In time, Balin came to understand the full story—and finally realized that the witch who had been traveling with them was none other than Morgan, the princess of the royal family.
Looking back, this journey had truly been unforgettable. But now that Morgan had chosen to leave, their little party could no longer move forward as it once had. Balin, too, began to feel it was time to part ways. After all, his experiences had already been engraved into the gem. Even if he left now, the boy and girl before him could continue learning from what he had passed on.
He was a wandering knight—without a permanent home, and with no need for one. To travel and witness the world, and to one day fall in battle—this, to him, would be a perfect end.
Now that his swordsmanship had found a worthy heir, and he'd acquired such a precious weapon, he was satisfied.
Scratching his head, Balin looked at the boy and girl standing before him and drew in a deep breath.
"In that case... I'll take my leave. This past year with you has brought me great joy. We'll meet again someday, I'm sure! Hahaha... Let's part with a smile—free and easy, free and easy…"
He turned away mid-sentence, his eyes misting over. "Parting now just makes the next reunion sweeter. So no crying, alright? We're grown men, aren't we? It'd be embarrassing to cry now. Not that I'm crying—it's just... some sand in my eyes, burp!"
And with that, the poor knight began to cry.
He turned his face away quickly, insisting again that it was just sand. "See? We're by the sea. The wind's strong, and the beach is full of grit—it's perfectly normal! Hiccup! Anyway, even if we part ways, you'd better remember me. And be careful out there! If you see signs of war, find a place to lay low and wait for the chaos to pass before traveling again."
From his pocket, Balin took out a small handkerchief, dabbed his nose gently, and looked at the two in front of him with the eyes of an old father sending his children off.
"Eat well, don't stay up late, and whatever you do, don't wander into Vortigern's territory. Got it?"
Aslan looked at the weeping knight before him and couldn't help but feel he resembled a teary-eyed father seeing his child off to school. It was honestly a little ridiculous. But in this moment, Balin looked the oldest among them—and in some ways, the youngest.
Both Aslan and Melusine, now the de facto elders of the party, understood the weight of Balin's emotions.
And so, because of that sudden parting, the four who once journeyed together across the island disbanded. Aslan no longer felt the need to keep traveling. His original purpose—studying magic and swordsmanship—had largely been fulfilled. A small checkmark now stood beside each of those goals.
The coming years would see the rise of King Arthur's fame, and the beginning of open conflict with his estranged father. It would be a good time for Aslan to consolidate everything he had learned.
His next move? To retrieve the Spear of Longinus—and recover the Golden Sword of Victory.
He glanced down at the rations in his hand, then at Melusine. A faint smile touched his lips. "Let's go back to the forest. We probably won't be leaving again for a few years."
Melusine's eyes lit up. She threw her arms around Aslan in delight. The meaning was simple—this meant their days of solitude were returning.
Fairies might be annoying, but they were still more reasonable than humans. At least, under pressure from a dragon, fairies didn't dare to treat Aslan like some monster.
For Aslan, life during this period was uneventful, repetitive even.
Each day passed in routine: forging the weapons he imagined, tracking time, sending fairies out to gather intelligence on King Arthur, practicing swordsmanship. Each day was much the same as the one before.
But he was content. Compared to himself, his cousin Altria's life must be incredibly busy.
From what the fairies reported, the young King Arthur led the armies of King Ban and King Pons to crush the coalition of eleven kings. Out of 60,000 enemies, only 15,000 survived. With that battle, Arthur consolidated control over half the island.
Soon after, he led reinforcements northward to save King Rodgers' territory and met Guinevere for the first time.
Eventually, the legendary city of Camelot was constructed—its scale surpassing all earlier fortresses. Its pure white walls gleamed under the sun, and its royal palace and residences were carved from white stone. It was so breathtaking that even the elf messenger who described it to Aslan called it "a mountain where miracles are born."
In this dark age—the twilight of the Age of Gods—such a city became a symbol of unity. Human, material, and financial resources were pouring into Camelot. For now, it offered a better life.
But it was a fleeting glory. A treatment for the symptoms, not the cause.
Not long after Camelot's rise, Artoria married Guinevere and confided in her that she was a woman. Guinevere accepted her without hesitation.
Aslan didn't receive the full story—but he heard whispers: that during one banquet, Morgan brought her sons, and seized a chance to obtain a sample of Altria's blood. From that moment, Mordred was conceived.
Perhaps realizing that Arthur's rule could no longer be shaken, Morgan—now fully consumed by jealousy's curse—sought to dethrone her sister by placing her own child on the throne.