A chilling wind blew from the church spire in Alfie Square.
A rare ray of sunshine in Albion peeked through the clouds, casting light on a corner of London.
Alfie Square, located on Church Street, was a well-known antique market throughout London.
It was seven in the morning, but Alfie Square was already bustling with pedestrians, and many second-hand shops had opened, ready to welcome a new day and new customers.
And on the street corner, nestled a rather small shop, with a sign above the door that read "Fox Lily Second-hand Goods."
The young shop owner came out yawning, her flaxen hair a bit disheveled, a single cowlick rebelliously sticking up.
She was loosely dressed in a plaid shirt, wearing loose trousers, and shuffling in fluffy slippers to the doorway, flipping the hanging sign to "Open."
Then she pulled a hair tie from her pocket and skillfully tied her hair into a ponytail.
"It's been over a year…" A hint of melancholy flashed in Heber's deep green eyes. "Now, I've completely adapted to this new body."
Heber Stanton was a transmigrator.
She came from the 21st century of another world, and until a little over a year ago, she had a bizarre dream, and when she woke up, she had replaced her counterpart in this world.
Heber spent a lot of time adapting to her new body, but what shocked—or rather, left her speechless—even more was this new world, both familiar and strange.
For instance, this "otherworld Britain," Albion, still had a King and Parliament, but the ruler on the throne was not that long-reigning old lady; her surname was even "Pendragon."
Oh, right, the previous King seemed to be named Victoria…
If the makeshift government with two Kings taking turns ruling only made people feel that "Great Albion is doomed," then when Heber saw the Red Dragon King of the Pendragon family on TV, she couldn't help but sigh that this world was truly "utterly messed up."
She wasn't sure which mischievous creator had merged so many different settings into this comprehensive world… Heaven knew how hard it was for her to keep a straight face when she learned that the owner of the small appliance repair shop next door was called Precious.
Besides this, many artifacts that should have been unearthed were still buried, and historical sites that should have been discovered were still lost.
There were simply too many such phenomena; history, which should have been clear, was covered by countless mists.
As a former archaeologist, Heber was quite interested in this, but unfortunately, a clever woman cannot cook without rice. She still hadn't accumulated enough start-up capital… If she hadn't inherited the original owner's second-hand shop, she might have been forced to go to the welfare center to apply for minimum living assistance.
Oh, and she might not even have had the chance to receive it.
In short, no matter how much Heber yearned for the past and anticipated the future, she was now just an ordinary second-hand shop owner.
As noon approached, pedestrians on the street gradually thinned out.
Heber pouted; it looked like another day with little business.
"Game, start!"
She sat behind the counter and opened her computer.
The computer desktop was a dark green wallpaper, with a few faint, winding lines that looked like a minimalist artistic map.
Heber used the mouse to click on the game icon.
The computer screen went black, then the dark green desktop slowly lit up.
A line of text appeared in the center.
"Chronicle Simulator, welcome to your login, visitor [Knower]."
"Current Lostbelt: [1455 AD · Rose War]. Current progress: 90%."
"The Red Dragon and the Lion fight for the kingship of Albion, the Stone Sword is watered by the noble blood of two roses. Where will the future of this country lead?"
"Please make your choice. God save the King, the King save me."
...
When Heber opened her eyes again, she was standing in the shadows behind the curtains, the heavy drapes of Buckingham Palace preventing courtiers from directly peering at the throne, thereby creating an invisible majesty.
However, there was one type of person who was an exception; they were allowed to stand directly beside the throne.
That was the Magus of the Court, or rather, the Sage.
"Hoo, hoo, hoo—" An old voice came from the throne, like a broken bellows.
Heber turned her head and met those golden-green eyes.
"You, you're back again."
The monarch on the throne gasped like that, the crown no longer a glory to her, but an extremely heavy burden.
"You are indeed old, my King." Heber replied calmly, "The first time I saw you, you were just a Village girl… I once tried to persuade you not to pull out that sword."
"You remember very clearly." The emaciated King Arthur said, "But we had no choice… Sometimes I envy your freedom. Time cannot destroy your youth; every time we meet, your face makes me jealous."
Heber thought that was indeed the case, after all, she was just a "player," not someone truly living here.
"At least your achievements are glorious enough, aren't they?"
The curtains swayed gently, and Heber's voice echoed in the halls of Buckingham Palace.
"Yes, I repelled Rome, triumphed over natural disasters, famine, and plague, shaping Albion into a glorious thousand-year kingdom… Who does not praise the name of Arthur?"
King Arthur closed her eyes; her body was connected to countless metal tubes, which bound her tightly to the throne. This was how she had ruled this country for centuries.
A long silence descended. Heber turned to look; the emaciated girl sat on a metal chair, looking less like a monarch and more like a prisoner.
"Merlin."
King Arthur's chest heaved as she hoarsely called Heber.
"Your subject is here."
Heber, clad in the Magus of the Court's robe, bowed slightly, her flaxen hair falling softly.
"Is my royal sister still in London Tower?"
Heber was momentarily stunned.
The Strategy of this Lostbelt was carried out in stages; each time a so-called "achievement" goal was completed, it would automatically jump to the next stage.
As for what happened during the process, she couldn't interfere.
If the "achievement" goal was not completed, it would automatically return to this stage to restart after the game ended—and if "Merlin," played by Heber, died midway, the same would happen.
"You mean Morgan?" Heber asked tentatively.
"Ha… who else would be worthy of being my royal sister?"
King Arthur's golden-green eyes gazed at Heber.
Under the monarch's gaze, the girl with beautiful flaxen hair straightened up. A silver-white Magus of the Court's robe enveloped her youthful body, the hem of the robe just covering her knees. Her straight, bound calves were pressed together, and her delicate, slender feet trod on the palace floor.
The monarch gazed sadly at Heber, until those deep green, jewel-like eyes met hers.
King Arthur's gaze was somewhat fervent; Heber's pressed-together feet lightly shuffled.
"She should be released." King Arthur said listlessly, "How lonely this feast would be without her."
King Arthur's fingers gently tapped the metal armrest, and she spoke softly, her tone calm and unquestionable.
"Whether it's that Red Dragon renegade who inherited Mordred's seat, or the Lion of the Victoria family—they are all birds of a feather. If they want my crown, they can come and take it themselves."
The [Rose War], the finale arrives.