Fantasy Tree or otherwise known as the Tree of Emptiness.
A powerful tree-like construct that absorbs magical energy from the leylines and, in turn, influences reality, replacing the original history with its own subjective fantasy.
Once it has finished growing, it will form a "Lostbelt," sufficient to alter established history.
In the original history, you might just be an ordinary person.
But once the Fantasy Tree grows and blossoms, you could become an existence completely different from that concept.
For example—
A butterfly with wings.
For this reason, to Vortigern, the Tree of Emptiness was an existence akin to a precious treasure.
If—
The White Dragon, destined to save Britain, was fated to be destroyed by that damned man-made Red Dragon.
Then.
This history must be denied.
No one ever said there was no possibility of the White Dragon defeating the Red Dragon.
The Vortigern of the past could not find even the slightest glimmer of hope to realize this sorrowful wish.
But now—
It was different.
He had heard that voice.
"Whoever you are, as long as you can destroy Britain, you can borrow this power!"
Although he heard a terrible voice—
Although he sensed a price that would be paid with life itself—
But...
There was nothing left to fear.
The moment he grasped that power, Vortigern discovered he had already obtained the possibility of realizing his sorrowful wish.
"Lord Vortigern—"
"What should we do next—"
"The Saxons have already arrived in Britain, as you requested."
"Wait a little longer."
"Just a little longer—"
Vortigern looked down at the abyss at his feet.
In those eyes, which had witnessed countless ages, a flicker of flame still burned.
"It won't be long now."
---
A few days later.
In the royal court of Camelot.
As if sensing something, Mélusine, who was walking through the court, turned to look into the distance.
She felt as if something was unconsciously affecting her.
"What are you looking at?"
Ian's voice sounded.
He was looking at his friend Mélusine with a puzzled expression.
"It's happened several times."
"I don't know either—"
Mélusine mumbled.
"I just feel like someone has been calling my name all day."
"Could it be me?"
"Not you!"
"How could it be you, you idiot!"
Mélusine unhesitatingly denied this possibility.
"It's a very distant voice."
"In which direction?"
"That way—"
Mélusine pointed into the distance.
But she quickly realized something and immediately grabbed Ian.
"Don't transform!"
"I was just saying that casually!"
"Now, hurry and take me to King Arthur!"
Having successfully stopped Ian from taking off on a spur-of-the-moment trip, Mélusine clutched her chest and breathed a sigh of relief.
However, this relief did not last long.
She soon began to worry again.
"Um..."
"Artoria, she really won't blame me?"
"I've looked into it. That's a very precious sword, isn't it?"
Just as Mélusine had confessed, she initially thought it was just one of Artoria's ordinary swords.
But after a few days of investigation, Mélusine discovered that was not the case at all.
That blade, called the Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn), was not only the symbol of Artoria's kingship but also a legendary weapon that many knights in the past had failed to draw.
Such a precious item was completely ruined just because of her own momentary desire for battle.
Mélusine sucked in a cold breath.
No matter how she thought about it, she didn't feel this was a crime that could be so easily forgiven.
"It's fine," Ian replied.
"I've drawn it too."
"Oh, you've drawn it too, then—"
"Hm?"
Mélusine felt as if she had just heard something incredible.
"What did you say?"
"You've drawn the Sword of Promised Victory (Caliburn)?"
"Yes."
Ian nodded, his expression as calm as ever.
"I drew the sword together with Artoria."
"All the knights of Camelot know."
"..."
Her past few days with Ian had already made Mélusine understand that he would not spout nonsense about such matters.
If he said it, it meant he had indeed done it with Artoria.
"Does that mean you're also the King of Camelot?"
"No."
Ian shook his head.
"There is only one King of Camelot, and that is Artoria."
"If you deny this—"
Ian's hand rested on the Sword of Promised Victory (Excalibur Morgan) at his waist.
"Even if we're friends, I will not hesitate to strike."
The killing intent rose in an instant and vanished just as quickly.
Mélusine, feeling as if she had just had a dream, pinched her own cheek. After confirming she was in reality, she continued to ask:
"What about Morgan?"
"I see she's always by your side."
"What is her status?"
"Her Highness the Princess is Artoria's older sister."
"They..."
"They..."
Ian really wanted to explain the relationship between the two to Mélusine.
But he found that he had no words in his mind that could perfectly correspond to and explain their relationship.
And so—
Mélusine heard this answer.
"They are both delicious."
"Huh?"
"Delicious? What does that mean?"
The dual-wielding swordswoman tilted her head slightly, her eyes showing a look of confusion.
In the end, she also came to a conclusion:
"The relationships in Camelot are so complicated—"
"I feel like I've come to an incredible place."
"But, it's not too bad either."
Mélusine looked at Ian and shrugged.
"At least I've met a rather interesting person."
Chatting idly, Mélusine and Ian walked forward.
From time to time, passing knights would greet the two of them.
Finally, after turning a corner.
Mélusine and Ian stopped in front of a pair of heavy doors.
This was the Throne Room, a place only the King and the Knights of the Round Table could reach.
Discussions that required the opinions of the Round Table were usually held here.
"Such a deep place..."
Mélusine couldn't help but sigh with emotion.
But she soon realized she hadn't come here for such meaningless things.
Just as she was preparing to knock gently on the door to announce her arrival.
However—
Ian, beside her, simply pushed the door open.
"Eh, this..."
She wanted to remedy the situation, but after seeing Ian had already walked inside, Mélusine knew she could only hurry to catch up.
But...
As the door swung open a quarter of an elegant circle, what entered Mélusine's eyes was something unexpected.
Artoria was standing by the window, looking outside with a complex expression.
She was not wearing her usual heavy armor and skirt armor, but was dressed as a knight-princess.
Her beautiful long golden hair was no longer tied up in a special style but was allowed to fall loose, resting on her chest.
This allowed Mélusine to see the curve of a certain part of her body.
It was not a flat line.
But had the shape of small mounds.
Wait...
Artoria... is a girl?