Days passed one by one. For Aslan and Melusine, life was profoundly fulfilling—one dedicated to learning swordsmanship from Balin, the other mastering magic alongside swordsmanship.
A year flew by.
During this time, Balin obtained his own sword, and the sword on Melusine's left arm was successfully forged. This was thanks to the persistent efforts of those magicians who kept troubling them—the rare conflicts helped gather the necessary materials much faster. To some extent, those magicians and knights were quite the profit-makers.
That afternoon, Aslan finished his morning swordsmanship training. After lunch, it was time for magic class with Morgan. But upon entering the carriage, Morgan didn't start teaching immediately. Instead, she pulled out two gleaming gems.
Aslan's eyes widened in surprise. "You actually made these? You truly deserve the title of the most powerful witch in the British Isles! Thank you, Teacher Morgan."
Morgan's simulated personality nodded slightly. Though her demeanor remained cold, the rushed creation of this virtual personality had matured over the past year. Now, she felt more like a real person. Responding to Aslan's praise, the corners of her mouth twitched into a faint smile.
Aslan hadn't found magic difficult to learn, indicating his talent ranked among the best in this era. Without technology to measure magical circuits, he couldn't be sure exactly how many he possessed.
However, mastering swordsmanship had proven slower and more arduous. This sparked a sudden thought—or perhaps a delusion—whether he could replicate Balin's skill imprint, allowing it to silently influence his physical instincts.
Not only could he learn by day, but he could replay the training in his dreams at night. During battle, he could imprint residual images in his eyes to guide his movements.
There were many ways to master skills directly, though not all were currently achievable. But this gradual mastery approach seemed possible. As for the magic he studied, that relied entirely on Morgan's expertise. What surprised Aslan most was that Morgan realized his "delusion" in under a month.
With these gems, even if Balin had to participate in the "plot" of this era, he and Meluseen could continue their growth undisturbed, following their original plan.
"And this." Morgan produced a parchment scroll containing the fundamentals of the magic Aslan wished to study in depth. Their team was only temporary, and separation was uncertain.
Since the skill gems were engraved for Balin, Morgan's simulated personality had prepared this scroll as a backup—true to her promise to teach her student thoroughly.
Joy overtook Aslan's usual maturity, and he hugged Morgan like a big kid before hurrying out to find Melusine. After all, Melusine had complained that humans were troublesome, having to master so many combat skills, while dragons fought with just their bodies.
Of course, it was only complaining.
But now they had a shortcut, and that should ease Melusine's burden somewhat.
Morgan's simulated personality hadn't expected anyone to dare hug her. Despite being virtual, this body was, after all, the British Isles' most powerful witch—feared and revered. Such warmth was rare.
After a year, their traveling party had grown increasingly harmonious. Even Morgan began to integrate into the team. Though only a virtual personality, she was gradually taking on facets of her own true personality.
Just as the team seemed to be growing closer, another group arrived nearby.
Kay tidied up after Altria and Merlin again, then sighed. "Merlin, next time please don't talk so much, okay?"
Merlin, the flower magician, gently patted his chest. "I'm a bit hurt by that. I was just analyzing your human behavior habits in depth. Outsiders often see things more clearly."
Kay twitched his mouth, finally covering his face with both hands. He knew he couldn't beat the court magician, especially since his father had told him to respect Merlin. Still, why did he want to punch Merlin's smug face so badly?
Nearby, Artoria held her chin, reflecting on the incident and her own actions, trying to see where she could improve as a king.
Wearing white armor with a ponytail, she drew the Sword of the King from her waist. In the sunlight, the blade gleamed nobly, its gems sparkling.
Suddenly, the golden sword flickered twice, the tip pointing in one direction.
Artoria turned her gaze toward the sword's direction, then back at the sword in her hand. She recalled the young man she'd seen when she drew the holy sword. She still didn't know his name; even Merlin had never mentioned him.
Yet she wanted to see the young man again—perhaps out of curiosity, or intuition. The complex feelings were impossible to unravel.
"Mr. Merlin... shall we head that way next?"
Hearing her, Merlin looked toward the indicated direction. It wasn't deep into Vortigern's territory, which meant it was relatively safe—for now.
Merlin smiled. "No problem. I will follow the king's wishes."