Before she could see Artoria's awkward exit, she heard that unfamiliar voice.
Feeling disheartened from earlier events, Morgan quickly realized this might be her opportunity.
After all...
Just a small fragment of black crystal had been enough to immobilize Artoria with a powerful spell.
If she could form a deeper connection with it—
Looking around to ensure everyone was still cheering for Artoria, Morgan quietly slipped away.
She returned to her chambers and took a deep breath.
Feeling ready, she reached out to the black crystal.
"Um... who are you—"
The moment she spoke, she regretted it.
What followed was a hysterical roar:
"It was you, wasn't it?!"
"You took my son away!!"
"Give him back!!"
"Give him back to me!!"
"If you don't, I'll kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"
"..."
Morgan considered herself a composed person,
but that voice shaking through the black crystal sent chills down her spine.
She didn't know this person.
But she could vividly imagine the rage of a grieving mother.
And as the voice grew more intense, the crystal's magic flared wildly.
There was no mistake.
This was something she had created—
Whether a projection or through other means, it originated from her.
And then, an absurd idea formed in her mind.
"Please, don't be so angry,"
Morgan said calmly, the dignity of a princess in her voice.
"I'm not the one who took your son."
"Then why did you contact me?!"
The voice grew more furious.
"Don't you know I'm searching for him?!"
"Don't get in my way!"
"..."
The hatred was overwhelming.
Morgan even wondered if she'd be killed on the spot were they face to face.
But rather than fear, this danger only excited her more.
"Because I want to help you find your son."
"..."
The voice went silent.
Clearly, Morgan's offer held value to this grieving mother inside the crystal.
"Who are you?"
"Morgan."
Recalling the events of the day, the discarded daughter of Britain added one more sentence:
"I will become the king of this land."
"..."
"Tiamat. You may call me that," the voice replied.
After exchanging names, Tiamat quickly followed with another question.
"So why should I believe you can help me find my son?"
"Just because you claim to be a king?"
"Of course not—"
Morgan picked up her staff from the bedside.
She focused, channeling magic into the black crystal.
It was a spell reverse-engineered from Tiamat's screams—
a technique only someone as gifted as Morgan could create in such a short time.
"I know what it's like to lose something precious."
"I understand you."
"I feel what you feel."
"Tiamat—trust me."
Wanderers, it seemed, always thought alike.
Sensing Morgan's emotions being transmitted back to her, Tiamat—alone in the Sea of Life—began to take human form again.
"Your pain... it may not be less than mine."
"Morgan, maybe you really do understand me—"
"..."
Morgan gave a bitter smile.
She walked out to the balcony.
The air in post-rain Britain was fresh, as if all the murkiness had been washed far away.
"I understand you, Tiamat."
"No one has the right to blame us."
"So, let's be a little crazier—"
---
At the same time.
On the streets of Britain.
Artoria was riding a horse.
Behind her were the knights who had witnessed the king selection ceremony.
Leading these knights at the very front was Ian.
They were on their way to meet King Uther.
And the central figure in all this—
The girl named Artoria was extremely nervous.
As a country bumpkin from a remote village (well, a country boy in others' eyes), this was her first time experiencing the feeling of being the center of attention.
However…
When she saw Ian leading her horse alongside her, she felt a little more at ease.
He was here.
She wasn't alone.
"Artoria—"
Ian suddenly called out unexpectedly.
"W-What is it?"
Artoria responded cautiously.
She could feel countless eyes watching her from behind.
But—
There was no way she could ignore his words.
"Why don't you ride me?"
"..."
Ian's words nearly choked her to death.
Blushing furiously, she scolded him in a hushed voice.
"Seriously! Don't say stuff like that now!"
"Wait..."
"Can't you save that kind of thing for when it's just the two of us?"
"But—"
Ian looked puzzled.
"Isn't riding on my back way more comfortable than on a horse?"
"Huh?"
Only then did Artoria realize that what Ian meant by "ride" was literally to carry her on his back.
What he was trying to say was—
"Why not let me carry you? That's more comfortable than the horse."
Even though that sounded more proper, Artoria still felt strangely hollow inside.
If he had meant what she thought he meant…
Maybe—
No! That's not right!
Artoria shook her head.
Why am I even struggling with this?
Wake up, Artoria!
Chiding herself, the future king didn't forget to explain to Ian the reason behind her actions.
"Because I'm the king now—"
"Everything I do needs to satisfy the people."
"The king they hope for must be dignified and worthy of respect."
"So then..."
Artoria tugged slightly at the reins in her hands.
"A king on horseback surely matches their expectations more than a king riding piggyback on you, right?"
"..."
Ian nodded somewhat understandingly.
Artoria wanted to say more, but didn't quite know how to continue.
They traveled in silence.
Eventually, Artoria and Ian arrived in front of Camelot's castle.
It was the residence of kings throughout the generations.
It was also their destination on this journey.
However—
The one welcoming the new king wasn't King Uther.
It was...
A disheveled-looking, almost frivolous white-haired man.
"So, you're the one who pulled the sword?"
"I'm Merlin, court magus of Camelot."
"King Uther specifically sent me to greet you."
He sounded like an important person.
Artoria was about to dismount in greeting.
But in the next moment, a shadow flashed past.
Blood splattered—
Ian punched Merlin square in the face.