I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

The shadows beneath their feet surged, and a massive, dark hand suddenly emerged from them, viciously grabbing at the half-dragon girl's abdomen. The girl roared, and magical energy surged in the air. The shadow hand seemed to suddenly crash into some invisible wall halfway through its flight, and with a muffled thud, it shattered into pieces from fingertips to elbows, never to be reshaped again.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it... Don't push me!"

Hearing the footsteps behind her getting closer, Terena's eyes turned bloodshot. She took a deep breath, and the skull image, no bigger than a thumbnail, reappeared on her forehead. Her entire aura changed abruptly; her skin turned deathly pale, with a faint bluish tinge, and her expression became sinister, like a corpse.

But the biggest change was in her eyes. The bloodshot whites of her eyes suddenly turned azure blue, and deep within her pupils, a dazzling rainbow-like color emerged.

Terena screamed, "In the name of my enemy, I grant you—death!"

The two were very close, their eyes locked. The moment the witch's eyes changed color, the half-dragon girl being stared at suddenly stiffened, the color draining from her face. The fingers gripping Terena's left fist loosened, her wrist slumped down, and she stood there blankly, her eyes empty and lifeless, as if she were truly dead.

Terena, freed from her restraints, immediately took several steps back to the side. At that moment, Artoria caught up from behind, turning around to look at her with iridescent eyes—

With a clang, Artoria lost her grip on the iron sword, which fell to her feet.

Thump thump thump thump, after a moment of pause, her heart pounded even more violently, as if it were about to burst out of her chest. Cold sweat beaded on Artoria's forehead. She saw the figure in purple robes bypass the half-dragon girl and stumble into the small house in front of her, where one of the walls had been knocked down.

Although I wanted to chase after them, my ears were still ringing and I couldn't muster any strength. Just standing here was already exhausting... It was those iridescent eyes.

The moment she met those eyes, she felt as if she had experienced a real death.

A mix of emotions welled up within Artoria: the relief of surviving death, unease, and worry for her companions. She took a few breaths to catch her breath and regain some strength. Ignoring the missing Terena who had rushed into the house, she took two steps forward and suddenly reached out to support the still dazed girl, but dared not shake her: "Fina, Fina, are you alright?"

Whether the other party heard the calls or not, their fading dark red pupils contracted slightly, then regained focus. They shook their heads and looked over: "—"

It was still that incomprehensible language.

But just like before, Artoria felt as if she knew what the other person wanted to say. She changed her grip on her shoulder to a pat, gently patting it twice: "Don't worry, I'm fine. I didn't expect Terena to have such formidable abilities hidden away..."

"—"

"Hmm, this move isn't something she can use easily. That's why she didn't take the opportunity to attack me or you, but instead hurriedly ran away... The question is, why didn't she run out, but instead rushed into this house?"

"—"

Looking through the collapsed wall, the house was completely empty. Artoria and the half-dragon girl stood side-by-side, listening to the girl's questioning growl, and nodded, her gaze slightly somber.

"Secret passage..."

……

"Damn it, damn it, damn it! What's going on? It's one thing that the fifth son can't be killed, but why can't that brat named Altos die either..."

Staggering and stumbling, her long, tattered purple robe, stained with blood and dust, dragged along the long, dark passage. Everything was pitch black; it felt as if a thousand knives were scraping at her mind, an unimaginable pain and burning sensation making Terena feel as if her head was about to be roasted alive…

This is not an illusion.

They had finally managed to slay the monster in Avalon, dividing its power into nine different marks. The most bizarre of these was the Mark of Death. She had regretted more than once why she had received this difficult-to-use mark instead of one of the four powers symbolizing nature: water, fire, wind, or thunder. It wasn't until later, after forging an irreconcilable hatred with the wielder of the Mark of the Sword, and being utterly defeated and killed, that she finally understood the true purpose of this power.

The cycle of life and death continues endlessly.

"I can't die here..."

Like two ends of a scale, the death inflicted upon others will inevitably return to oneself. In desperation, she used the power of the Death Mark because she lacked the confidence to seize the bodies of those two. But if she died like this, there would be no chance of resurrection… Fortunately, there was still one chance. Marco's foolishness gave her a chance to live…

"How laughable. You think you have everything under control, that I can't see through your thoughts... Heh heh heh, Marco, you should never have imagined that I've already planted spells within the portraits throughout the castle, making them my eyes and ears. No movement escapes my notice... You wanted your nephew to kill me, but that only revealed the existence and location of this secret passage to me. As long as I get into the castle, I can have anyone kill me... and I can survive. I can survive..."

In the dark, narrow alley where the sun never shines, a woman with bloodshot eyes ran swiftly forward, her hands gripping the wall. With each step she took, her once round and radiant face grew thinner, as if someone had ripped out all the flesh and blood, leaving only a withered, dehydrated skin hanging precariously on a few bones.

“I want to live! Live…and then kill you all, kill you all…”

Like a cursed murmur, it echoed within the deep, dark passageway.

……

"Your Majesty, this is today's portion."

A bowl of dark green herbal medicine with a pungent odor was handed to him. The old man took it, then looked up slightly at the woman who seemed hesitant to speak: "Isolde, is there anything you want to say?"

He shook his head silently, but looking at the bowl of medicine he had personally brewed, Isolde finally couldn't help but ask, "I still don't understand. Your Majesty, your illness is incurable, but with proper care, you should be able to hold on for about three more months... I originally thought you had given up on yourself and abandoned everything, so I haven't asked until now."

"But after hearing what I just said to Tristan, you realized that I don't seem to want to die, so you want to ask me why I drank this medicine... is that right?" The old man smiled faintly, raised the bowl in his hand, and drank it all in one gulp.

Isolde seemed to gasp, shaking her head vigorously: "This is not medicine! This is..." But she hesitated at the last few words.

“Diluted Hydra venom.” Marco chuckled. “There was only a small amount of the original; I obtained it from an officer when the Empire still existed. Heh, I didn’t expect it to last so long after being diluted with water… You must be wondering why I deliberately gave your father so many benefits just to have you come and dilute this stuff for me every day, and you haven’t asked yet, which shows your composure. But now that you’ve asked, I’ll answer you: because in all of Britain, no one else but you can do this. As for why I drink it… because this isn’t medicine, but—a catalyst.”

"Medicine guide?"

"It's a story from the East, which I heard by chance from a magician. It's a catalyst prepared to enhance the effects of the medicine..." The old man handed the bowl to Isolde, wiped the green liquid from his mouth, and stood up, leaning back in his chair.

"Your Majesty?"

"Judging by the time, Tristan should be almost done too. I'll go check on him. Do what you normally do: don't wash this bowl, and make sure no one else touches it. If it breaks, bury it."

"Yes……"

"Go."

With a wave of his hand, Isolde bowed his head and left the room. The old man leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and after a moment, opened them again and glanced outside. There was still an endless expanse of blue sky and white clouds.

He turned around and walked unsteadily toward the door.

As he moved, a glint of cold light seemed to flash across his cuffs, fleeting like sunlight streaming in through a window…

……

"At this!"

The room wasn't large to begin with, and after a quick search, she found a small hole, just big enough for a person to crawl sideways, hidden by the bed. This entrance was usually much more concealed, but somehow Terena knew of its existence. After using her eerie magic eye to restrain the two women, she rushed in. Without time to clean up, she simply glanced around and easily found it.

Guinevere straightened up and called out to Artoria, who was searching nearby. She was still in this delicate half-dragon, half-human form, and for the moment, she couldn't find a way to change back. Fortunately, apart from her appearance and seemingly increased strength, there didn't seem to be any other problems, so she wasn't too worried.

The latter walked over: "There are footprints."

“And there’s more than one.” Guinevere squatted down again, pointing to several footprints of varying sizes nearby: “This one should be Terenas’s, and the other two…”

She tilted her head and thought for a moment, but unfortunately, she had no clue. She shook her head: "This secret passage leads to the castle. So, Terenas's goal is..." The two exchanged a glance.

"King Marco".

"Whatever she's planning to do to that king... it's definitely not going to be anything good. Let's go after her and see."

"it is good."

Artoria nodded at first, then seemed to think of something: "Your...this..." She carefully chose her words: "...the wings, it seems they can't fit?"

"Well……"

Guinevere touched the wings that had inexplicably sprouted on her back—unexpectedly sensitive, making her shiver involuntarily. She quickly lowered her hand: "They're so wide, it seems I really can't fit them... I don't know how to hide them. To be honest, I don't even know why these things grew in the first place..."

After saying this, Artoria tilted her head and, for some reason, showed a look that was almost blank, which was quite cute for a girl of her age.

The girl was momentarily stunned.

But just as she was about to continue speaking, suddenly, a faint fragrance seemed to appear in the air.

"Flower scent?"

Guinevere paused, but Artoria's eyes flickered. This was... She looked up and saw a petal, still glistening with dew, swaying gently as it was blown in by the wind from the side of the fallen wall.

At the same time, as two pairs of eyes fell on the petal, a woman's voice, leisurely and somewhat languid, chuckled softly in their ears, as if whispering, "Artoria, long time no see. Thanks to you both, this matter can be put on hold for now."

"I'm sure you're all wondering what happened. If you want to know the whole story, bring your sweetheart to Truro. I'll be waiting for you there. Regarding Terena..." The voice paused, a half-smile playing on its lips, "And the fact that you broke the Sword of the Chosen of Kings, which I painstakingly crafted, so quickly—we need to have a serious talk about that—"

P.S.: September attendance record is 0! Second day of 0! Remember to vote! *coo coo*

Chapter Sixty-Five: A Wave Rises (Part Two)

Scattered footsteps fell in the darkness, each one like a god of death drawing ever closer. In a daze, even though she was blind, she saw the black raven once more...

"Your Majesty, you may look out the window."

In her memory, it was a scene from several years ago. Leodogran's strength had exceeded expectations, and she had received news that Vivian seemed to be lurking near Scotland—and as everyone knew, if Vivian appeared somewhere, nine times out of ten, the Flower Magician was also nearby. Even without Merlin, Vivian alone was no match for her. Therefore, upon receiving the news, she immediately abandoned her years of hard work in the north, including the Holy Sword and her spies who had already defected, and hastily headed south, eventually arriving in Cornwall.

"crow?"

Although she looked somewhat disheveled from the long journey and the fear she had endured, she still held the key to turning things around. She firmly believed that one day she would crush all obstacles under her feet.

"Crows are a symbol of death. A flock of crows gathering, impossible to drive away, Your Majesty, signifies the approaching end of your life." Within the palace, the sorceress and the king, their respective calculations, overwhelmed her at this moment. This shouldn't be… Why was the fifth son out of control? What was the origin of that boy…? No, at this point, she already knew very well who that boy named Arthos was, but what about that sword…? She had always been wary of this young, destined king; if the other wasn't using some utterly ordinary, broken sword, why would she have been so careless…?

Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat.

The prophecy of the Sword of the Chosen King came from Merlin, and the sword-drawing ceremony not long ago was also orchestrated by Merlin from beginning to end. Because she knew that King Arthur had pulled the sword from the stone, she hadn't suspected that the boy beside Guinevere was the same person as King Arthur. This was… Terenas gritted her teeth, her heart filled with hatred.

"Merlin, is this also part of your scheme?!"

Naturally, no one answered the question.

In the boundless darkness, only the sound of her own footsteps, her heartbeat, and her increasingly rapid breathing could be heard. The passage seemed endless, as if no matter how hard she ran, she would never reach the other end. Anxiety welled up inside her, but she forcefully suppressed it. She couldn't panic; this wasn't the worst of it. She still had hope. Although she had lost her greatest asset, her fifth son, and had incurred the wrath of Arthur and Guinevere, and saw no immediate chance of turning the tide… as long as she survived, there would always be a way.

But if this was truly Merlin's doing, given his personality, would he leave himself such a huge oversight?

He hesitated for a moment, then continued running. He couldn't think any further; perhaps this was Merlin's purpose—to make him think more. The more he thought, the more likely he was to fall into that man's trap…

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Suddenly, a short cough came from ahead. It was a sound she had gradually grown accustomed to. King Marco, what was he doing here?

She couldn't hear any other footsteps. A cough, like a ghost, drew closer. She continued forward, tentatively asking, "Your Majesty? Is that you?" A moment later, the old man's low laughter rang out: "Terena, great Queen of the Lake, look at yourself now, truly...tsk tsk, truly magnificent."

Ahead, malice suddenly coalesced!

It was a completely subconscious action. She raised her hand to block, and her left arm stung as if it had been cut by a sharp weapon. But what surprised and frightened her even more than the excruciating pain was the tingling and itching around the wound... It was poisonous!

"Oh, people get forgetful as they get older. Look at me, I almost forgot... You probably can't see anything now... Poor thing, hahahahaha."

The tired and aged voice, with its undisguised sarcasm, filled Terena with both shock and anger. Even though the voice seemed to reveal the other person's location, whenever she turned her attention to the direction from which the voice came, the dagger would always silently flash out from another unexpected direction, drawing a string of bright red beads of blood from her body.

The object that was thought to be completely under control suddenly revealed its fangs.

This is absurd...

She had thought Marco was the same kind of person as her, but now she realized how terribly wrong she had been… For the first time, a deep sense of defeat welled up inside Terena. If it were Merlin or Vivian, those “monsters,” it would be one thing—she had never even considered defeating them. But who was Marco? Just a powerless mortal. If it weren’t for her help, he would have been dead for years, his body already rotting…

So even though she had heard everything the other person said to Tristan through the magic cast on the portrait, and had seen Marco's dagger skills that he had never shown to anyone, she never expected that this old woman, who was only half alive and obeyed her out of fear of death, would actually stand in front of her at the very end.

"You've been misunderstanding one thing all along."

In the dark passageway, Terena strode forward several steps, only to hear the aged voice in her ear say, "I am not afraid of death. It's just that I haven't found... a way to die that satisfies me."

The figures intertwined.

The witch's foot stomped down. Her body froze, then swayed for a moment before a spurt of blood shot from her neck. In that split second, the old man's dagger had silently slit her throat.

The next moment, as Terena stopped breathing, the four marks on the back of her hand and forehead simultaneously glowed. Four different lights illuminated the surroundings as if they were outside. The old man wiped the few specks of blood splattered on his face—the blood was deep black—and turned around to see that the three marks on Terena's hand—lightning, fire, and twin swords—had dimmed at the same time, but the clear patterns remained in their original positions.

He coughed a few times, covered his mouth, and turned to face the witch. He found that the small skull pattern that had been glowing with an eerie green light had disappeared without a trace.

"really."

Thinking of something, Marco frowned, first waving his hand to shake off the blood from the dagger, then silently putting it into his sleeve, before gently pressing it against his stomach.

"Hmph, suspicious guy... but now I have no choice but to trust you."

The old man glanced at Terena, who was frozen in place, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes. After a long while, he seemed to snort coldly, turned around, and slowly walked back the way he came.

And on his forehead.

A faint, eerie green light flashed by, vaguely revealing the shape of a skull.

……

Within the ethereal space, gray mist spread, accompanied by a strange "crackling" sound, as if something was knocking on itself.

At the same time, another voice rang out: "Crack crack crack, how many times has this happened? The seventh time, the eighth time, or the eleventh time... The poor cursed one is still struggling desperately before death, resurrecting again and again. It's both delightful and heartbreaking. Crack crack crack..."

If Guinevere or Artoria were present, they might recognize the voice as belonging to "Old Man Talisin," whom they had met once before. However, the gray fog was utterly silent; not a single person or animal could be seen. Only occasionally, as the fog gathered and dispersed, would a corner of something obscured be revealed—a scene that constantly shifted with the movement of the gray fog, like a dream.

Sometimes it is a clear lake that stretches to the horizon.

At other times, it resembles a field full of vibrant flowers.

“Ka-ka-ka-ka…”

"But you poor cursed one, you need not rejoice, you need not grieve. For fate is woven thus—'When you leave the demonic realm overflowing with death, open your eyes—'"

"Kakakaka."

"'Then you are no longer yourself.'"

The words just fell.

The gray fog suddenly dispersed to both sides, revealing the lake reflecting the blue sky and white clouds. The once crystal clear lake water suddenly became foul and rotten, with countless dead fish floating belly up on the surface. The stench of decay was unbearable. With a "plop," something fell from the sky into the lake. It was a giant dragon covered with pitch-black scales.

In the blink of an eye, the black dragon that had sunk to the bottom resurfaced, but it appeared to have been dead for two or three months. Among its rotting flesh, infested with maggots, one could see the stark white bones. Swarms of flies swarmed down, completely surrounding the dragon's corpse, leaving no gaps. Then, with another splash, a naked human fell into the lake, but unlike the black dragon, did not rise again.