had still raised such a daughter. He was surely a doting father.
And there's no reasoning with a man obsessed with his daughter. In the presence of his child, such a man would lose all rationality and intelligence.
Given that he had placed such a curse on her, even the wisest and most capable lord would likely harbor resentment. To avoid provoking an outright attack, Aslan thought it best to run far, far away.
By then, the injured Morgan was beginning to regain consciousness. She had been in danger just before she passed out, and in such situations, no matter how grievous the wound, the body's instincts pushed toward waking.