Merlin rubbed the growing bump on his head and stood up. He glanced at the pair nestled together before him and opened his mouth to speak—but no words came. After all, he didn't truly understand the love shared between two people, nor did he grasp the essence of familial affection. Perhaps he didn't even comprehend friendship. All he could do was mimic what he had observed in others.
The Great Flower Liar, indeed, lived up to his name.
"Now that you're all ready, we should get moving," Merlin said lightly, brushing imaginary dust from his robe. "If we wait too long, we'll miss the breeze."
Melusine lifted her head and glared at him, her gaze sharp as blades. If looks could wound, Merlin would've had a few transparent gashes across his chest—lethal ones.
Aslan, oblivious to the silent exchange between the two, turned and picked up the luggage Melusine had dropped earlier. There wasn't much. Most of Aslan's blacksmithing gear could be temporarily conjured from magic and fairy-forged techniques, though the results had limited durability.
The bags instead contained rare materials, changes of clothing for both of them, and assorted gifts from the fairies—gems, trinkets, and a variety of magical oddities that could be sold in the human world. Aslan had planned for this moment. Despite the years spent among fairies, he had done little beyond learning their craft and language. No meaningful attachments tethered him here.
But in the human world, wealth was power.
The trinkets he carried—gifts from the fair folk—could be exchanged for gold coins once they arrived. Some items, of course, were not for sale. Tokens of friendship with the fairies held immense value; in the right situations, they could grant asylum or safe passage, especially through fairy territory.
And if someone tried to rob him? Aslan had only one answer: he'd kill them and let Melusine eat the remains.
Not that she ate people, of course.
With a flick of his staff, Merlin drew a glowing circle around them. Petals began to swirl upward, obscuring their surroundings in a cascade of pink and white.
A subtle weightlessness followed—as if they were falling from the sky in reverse, cradled by wind rather than plummeting through it. Petals floated past them like butterflies in slow motion, rising toward the heavens.
It was the first time Aslan had experienced this sensation.
Since forming their contract, Melusine had remained in her humanoid form, unable to take her true draconic shape. He had yet to know what it felt like to soar through the skies with a dragon beneath him.
But one day, when the contract ring between them was fully forged, she would fly again. And with her—his protector, his blade—he would reach distant shores.
The descent was brief. Before long, Aslan felt solid ground underfoot once more. He steadied himself instinctively, careful not to stumble from the lingering lightheadedness. Embarrassing himself in front of Melusine was one thing—but he'd never hear the end of it from Merlin.
Their destination was a quiet church, vacant due to the ongoing knight tournament elsewhere. In front of it stood a sword driven into a stone—its blade gleaming like sunlight on water.
The Sword in the Stone.
The Golden Sword of Victory.
Though no guards were stationed nearby, Aslan could sense Merlin's interference at play. This relic, symbolic and sacred, should not have been left unguarded. But clearly, someone had arranged for this moment.
Aslan stared at the sword, a complicated expression crossing his face. In the legends, this was the blade Arthur pulled from the stone, signifying the rise of a king. Yet in the Fate timeline, Merlin had lost it. Maybe Morgan played a part in that, too.
Regardless, Aslan saw not just a symbol, but a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Whether broken or whole, this sword would make an exceptional forging material in the future.
Merlin caught the look in his eyes and chuckled. "What, tempted? If your cousin hasn't arrived yet, why not give it a try?"
It wasn't like it would hurt anything. Besides, Merlin didn't actually believe Aslan could pull it free. According to every vision and prophecy, only Artoria had ever succeeded.
Aslan smirked. "Fine. I'm curious about the Golden Sword of Victory, anyway."
Melusine peeked out from behind him, eyeing the holy sword with only mild interest. These sorts of weapons didn't impress her. But if they'd been staring at a railspear or something like Artemis's divine artillery, she'd probably be begging Aslan to install it on her tail.
Aslan stepped forward, drew a deep breath, and placed his hand on the hilt. The sensation was strange—like holding history itself. Power, sovereignty, legend… the rise and fall of a nation embedded in cold metal.
And now, he was touching it.