Mystery always draws mystery. Children born with the talent of a magus are often unknowingly drawn into incomprehensible events, even if they've never studied magecraft. This is even more pronounced in the Age of Gods. It's also one of the reasons why legends of heroic deeds so often emerge during this era.
Right now, on this island of Great Britain, all the sacred swords are beginning to converge in a single direction. Many of them are gifts once given to humanity by fairies, or relics forged using divine-age materials.
It's as if faint glimmers of light scattered across Britain are being drawn together at this very moment, forming a great sphere of radiance that captures the attention of every mysterious being on the island.
The fairies, at least, are mostly unbothered. After all, most of the sacred swords originated from their hands, so a sword exhibition wouldn't attract too much of their attention. But...
Not all beings possess such wisdom.
Especially during this twilight of the Age of Gods, as True Ether grows ever scarcer, many mysterious species have fallen into madness—for True Ether is the very essence of their survival.
The magical aura released by the gathering of these swords is like the concentrated scent of honey, drifting outward in waves of sweetness. Mysterious beings desperate for magical sustenance follow this trail straight toward the source. Among them, dragons are the most numerous. After all, these swords are treasures, and what dragon doesn't love treasure?
(Well, that one creature twisted into dragonhood by legend and fond of singing doesn't count.)
More advanced dragon species might still be able to restrain or suppress certain flaws in their bloodlines. But those who cannot even be classified as divine or holy beasts—mere magical beasts—reveal their nature in full, without any attempt to hide it.
So far, these dragons have yet to draw attention. The exhibition hall prepared for the sword showcase is resplendent in gold and jade, with brilliance from the swords refracting in every direction.
Voices of awe and the clinking of wine glasses never cease. After all, this is a banquet held by a great lord. Even while commoners starve and freeze, these nobles still possess an abundance of food and fine wine—some of it even consisting of true relics from the Age of Gods.
As the Age of Gods declines, such treasures grow ever rarer. And what could bring more joy in this era than fine food, fine drink, beautiful women, and sacred swords? This banquet gathers all four.
In addition, many wealthy individuals attending the event have managed to purchase heirloom swords from impoverished households. In these supposedly fair and equitable transactions, both the rich nobles and the commoners selling their treasures wear dazzling smiles.
And why not? For the nobles and lords, a sacred sword enhances status—and in an era rife with war, it might even turn the tide of battle. As for the commoners willing to sell their family heirlooms, they're clearly doing so for survival. Now that they have a windfall of wealth, they can at least live out the rest of their lives in peace—assuming they don't get robbed.
The lord who organized this event stands smiling as he converses with other lords. In such times, one must be anything but ordinary to host such a grand affair. It requires not just manpower and wealth, but high-level resource coordination. It also serves as a display of strength—ensuring that, for a time, his territory will remain peaceful.
His beloved daughter is also present in the grand hall, constantly scanning the crowd for a certain figure. Occasionally, she gets distracted by a sword on display and draws closer, but sadly, while she admires them, none truly capture her heart.
Amid this cheerful hall, however, one figure stands out like a sore thumb.
In one corner of the banquet stands a woman dressed in black and white robes, her face entirely veiled beneath a black mask. She holds in her hand a staff made of obsidian. The veil is enchanted, magically blurring her appearance from any angle. The gem set atop the staff clearly signals her high status.
This woman is none other than Morgan. To conceal her identity, she even used magecraft to turn her platinum-blonde hair into an uncommon shade of black on this island. Her entire aura is shrouded in mystery.
"My lady~ Even though you've hidden your beautiful face behind that veil, I know you must be the most stunning woman in this world. I've just acquired a sacred sword, and I believe I'll one day become the strongest knight in the world. Would someone like me be worthy of your favor?"
A rather handsome knight approaches her. A sword is sheathed at his waist, and his attire, while elegant, still carries the air of effortful display. He bows deeply, affecting an image of a perfect gentleman.
Morgan lets out a cold laugh—one so faint and indistinct that the veil renders it almost nonexistent. As a noble always stationed high above others, she can easily see through what this knight is really after.
Though his clothes appear expensive at first glance, they're far from truly fine—merely above average. Nothing about them suggests access to the elite echelons. He also just mentioned that he'd purchased a sword, which likely means he's already spent all his wealth.
This knight, having just acquired a weapon he desired, probably wants to indulge in a bit of celebration to distract himself from the cruel reality of now being penniless.
And in an era like this, where revelry often involves women, he's set his sights on her. His taste might not be bad—but unfortunately, it only makes her all the more annoyed and furious.
"Seems like your father never taught you one important lesson—never provoke a witch. And never, ever aim your filthy little thoughts at one."
Morgan's staff struck the ground, and her magical energy surged to envelop the knight. She raised her hand as power flared around her. The people nearby quickly backed away.
"You should be thankful that I'm not focused on you right now. Whether you survive or not—that's up to you."
With a flash of light, the knight vanished from before Morgan's eyes. Only his clothes and sword remained.
Meanwhile, in the lord's kitchen, a confused duck was suddenly seized by the neck and lifted into the air by a startled maid.
(TLNote: In Type-Moon canon, particularly in Fate/Grand Order, Fafnir is portrayed humorously at times—such as being obsessed with treasure and oddly fond of singing, making him a somewhat bizarre and comical dragon-like creature rather than a purely terrifying beast.)