Aslan remained unaware of the chaos unfolding outside.
Like Morgan, he preferred to enchant his study with sound-dampening magic when working. It served two purposes: his volatile experiments wouldn't disturb others, and outside noise wouldn't break his concentration.
To understand how to amplify and launch magical energy, Aslan had built a small prototype device. Though no larger than a clenched fist, the model replicated the exact formulas and principles used in full-scale deployment. Any mistake still resulted in an impressive explosion—complete with light, noise, and scorched walls.
After a few early failures—one of which had caused Morgan to frown, flick her wand, and turn him into a frog for several unpleasant hours—Aslan had become especially careful. He had no desire to revisit that wet, sticky, cold-skinned experience.
The mere memory made him shudder, goosebumps running down his arms.
I am not a frog prince, he grumbled inwardly. And I certainly don't get rescued by a kiss from true love.
While Aslan and his companions remained shielded in magically sealed rooms, ordinary guests who had come to the castle for the celebration were not so lucky. One by one, people began to stir from sleep, startled by faint noises in the distance. As they rubbed their eyes and looked out the windows, they were greeted by an eerie sight: a barrier—tall, seamless, and sky-bound—surrounded the entire castle.
Its glow wasn't dazzling; in fact, it was deceptively subtle. The color of the barrier blended into the sky so well that one had to stare closely to even notice it. But once seen, it could not be unseen.
Panic erupted immediately.
"What's going on?!"
Before anyone could answer, the castle's front doors exploded open. Dozens of barbaric soldiers stormed inside, weapons raised, eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
The crowd, once joyful, now screamed in confusion and fear. But among the guests were not just civilians—some were wandering knights. Hardened men and women who had wandered into the celebration for warmth and food.
These knights now sprang into action.
Despite the fact that the invaders looked exactly like the men they had shared food and drink with hours ago, the warriors didn't hesitate. The clothes were different. The weapons were unmistakable. These were invaders.
And now they were enemies.
Some knights were furious beyond reason. Just this afternoon, these same people had cursed the enemy by their side—drinking, laughing, playing the role of friend—only to reveal the truth now with blades drawn. It felt like a personal betrayal.
With no more hesitation, the knights drew their swords and charged.
The clash of steel rang out through the castle halls, and even the alien general, watching from the rear, felt his blood stir.
Unfortunately, before he could join the fray, a blast of flame burst through the gate and struck one of the knights dead-on. His armor melted instantly, flowing like molten gold over his body. He screamed, writhing in agony, the searing metal clinging to his skin far more cruelly than open flame.
Even the general winced.
At the center of the assault stood an old magician, flame curling from the top of his staff. His face showed no emotion, only a cold, relentless focus.
"Don't waste time here," the magician said flatly. "Our target is Morgan. Not these dogs. As long as we eliminate the witch, our mission will be complete."
He raised his hand and more fireballs flickered into existence, floating ominously in the air like miniature suns. The fire danced in the dark, casting warm light that held no comfort.
With a soft tap of his staff, the orbs spun, then surged forward—burning through all in their path.
No one in the hall stood a chance.
—
Meanwhile, in his room, Aslan was immersed in his latest experiment. But even through the dampening spells, he heard something—faint cries, filled with terror and pain. It wasn't the volume that caught his attention—it was the emotion. More visceral than any horror film, more chilling than any staged scream.
The sound made Aslan's hand tremble slightly. His experiment sparked out of sync. From her nearby perch, Melusine stirred.
She'd been dreaming of whispering to him—soft, idle things—and now her expression was twisted with anger and distress.
Then, a second later, she stilled.
The scent of blood drifted in from beneath the castle. Looking out the window, she spotted the magic barrier rising in the distance—tall and nearly invisible.
Aslan, now fully pulled from his work, followed her gaze. He, too, saw the barrier. With his growing understanding of magic, he recognized it immediately: a full-spectrum containment ward, rooted deep into the ground and stretching high into the sky.
He picked up the fist-sized prototype on his desk and pointed it toward the window. Infusing it with magic, he fired a laser beam at the shield. The impact created a ripple on the surface—but nothing more.
Aslan frowned. That ruled out Morgan.
She wouldn't have used this kind of technique.
Then a thought struck him: Could it be... father?
Had the king sent troops in the dead of night to reclaim the stolen fortress?
It wouldn't have been the first time. The last battle wasn't long ago, and Aslan hadn't even finished his 2.0 prototype yet. Which meant—for now—he still had to rely on his old weapons.
Mainly, his hammer.
He glanced at it—his forging hammer, solid and worn but dependable. Not a refined weapon, but a devastating one.
Still, Aslan wasn't worried. He wasn't alone. The most powerful dragon on the island was by his side.
If Melusine couldn't handle these intruders…
Then Britain really had become a joke.