"You know me?"
Upon hearing the boy call out that name, the purple-haired woman couldn't help but raise her brows slightly in surprise as she carefully examined Alvin.
Logically, she had never revealed her name, and the other party shouldn't know anything about the affairs of the "Land of Shadows."
Alvin was also quietly observing the woman before him and said, "I've heard your name before, but I never had the chance to see you in person."
"Oh?"
Scáthach seemed a bit intrigued, her crimson beautiful eyes carrying a faint smile. "How did you recognize me?"
Her long purple hair flowed smoothly down her back, and her well-proportioned, voluptuous figure seemed like something straight out of a novel...literally perfect in every way.
Yet her body faintly exuded a natural queenly aura.
If I were to say that you looks like someone who's clearly no longer young, I wonder how you'd react… Alvin teased inwardly, then smiled and said, "The queenly aura unique to the ruler of the Land of Shadows, and that red thorny spear—all of that makes your identity obvious."
"And also… you possess 'divinity.'"
Yes… In truth, the current Scáthach no longer counted as 'human,' but rather, a demigod.
She was both a warrior from the Celtic Ulster legends and the queen of the Land of Shadows.
Unlike the familiar concept of "Heroic Spirits," by the time of the Clock Tower era where Alvin resided, Scáthach's life had never come to an end.
Because having become a "demigod," she would no longer age naturally like a human.
Unless the world itself came to an end one day, Scáthach would never die.
Even during his first transmigration, Alvin had wondered—are only modern magi eligible to be "transmigrators"?
Now, Scáthach had given him the answer.
Perhaps… as long as the being is theoretically still alive in Type-Moon history, they could become a transmigrator.
Scáthach was the best example of that.
After hearing Alvin's analysis, Scáthach's eyes filled with admiration. "Looks like you're not just strong—your mind works pretty fast too…"
She paused briefly, then continued, "Then how about you take a guess—what's my goal?"
"Secretly spying on me? I don't think the Queen of the Land of Shadows is that bored…" Alvin pondered for a moment. "You infiltrated the palace to gather intelligence?"
"I'm not particularly interested in Britain's affairs, and following you wasn't to gather intel."
Scáthach smiled softly. "To be honest, I was quite excited when I first crossed into Britain… because this nation now gathers strong individuals from all ages. Perhaps among them, someone capable of killing me might exist."
Yes… in fact, in a way, Scáthach's goal was the same as Manaka Saijyou.
Except Manaka Saijyou was just bored and wanted to kill time, while Scáthach simply yearned for battle.
And she hoped to die in battle.
She was the Queen of the Land of Shadows, but also a warrior. Whenever she encountered strong foes or battlefields, she never shrank away, instead, it only made the fighting spirit within her boil over.
To defeat a powerful enemy, or to be slain by one, either outcome was something she could gladly accept.
Originally, after learning about Morgan le Fay, a powerful figure, Scáthach intended to enter the palace for a look.
But then she happened to sense the battle between Alvin and Manaka Saijyou.
And that… was precisely why she decided to stay.
Alvin hesitated and asked, "You're here seeking death?"
Scáthach was momentarily stunned, then smiled charmingly. "You could put it that way… If someone can kill me, I think I would be very grateful to them."
She had traveled through the long river of history, witnessed countless nations rise and fall, and even everything from her own country had long since turned to dust...yet… Scáthach remained undying and unaging.
Although it might sound wonderful, imagine this: after a thousand years, all your friends, even your students, their children, grandchildren, all..have died, while you remain alone, watching the tides of history, the sea turn into mulberry fields… such loneliness is not something everyone can endure.
Yearning to clash with powerful foes, and then find release in death… this was Scáthach.
"So you've set your eyes on me?" Alvin couldn't help but be a little stunned.
"Master, my mana hasn't even recovered yet," Alvin quickly and tactfully declined.
Unless he activated the special domain of "Age of Gods Reenactment," in this increasingly depleted era, Alvin's White Dragon Core couldn't recover mana quickly.
"Don't worry. I have no intention of taking advantage of someone's weakness… Besides, if you're unwilling, I won't force you."
Scáthach gazed at the boy with a smile. "But, I'd like to test if you have the capacity to face me. May I?"
To even ask before making a move—how polite of her… Alvin nodded lightly. "You may."
He agreed decisively and cleanly, without a hint of hesitation. It seemed he was quite confident in himself… A pleasant curve appeared on Scáthach's lips.
The Death Thorn Spear in her hand began to glow with a crimson light.
Whoosh!
The next instant, the Death Thorn Spear turned into a red lightning bolt, charging at Alvin.
Alvin stood in place, his fist radiating deep black light, and struck hard at the incoming spear.
Clang!
With a crisp clash, black and red light collided fiercely, and the magical energy of the Death Thorn Spear gradually faded.
Scáthach's pupils contracted sharply.
Not only did she recoil, but while gripping her spear, she launched another thrust toward Alvin.
However, the latter simply swung his fists, engulfed in dark magical energy like a force of devouring power, and hurled them forward.
The sharp, echoing sounds of each blow made Scáthach increasingly astonished.
She could hardly believe that he was fighting her barehanded… Was this really a human body?
Then, a light of exhilaration quickly surged in her eyes.
The White Dragon of Britain… If it's this guy, maybe he really could—
The continued collision stirred the magic in the air, sending out metallic shockwaves.
Just as Scáthach reached a state of excitement in battle, Alvin launched one final punch.
Boom!
With overwhelming brute force, he forcibly knocked the Death Thorn Spear into the air.
As Scáthach reached out to catch her spear and prepared to resume her assault, Alvin had already withdrawn his fist.
Scáthach's movements halted abruptly as she stared at Alvin. "What's the meaning of this?"
"That's enough. If we keep going, we'll draw the Round Table Knights from the palace," Alvin said.
Now that the banquet was being fervently prepared, if Morgan noticed the commotion here and a needless conflict with Scáthach occurred… it might affect the upcoming banquet.
Yet hearing this, Scáthach seemed a little stunned. "You're stopping… mid-fight?"
Very quickly, she raised the Death Thorn Spear and pointed it at Alvin.
"No way. At least finish this round!"
She hadn't even figured out the depth of his power yet.
Such an unfulfilled state—Scáthach absolutely couldn't accept it.
This feeling was just like getting edged and left hanging.
However, the boy merely spread his hands and sighed, "To be honest, my battle with the Root Princess earlier consumed too much of my mana. I really don't have much left… If you don't mind winning against me in this state, then by all means—strike."
"You—"
Scáthach was filled with both shock and anger.
This guy looked like a well-behaved honors student, yet he turned out to be so deviously manipulative.
It was obvious that Alvin simply didn't want to fight anymore and was now playing dirty.
"Right now is a critical period for cooperation between the transmigrators and Britain. I don't want any unforeseen incidents. If you still wish to fight, then wait until the banquet is over."
After saying this, and seeing that Scáthach no longer showed any signs of attacking, Alvin turned around and walked out of the forest.
"That little brat…"
Scáthach stared blankly in the direction Alvin had gone.
But after a moment, she quickly let it go.
Not everyone longed for powerful opponents like she did.
From Alvin's response just now, it was clear he wasn't particularly interested in battle.
But even so, this feeling of being left hanging halfway through a fight was extremely frustrating...
After a long while, Scáthach gradually calmed down.
As if recalling something amusing, her full lips curled into a delighted arc.
"A grand banquet in Britain, huh… Since I'm already here, I might as well drop by to take a look when the time comes."
And perhaps she'd finally get to see what the legendary Morgan le Fay actually looked like.
The woman turned and walked toward the exit of the forest, and before long, that breathtakingly beautiful silhouette vanished into the air like a phantom.
.
.
.
In the blink of an eye, an entire day passed unnoticed.
Within this single day, a piece of news spread rapidly throughout the royal city.
And by evening, every region of Britain had received the same message.
Afterward, nobles of Britain and even the transmigrators themselves went absolutely mad.
Britain had officially decided to cooperate with the transmigrators, and under the leadership of Morgan le Fay, would be hosting an unprecedented grand banquet three days later!
Upon hearing this news, quite a few transmigrators instinctively believed it might be a trap—that Morgan le Fay's real goal was to wipe out all the high-ranking members of the transmigrator faction in one fell swoop.
And some of the nobles harbored the exact same suspicions.
At night, King Marco was soaking in a bath, gazing at the sparse stars and bright moon in the sky, a faint look of concern in his eyes.
"Tristan, you've interacted with Morgan a few times… how trustworthy do you think that woman's words are?"
King Marco soon spoke.
Morgan le Fay—for this legendary "witch," the fear held by the high-ranking nobles was second only to that of the demonic dragon, Alvin.
If it had been King Arthur proposing and hosting the banquet, King Marco wouldn't have been this worried.
But the one who had made this decision was Morgan… and that alone was cause for deep contemplation.
Tristan lowered his head slightly and said, "If you'd asked me this a few days ago, I would have advised you not to attend this banquet."
After all, Morgan le Fay was far too dangerous.
After Alvin's death, that woman had completely transformed into a vengeful enchantress… no one knew if she intended to drag everyone down to death with her.
"So what you're saying is… now you believe I should attend the banquet?" King Marco asked.
"Yes."
Tristan replied softly,
"The Morgan of the past was driven solely by revenge. No matter how insane her decisions were, it wouldn't have been surprising."
"But now, she's different… there's someone else by her side."
That very person had once stopped her, and had gradually begun to heal the hatred festering in Morgan's heart.
Alvin.
If he had truly returned, then for his sake alone, Morgan wouldn't harm the guests at this banquet.
Upon hearing this, King Marco's expression subtly changed, a trace of dread, and even hatred—flickered in his eyes.
He recalled that not long ago, that boy had infiltrated his manor like it was his own backyard, and confronted him in a secret conversation.
"Alvin…"
Just saying the name made King Marco gnash his teeth.
"Who the hell does he think he is? Sneaking into a noble's estate to issue threats… that's a capital crime in Britain!"
"Tristan, once the King returns, join me and the other nobles, we'll go to the palace together and petition the King to punish that bastard!"
Tristan remained silent.
After a while, the red-haired knight spoke in a low voice,
"Let's talk about that matter later… Are you planning to attend the banquet?"
"Since even you think it's fine, I'll go have a look. Bring the other nobles too."
King Marco let out a cold snort.
"I really want to see what kind of trick Morgan is trying to pull this time."
.
.
.
At the same time, it wasn't just the nobles of Britain who were hesitating about attending the banquet—so were the higher-ups among the modern-day transmigrators.
There were a total of four Lords from the Clock Tower who had become travelers.
Aside from Kayneth, who was currently at the royal palace, the other three Lords had already gathered together.
They were inside a small underground conference room.
"Have you two made your decision?"
A sharp-eyed woman with a ponytail and a crisp, professional outfit swept her gaze across the room and asked.
She was the assistant to the Director of the Clock Tower, and also a candidate to succeed that position herself—Lord Barthomeloi of the Department of Law.
On either side of the meeting table sat two other Lords.
One was an elderly man with silver-white hair, clad in a deep gray shirt, leaning on a cane.
Time had carved deep marks into his face; his skin was wrinkled and pale with age.
He placed a hand over his chest and said in a low voice,
"We will follow your decision, our Queen."
He was Lord Eulyphis of the Department of Spirit Evocation.
He also held another identity, he was Kenneth's teacher, and his daughter, Sola, was Kayneth's fiancée.
"I will also follow your arrangement."
The man beside him also spoke respectfully.
He was Lord Gaius Reign of the Department of Zoology.
Within the Clock Tower, the various families and departments were politically divided into three main factions: Aristocratism, Democratism, and Neutralism.
At this moment, the three individuals in this room were all part of the Aristocratism faction, led by Barthomeloi.
They all answered to her.
Hearing their responses, a faint, knowing smile appeared on Barthomeloi's face.
"Then as usual, we'll proceed to vote. Those in favor of attending the banquet, raise your hands."
Both men raised their hands in unison.
"Very well… then it's settled."
Barthomeloi took a deep breath.
"Three days from now, we depart for the royal palace in Camelot!"