Aslan looked at the girl standing before him. Of course, he hadn't forgotten what he told her when they last parted: if she wanted to know his name, he would tell her the next time they met. What he didn't expect was that this meeting would come so soon.
He touched the Golden Sword of Victory lightly and sighed softly, fixing his gaze on the girl. "Aslan. Aslan Pendragon. That is my name. Is there anything else?"
The easy warmth he usually showed around Melusine faded, replaced by a calm, almost indifferent expression. The sudden chill made Altria hesitate, unsure how to proceed. No one liked being treated coldly—not even the girl in front of him—and the awkward silence stretched between them.
For his part, Aslan didn't want to be involved with this girl so early, but he couldn't deny that he didn't hate her. So he held back from showing outright resistance.
The moment grew eerily still.
"Altria… and Aslan…"
A familiar voice came from nearby, and petals began to fall. Merlin appeared, watching the two with a complex expression. Both were kings chosen by the Sword of the King, though Aslan showed little desire to become one.
Still, Merlin was worried. The throne of all Great Britain was no small thing. How many could resist losing themselves to such power?
As a Nightmare who struggled to understand human hearts, Merlin found humanity's flaws daunting. He didn't dare take risks. To be honest, he never expected Altria to choose this path just to meet Aslan.
"Merlin…"
Seeing the magician, Aslan instinctively raised the Golden Sword of Victory, infusing it with magic. The urge to fight Merlin had settled deeply within him.
"Bring me victory—!"
He swung the sword rapidly. Golden magic burst forth like dazzling fireworks, flying toward Merlin.
But Merlin was prepared. The magic exploded briefly before dissipating like fading blossoms, then condensed near Aslan—perhaps a phantom created by his own power.
"I didn't expect your greetings to old friends to become so frightening. Were you trying to kill me just now?"
Merlin wiped his brow, eyes flickering with lingering fear. Being struck like that would surely ruin any future chances he had of finding a little succubus to… enjoy his company.
Though Merlin didn't realize it yet, in the next thousand years he'd fail to find such a companion—and would even impersonate a female virtual idol online to fool a certain crown magician.
His fancy maneuvers were unparalleled.
Aslan handed the sword back to Altria. The Golden Sword of Victory flashed twice in dissatisfaction and suddenly grew heavier, as if reluctant to leave Aslan's side. Feeling the weight, Aslan's expression grew more peculiar.
If I do this, how do I explain it to Merlin?
If the sword could speak, it might say, "There's no need to explain. This is a strange Shura field, no matter how you look at it. Fate assigned a certain blonde girl to be with the destined king. But while waiting, she met a boy who interrupted the story."
The boy, also qualified to be king, seemed even more suited to the island's throne. Yet, he showed no interest in becoming king or marrying the blonde girl. Under his persuasion, the girl stayed with the destined king.
But souls are free, and love is free. The blonde girl never forgot the boy. Feeling his presence, she came to him from afar.
Still, the boy refused her, saying the time hadn't come. Now he asked her to return to the future king. They parted, unsure when they'd meet again.
The girl didn't want to be separated but couldn't explain her feelings. The boy felt the girl was a burden he couldn't explain.
See? This is a story about a girl chasing her love, a boy who doesn't understand romance, and a king becoming a mere backdrop.
In modern times, the boy would be scolded by advocates of free love. Yet, thinking carefully, no one was truly at fault.
Aslan stared at the sword, his light blue eyes reflecting a sudden sense of being a scumbag. But if he took the sword away now, someone would surely negotiate with the lake fairy to retrieve it—and chase him down to chop him up.
"For our future happiness, behave yourself. Just think of it as following my orders, okay?"
Aslan crouched beside the Golden Sword of Victory, speaking softly. It wouldn't do for Artoria to overhear and think the sword saw her as a spare tire.
After Aslan's coaxing, the sword lightened and was returned to Altria's hand.