How long had it been since she last returned?
Morgan le Fay wandered through the streets leading to the palace, her eyes drifting absently over the surroundings, a trace of nostalgia coloring her expression.
From the moment she could remember, as the daughter of the late Emperor Uther, Morgan had grown up within the palace walls.
As an innocent girl at the time, she had no idea what the world outside the palace was like, and the intrigues among the nobles had nothing to do with her.
Because of this, the nobles in the past were full of admiration for the girl named Morgan le Fay. Coupled with her stunning beauty, countless nobles were willing to fall at her feet.
But everything changed when the Sword in the Stone chose its king. Artoria's birth plunged Morgan into darkness, and soon, fear replaced admiration. Whispers spread—inside the palace and beyond.
The Witch.*
That was what they called her.
A fitting title for their fear.
But Morgan had never cared for their opinions.
Back then, only one thought consumed her: Revenge.
Against Merlin. Against everyone who had wronged her. Against the empire itself—and against her own sister.
Those were days shrouded in darkness. Every waking moment was spent weaving intricate plans for vengeance, her hollow heart filled with nothing but hatred.
If Vortigern's goal had been to end the fading Age of Gods and usher in a new era...
Morgan's desire was simpler.
To burn it all down.
Until one sun-drenched afternoon, when she saw her sister step into a marriage ceremony with a young man.
It was the first time Morgan had ever seen her sister, that unsmiling, joyless girl, wear an expression of such genuine happiness and that made her uncomfortable.
Why?
'Why is it that she already has the entire kingdom... and now she's found happiness too?'
'While she had nothing.'
'How is that fair?'
'Why is everything that had ever happened to her ever been fair?'
So Morgan's plan began with the person closest to King Arthur.
After Artoria revealed herself to the world as the king, Alvin chose to retreat into the shadows, silently guarding the empire through the long nights.
And Morgan's first encounter with him had been on this very street.
The young man, returning to the palace after meeting with the nobles, had "coincidentally" crossed paths with the empire's infamous witch.
While others recoiled from her in fear, he came up to her and greeted her with a friendly look.
After that, Morgan began seeking him out in the palace, at first, she did it, purely to drive a wedge between him and the king.
At that time, their conversations revolved around politics and the empire's affairs.
But as time passed, they spoke of simpler things. Life. Potions. Even Morgan's past.
He never avoided the topic of her relationship with Artoria. On the contrary, he addressed it openly.
"Morgan, there's something I've always wondered."
"Do you hate everything about this empire… because Lily pulled the sword and became King Arthur?"
"That's only part of it. But yes, it is because of her, I despise it all."
"Including me?"
He asked and she faltered.
Then, under his expectant gaze, Morgan showed an uncharacteristic hesitation for the very first time in her life and answered.
"You… are an exception."
"Do you like me, then?"
This time, her silence stretched longer.
But eventually, the ice in her eyes melted. Gazing at the starlit plains beyond the window, her expression softened.
"…I suppose." Still a tsundere reply.
Yet the young man smiled.
After all, the tsundere Morgan is best Morgan.
Of course, Alvin was going for the kill, and for a tsundere, was there any better kill than a straight ball?
"If you can hate everything because of one person… why not learn to love it all because of another?"
It was sophistry, of course. Morgan wasn't swayed.
But for the first time, her heart wavered—toward the man her sister loved.
"Mother… are you all right?" Gareth's uneasy voice snapped her back to the present.
Ever since they'd passed this street on their way to the palace, Morgan had been lost in thought.
Though Gareth was very afraid of her mother, they were about to enter the lion's den and couldn't afford distractions.
"I'm fine. Just… reminiscing."
Morgan shook her head lightly, dispelling the memories deep inside her mind.
Once, she had willingly dwelled in darkness—until a crack in the abyss let in a sliver of light.
Now, walking these familiar streets, after so many years, she couldn't help but recall that afternoon, and the boy whose smile had been as warm as the sun.
Her fingers tightened around the dragon scale in her hand. Under the sunlight, the mystic code gleamed with a faint golden radiance.
'Is it really him… or some despicable thief who stole the White Dragon's core after his death?'
For some reason, she felt uneasy and apprehensive for the first time in a long time.
She wanted this scale to be his work. But she feared it might all be an illusion.
If it turned out not to be him…
She didn't know what she would do.
To be given hope, only to have it crushed—even Morgan couldn't endure that.
In such a complicated state of mind, the two of them had unknowingly arrived outside the palace of Camelot.
At this time, the sound of footsteps was faintly heard in the distance.
The heavy clang of metal against stone.
Morgan looked up to see Mordred, clad head-to-toe in armor, leaping down from the palace walls with a thunderous BOOM!
The palace gates behind Mordred suddenly burst open as dozens of knights poured out in hot pursuit.
Gareth's eyes lit up with relief. "Mordred! Over here!" she called out urgently.
"I know, but these guys are so annoying. They won't quit!" Mordred growled, already moving toward them—
Only for the lead knight to step forward, blocking her path.
"Tch... a bunch of persistent pests!"
With a snarl, Mordred yanked her massive sword free.
CLANG!
Steel met steel in a sharp, ringing clash.
The knight staggered back from the impact, but in an instant, the swarm of knights behind him closed ranks, surrounding Mordred completely.
"Can't help it. Mother's watching me. I can't afford to look so pathetic."
Mordred sighed, then suddenly raised her head, a wild grin splitting her face. "Out of my WAY!"
Her foot slammed back, and crimson lightning erupted from her greatsword as she blasted through the encircling knights like a cannonball.
Then—
BOOM!
She landed heavily beside Morgan, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The knights surged forward, but the moment their eyes fell on the veiled woman standing at the palace gates, they froze mid-step.
Morgan hadn't cast a single spell from the beggining to the end.
Yet her mere presence was enough to root the lead knight in place, as if he'd been petrified.
Only after a long pause did cold sweat begin to bead on his back and he couldn't help but whisper.
"Morgan le Fay...?"
Even after years of absence, those who had once crossed paths with her could never forget this bewitching and lethally dangerous—woman.
"You acted too rashly this time, Mordred." Morgan's voice was cool and crisp as she gazed up at the grand, ancient palace.
Mordred, who had been so unruly just now, seemed to be in a low mood all of a sudden. "Sorry. I didn't expect the King to leave the palace that day..."
Morgan's sidelong glance was razor-sharp. "Excuses are for failures."
"Even against the Red Dragon, with your dual bloodline, you should have escaped easily—"
"But I wasn't just facing the Red Dragon."
Morgan's words cut off abruptly as Mordred's next sentence struck her like a thunderbolt:
"Father... The Night Watcher is alive. This time, the King went to bring him back to the palace and I happened to run into them."
A single sentence—but it detonated in Morgan's mind.
Her pupils contracted violently.
So...
He's not dead.
He really is alive!
And he's already returned to the palace!
No wonder... No wonder King Arthur left the palace this time. No wonder Gareth said she sensed the White Dragon's presence.
No wonder Mordred couldn't escape...
If it had just been Artoria alone, Mordred might have had a slim chance to break free by fighting tooth and nail.
But if he was there too...
After a moment of stunned silence, Morgan's gaze burned with intensity as she fixed it on the palace depths.
"Apologies, but I cannot allow you to enter."
Yet, as Morgan stepped forward, the lead knight finally mustered his courage and blocked her path.
Morgan's icy glare could have frozen hell itself.
"Move."
This time, she held nothing back.
The moment she advanced, the mana in the air twisted into chaotic currents—then detonated around the knight in a cataclysmic burst!
Any modern mage witnessing this would have been left awestruck—or utterly demoralized.
High-tier magecraft, the kind only possible in the Age of Gods, took shape in an instant under Morgan's will.
Once, she had been an innocent, radiant girl.
But now, she was the witch who commanded fear.
And after years of refining her White Dragon Revival plan, her power had only grown more terrifying.
A single knight? A whole battalion?
The current Morgan was no less formidable than Vortigern had been—no, she had surpassed the White Dragon.
Even Gawain and the other Round Table Knights would struggle to stop her now.
But—
The explosion never came.
Because at the very moment the mana coalesced, a golden sword-light descended from the heavens!
As if the very fabric of space had been severed, the holy blade, the very symbol of the King, plunged into the earth with a thunderous impact!
Excalibur stood embedded before the palace gates, a radiant barrier between the knights and Morgan.
Mordred flinched instinctively, while Gareth stared wide-eyed at the palace entrance.
A heavy blue cloak draped over a slender, regal frame. Golden hair fluttered in the wind.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, staring at the woman in front of her.
A hand slowly gripped the hilt of the sacred sword.
Then, its wielder lifted her head and met the witch's gaze.
"Sister... Long time no see."
.
.