Boom… boom…
Thunder echoed.
Rain began to pour over Britain.
The falling rain washed over the streets, as if trying to sweep all the dust away.
By a window, Morgan stared out expressionlessly.
But her thoughts were far from the rain outside.
After the shadow was completely torn apart by the monster standing beside Artoria, the forsaken daughter of Britain realized this path wouldn't work.
After all, she could sense the overwhelming power of the enemy.
Damn it...
Could this be another trap set by her biased father?
The thought made Morgan grit her teeth in anger.
She hated the unfairness of her fate.
However—
Morgan quickly regained her composure.
Because she knew that just getting angry wouldn't change anything.
Artoria could still hum a tune and effortlessly take the throne, while she was left staring in frustration.
But what should she do now?
Boom—
Another deafening thunderclap.
A bolt of lightning struck nearby.
The plants it touched caught fire instantly, but were quickly extinguished by the pouring rain.
"Even the heavens are mocking me now?"
Morgan had the urge to raise a certain finger.
But in the end, as a member of the royal family of Britain, she restrained herself.
However—
As if to reward her for that restraint, she quickly noticed something unusual at the site of the lightning strike.
That was…
A trace of magical energy.
As the rightful heir to Britain, Morgan had long since mastered the magic of this era.
Calling her the most skilled magus wouldn't be an exaggeration.
She also understood where magical energy came from.
Everything in the world could provide magic—just in varying quantities.
But this…
This was too much.
It had clearly surpassed the usual concept of "lightning" and reached a completely different level.
A cold wind brushed against Morgan's face.
Her beautiful silver hair lifted slightly with the breeze.
Her instincts told her—
Something was off.
After a brief hesitation, despite the storm outside, Morgan left her room.
Without alerting anyone, she passed through the royal court and arrived on the streets.
Cold rain drenched her, but it couldn't extinguish her desire to understand what was going on.
She got closer.
Morgan quickly realized her intuition had been right.
The spot where the thunder had struck was brimming with an extraordinary amount of magic.
There was no way this was from an ordinary thunderstorm.
Facing the heavy rain, Morgan looked up at the sky.
It continued to rage, like an endless roar echoing above.
Come to think of it—
This was indeed unusual.
Ever since that prophecy began circulating, it hadn't rained like this in Britain for a long time.
After all, the entire land had been in a state of decline.
Now, all of a sudden, a storm like this—it was as if some external force had disrupted the dying land.
Boom—
Another thunderclap.
This time, Morgan thought she heard a cry.
A hallucination?
Probably not?
No—wait—
She hadn't come here to investigate that.
For now, she pushed aside her suspicions about whether it was real or an illusion.
Soaked by the strange rain, Morgan crouched down to examine the impact site.
What surprised her was—
In just a short time, blackish-red crystals had grown where the lightning had struck.
The dense magical energy was emanating from those crystals.
"…"
Morgan looked around.
The crystals were too conspicuous. She quickly confirmed they didn't appear anywhere else.
It seemed like a coincidence—yet also destined.
The forsaken princess of Britain didn't hesitate any longer.
She began collecting the crystals from the ground, ignoring her dignity.
It was a little messy, but she had a strong feeling that whatever had appeared before her now was far from ordinary.
No one knew how much time passed before she returned to her room, soaked to the bone.
The wet sensation was unpleasant.
But she felt exhilarated.
Clatter, clatter.
Morgan placed the crystals onto her bed.
She examined each piece carefully and quickly came to a further conclusion.
High purity—
High quality—
Each of these crystals probably contained as much magical energy as an ordinary magus could gather in a lifetime.
Even Morgan couldn't help but be amazed by their power.
This might be the first stroke of luck she'd had in years.
But...
What could she do with it?
Morgan held her forehead.
She felt like a nouveau riche—suddenly rich, yet not knowing how to spend it.
Just then—
Boom.
Morgan's attention was drawn away again.
She couldn't explain clearly whether it was some kind of guidance or just her imagination.
But looking in the direction of the thunder, a new thought struck her.
That was—
The place of the Sword of Selection.
The moment the prophecy emerged, a sword appeared on the plaza there, embedded in stone.
Naturally, that location became the center of the prophecy.
"Whoever pulls the sword from the stone shall become the new king of Britain."
Every day, countless knights arrived.
Each one eager to try pulling the sword.
But Morgan knew—
No one would ever succeed.
Because it was all just a performance.
Only one person was meant to draw the sword—
Artoria.
Everyone else was merely a pawn, unknowingly supporting the illusion of legitimacy.
Morgan could also sense it—
The stone had been reinforced with powerful magic.
Even destroying it by force would be impossible.
But now—
Everything had changed.
Morgan looked back at the black crystals on her bed.
If she had previously lacked the means, now she had them.
With this many magical crystals—
She could construct an even stronger enchantment.
One that even the chosen Artoria couldn't overcome to draw the sword.
If that happened, the designated king would cease to exist.
And everything would return to tradition.
That's right.
These crystals had appeared precisely so she could do this.
It was fate's gift.
So she hadn't been completely abandoned after all—
Every inch of Britain's land—
Would never be handed over so easily!
In the rain,
The princess's cold smile began to twist.
Her rebellion had begun.