White Castle, Temple of Light.
The guiding knight halted before the grand, solemn gates.
"Sir Gareth, Sir Agravain, we've arrived." Bedivere said.
"Go right after entering, follow the path for about a hundred and fifty steps, and you'll find Her Highness Morgan's room."
"I won't go in... the king needs my service. Oh, and don't forget tonight's banquet. I'm sure the king has prepared a lavish feast."
As expected of Sir Bedivere, the knight who got along with everyone.
He deftly avoided entering with a noble excuse... no one could argue, as he indeed bore the duties of a squire, managing the kingdom's communications.
"Alright, leave it to me!" Gareth said.
The petite knight strode confidently into the majestic temple, chest puffed out.
As the elder sister and her mother's favorite daughter, with her brother absent, she'd take on the role of eldest, protecting her sibling while preserving her mother's dignity. It sounded tough, but she was sure she could handle it.
Yet, the world's cruelest phrase is "things don't go as planned."
"Idiot!"
"Get out!"
Five minutes later, Gareth, her face etched with confusion and disbelief, was ousted from Morgan's workshop, stumbling into the temple's rear garden.
"It's not fair... "
Staring at the sealed door, her azure eyes brimmed with a worldview-shattering incredulity.
She wasn't shocked at being kicked out.
She knew how erratic the "enchantress" could be. Even as her daughter, she treaded carefully, fearing a misstep, sometimes even using a cutesy tone.
Being expelled was routine.
But why...
"Why didn't he have to get kicked out with me?"
From the garden, Gareth glared at the sealed workshop.
Its barriers ensured perfect soundproofing, yet she swore she heard laughter... a scene she'd never imagined.
"No way."
"How does he get to stay?" She muttered, pointing at Agravain.
Now, the garden hosted four of Morgan's "rejected fools."
Four people.
A lively number.
Unlike the intimacy of two or the tension of three, four formed a natural "gang."
"I don't think I'm that dumb!" Vina said, stretching after finishing the medicinal field.
She plopped into the last seat at the stone table.
The team was complete.
The "mastermind" role was up for grabs.
"Since we're just sitting here." Alaric said, "why not see what they're up to?"
It was an unethical suggestion, even a breach of knightly honor.
But the group at the stone table didn't care about such trifles.
"Can we? Won't we get caught?" Gareth's eyes lit up. She had to know what that stone-faced knight had that spared him Morgan's wrath.
Mash's face showed eager anticipation. Honestly, she didn't think the man who'd entered was cuter than "Magical Girl Merri."
"Don't worry." Alaric said.
"This island holds no secrets from me."
With a wave of his hand, the clear sky dimmed.
A shimmering screen appeared in the air, revealing the workshop's interior.
But it wasn't the "cheerful laughter" Or "cozy harmony" Gareth expected.
Quite the opposite... the room was quiet. No voices, only the crackle of flames, the clink of a mithril rod against glass, the gurgle of boiling potions, and steady, unhurried footsteps.
"He… he…"
Gareth stared, incredulous, at Agravain, meeting this world's Morgan for the first time yet moving with the ease of decades-long partners.
In the cramped potion room, their actions never clashed... they danced as if choreographed.
In that moment, Gareth understood why she'd been kicked out.
Next time, she'd leave voluntarily.
"I…" Vina sighed.
"Fine, I really don't have a knack for magecraft."
"I'll stick to practicing my blade."
Watching those seemingly simple motions... ones she could never master but which flowed like a graceful dance in their hands... Vina, despite her resilience, bowed her head, admitting her lack of magical talent.
Or rather, most in this world lacked it.
If other professions were 99% effort and 1% talent, magecraft demanded 100% innate gift. Without it, effort found no path.
An hour later, a jade-green potion, fragrant with herbal notes, was complete. Morgan carefully stored it in a golden vial.
"Phew... "
She exhaled, opening the window.
Outside, four faces, brimming with "foolishness." Stared back.
Behind her, the expressionless Agravain tidied the potion tools.
"I'm starting to believe you're my son." Morgan said.
"How else could our habits... down to the way we stir potions... be so alike?"
Her face carried a heavy, unshakable melancholy.
According to that clumsy, fire-mismanaging daughter, she had five such children.
She'd met two.
What about the other three? Were they as hopeless as her daughter?
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