Morgan didn't care what fate awaited the knight she had turned into a duck. The curse would only last one day, and once that day was over, the man would appear naked in the lord's kitchen. By then, the lord's punishment would certainly fall upon him.
If he were unlucky enough to have his head chopped off and be made into roast duck, then that was just his own misfortune. After all, he had dared provoke a witch and even directed his lust toward her. No punishment would be too harsh for such a man. Once he died, the curse would be permanently affixed to his body, so there was no need to worry about any changes in flavor due to his transformation into a duck.
Morgan disdained those feeble curses that could be broken upon death.
She lifted her head again, focusing on the necklace in her hand. It wouldn't be long now. Someone with Uther's bloodline was about to arrive. Morgan narrowed her eyes, and as magic surged through her, her vision became linked with that of a raven.
What Morgan hadn't accounted for was that Vortigern also shared Uther's bloodline. Her necklace would detect his son as well. Perhaps she had never even considered the possibility that the old fool might have left behind a descendant. After all, the man's image as a celibate was far too deeply ingrained in everyone's mind.
After arriving at the venue of the gathering, all the frustration in Aslan's heart completely vanished. All those repetitive levels, all those repetitive enemies—everything had been worth it for this joyous reward at the end.
Everywhere he looked, there were fine swords. With just a casual glance, Aslan spotted several techniques he had always wanted to learn.
As he picked up one of the swords, he immediately activated an ability he had learned from the elves. Magic surged into his eyes, which gleamed with starlike brilliance as he scanned the weapon, quickly analyzing its forging materials and techniques, absorbing the sword's entire crafting history.
It was a pity, though, that he couldn't discern the abilities of the sword's original owner. If he could, he would already be a master of swordsmanship by now.
Still, being able to read the forging methods and modifications of such swords and equipment was already far beyond what an ordinary person could achieve. One could say that Aslan, by virtue of his looks alone, had learned far too many abilities that were normally exclusive to beings of mystery.
And Aslan felt no shame about surviving on his looks. Why should he be? Isn't it a skill of its own to make a living that way? Just look around—how many people actually succeed by relying on their looks? And how many have acquired such abilities from elves?
Well, maybe calling it an "ability" wasn't quite right—it might be more accurate to describe it as a "blessing." This blessing resided in his eyes. Calling them magic eyes wouldn't be wrong.
They weren't twisted magic eyes, nor were they death eyes or dominator eyes—nothing with aggressive power. But for a blacksmith, they were absolutely top-tier.
After all, many forging techniques were kept secret. But with these eyes, Aslan could freely observe and learn those long-lost methods.
Without them, even with his elf-learned blessings and language skills, how could someone of Aslan's age forge a sword that could rival The Unfading Light of the Lake? Other blacksmiths had to spend decades honing their craft, but not Aslan. All he had to do was absorb and refine the techniques, knowledge, and experiences he gained.
One day, when he fully mastered all of these and created a style uniquely his own, Aslan would undoubtedly surpass all previous blacksmiths. And truth be told, he already had some ideas about how to get there.
"Ah... how beautiful~ how perfect~ These gemstones are placed with such taste. Nothing feels excessive—instead, it carries a touch of unexpected elegance. Calling it a beauty is no exaggeration at all!"
His voice, filled with delight and genuine admiration, rang out among the crowd. Don't be mistaken—he wasn't praising a woman. He was praising a sword.
In a blacksmith's eyes, every weapon and piece of gear was as alive as a person. And this sword before him was, without a doubt, the beautiful-lady type.
In his hands was a sword inlaid with numerous gemstones. Aslan's eyes sparkled, and a rare, heartfelt smile appeared on his face. This wasn't a combat weapon but a decorative sword meant to show status or be worn on grand occasions.
Even so, the blacksmith who made it had put their heart into the work. Most ornamental swords were fragile and easily broken, but this one could genuinely be taken into battle—though admittedly, it was still a bit weaker than those made purely for combat.
Hearing Aslan's glowing praise, the young lord who owned the sword smiled with pride. As more people realized that this new blacksmith's evaluations were consistently insightful and accurate, the surrounding crowd of famous sword owners began to grow.
Some of the lords clearly had intentions of recruiting him. Such a young blacksmith with such keen vision was bound for greatness. Even if he needed time to grow, it would be an investment worth making.
"Master Blacksmith, may I trouble you to take a look at my sword as well?"
In such a good mood, Aslan naturally didn't refuse. Smiling, he turned around with a bit of flair. As he had said before—this wasn't just a gathering.
This place was heaven!
"Of course! Oh—! Though this sword isn't blessed, its forging method is truly unique, and the materials are quite rare. What a pity it was made by an ordinary craftsman. But if you're willing to pay, I can enhance it for you."
Watching Aslan in the crowd, laughing so freely and shedding his usual aloof shell, Melusine couldn't help but cover her face with one hand. At the same time, a faint jealousy stirred within her heart.
She wished she could have seen this smile during their first meeting.
Suddenly, she had the urge to hide Aslan away, so that only she—a dragon—could see him.
But she quickly shook the thought away. Melusine didn't want Aslan to remain an "unknown" blacksmith. If that happened, their time together would be limited to a single mortal lifetime.
Pouting, Melusine made a mental note: she would definitely make Aslan compensate her tonight.
While she was still thinking about what kind of compensation she wanted later, her eyes narrowed suddenly. She turned her gaze toward the distance and sniffed the air lightly.
That foul stench of her own kind… it was thick!