"Have you dealt with it? If so, come in. We still have studying to do."
Morgan's voice floated from the carriage, calm and firm. After spending so much time traveling with her, Aslan had come to understand that the Morgan beside him was different from the one he remembered—but only slightly. At their core, both were deeply responsible, sharp-minded women who didn't take their obligations lightly.
She had promised to teach him magic as repayment for saving her life. And true to her word, the witch taught him with unwavering dedication, day after day. Sometimes, her seriousness made him wonder—was this truly the infamous Morgan le Fay?
Reason told him it couldn't be. She had to be hiding something. But that was a question for another time.
Leave the future for the future, he thought. For now, they worked well together. That was enough.
Elsewhere, tension was rising.
The mounting casualties had finally pushed the mainland magicians to action. Their earlier skirmishes had confirmed it—the witch they were pursuing was no ordinary sorceress. She was protected by not one, but two elite knights. And judging from her current state, the supposed wounds from their last encounter had done little to slow her down.
It was fortunate, then, that the magicians had sent the knights ahead to test the waters. They hadn't taken the field themselves yet.
But even the deaths of those knights had created an opportunity. Their sacrifice now made it easier for the magicians to seek an alliance—with the army's general.
Truthfully, the magicians had little respect for these so-called "barbarians." But if it served their goals, cooperating with them was an acceptable compromise.
One of the magicians, cloaked in black and veiled in a spell of concealment, slipped into the alien general's command tent. The spell was effective—no guards stopped him. In their eyes, he wasn't even there. Perhaps he had become less noticeable than a bug.
An unflattering metaphor, but accurate.
The general, however, was no fool. As soon as the magician stepped inside, the towering man reached for the mace resting beside him. Its haft was bound in leather, its head lined with fragments of human skulls. Not just decorations—trophies. Each skull belonged to a warrior the general had personally slain. He carried them with pride, their silent faces bearing witness to his victories.
Without hesitation, the general swung the mace forward. The tip passed so close to the magician's face it sliced the air before his nose. But the magician didn't flinch.
He simply rubbed his nose with a bored expression and arched an eyebrow. "A barbarian is a barbarian. Is this how you greet a guest? Where's your hospitality?"
The general snorted and lowered his mace, leaning back into his seat. His legs crossed. His chin lifted.
"You people act mysterious and smug. Why should I greet you with reverence?" He tapped the armrest with a thick finger. "Don't think I haven't noticed you poking around my camps. My men are dying—how will you account for those losses?"
The general's voice was edged with anger, but he restrained himself. He knew better than to challenge the magicians openly.
"If I hadn't wanted to teach my soldiers a lesson about obeying orders without question," he added, "you wouldn't have taken a single one of them."
The magician smirked, unmoved. He knew the general wouldn't risk a real confrontation. "None of them were killed by us. But if we don't deal with that witch, how will you explain this to King Vortigern?"
There was a pause.
That name hung heavily in the air.
The general exhaled and rubbed his jaw, his expression darkening. The old king had grown increasingly erratic lately. Ever since that damned prophecy about the Red Dragon and the White Dragon, he'd become unstable—paranoid, unpredictable.
And now, with unrest spreading along the borders, his temper was worse than ever.
The general had known Vortigern for years. And the longer he did, the more clearly he saw it: beneath the king's gentle smile lay a twisted cruelty. Vortigern never expressed his hatred openly. He let it simmer in silence, then struck when no one expected it. The people who crossed him disappeared quietly, their fates whispered but never confirmed.
No one wanted to imagine what they endured.
The general closed his eyes briefly, reining in his anger. Finally, he opened them and fixed the magician with a sharp stare.
"This time," he growled, "don't treat us like pawns. Or I'll crack your skull with this mace and add your face to it."
The magician only smiled and began to vanish. Black mist coiled around him, shrouding his form until he faded from sight. His voice lingered, echoing through the empty tent like a distant whisper.
"Don't worry. We're serious this time. Let's work together... and set a trap."