As Aslan attempted to stretch his hand and clench his fist, the dragon-head portion of his mechanical arm armor opened and closed accordingly. The sharp teeth could easily tear through anything, and the internal barrel damage didn't affect the armor's function. Even if it did, it wouldn't matter—he could always rush into close combat with the full set of armor.
Despite the barrel being damaged, at this point, he had no choice but to rush into hand-to-hand combat. However, if anyone were to be hit by his dragon-fist armor, they'd either die or be severely injured. During the forging of the entire armor, Aslan had inscribed numerous fairy runes to lighten the weight, making it feel no heavier than holding a chopstick for him. Yet, for his enemies, the weight remained the same.
Looking at the stunned knights before him, Aslan threw a punch. The wind from the punch was accompanied by a dragon's roar. In that moment, the knights who regained their senses realized that they could not block the punch.
Aslan's punch landed squarely on one of the knight's chest. In the next instant, the knight's body was torn apart like a puzzle, with the flesh around the chest caving in, blood spurting from the mouth. Though the body wasn't pierced through, it was clearly beyond saving. The immense force left a dragon-shaped imprint on the ground after passing through the knight's body.
By the time the knights realized what had happened, one of them raised an exceptionally heavy shield, engraved with defensive magical runes. It appeared to be designed specifically for dealing with magi, but in Aslan's eyes, it seemed quite crude.
The dragon-head armor bit into the edge of the shield, and magic once again gathered in the barrel. At this point, precision didn't matter—it was point-blank. The magic surged out, causing the shield to start dissolving. After a popping sound, the magic had already penetrated the shield and hit the knight.
By this time, only one knight remained.
When the last knight saw that his comrades had all been defeated, he sat down on the ground, staring at the armor in Aslan's hand with wide eyes. "This weapon... this weapon... how could something like this exist in this world? Why is there such an absurd piece of equipment?!"
Aslan understood what the knight meant. Perhaps the knight was thinking that such a weapon shouldn't exist in this era, and that Aslan's weapon forging level had exceeded the technological standards of the time. Aslan just smiled lightly.
If Aslan had to explain, he wouldn't say that the era had changed.
"Sorry, this isn't some development of this era. This is the Renaissance in its early stages. In the distant past, during the age of the Olympian gods on the continent, such powerful weapons already existed. Back then, people simply referred to them as divine powers."
Aslan placed his hand on the dragon armor, smiling. For him, he had just recreated the divine powers of a distant past using a human body. While the focus now was on offensive power, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by the Trojan Horse. After all, what boy didn't like a giant robot?
Aslan wasn't only aiming to recreate the Trojan Horse; he was looking to improve upon it and, in doing so, surpass even the gods.
It had to be said, since he had set out to become a master blacksmith, he had finally earned some praise. The indescribable pride swelled inside him. At least now, the weapons and armor he had created were seen as far beyond the current era by these people. But even so, this was just the beginning.
After all, his name was Aslan. If he didn't build a righteous giant robot, it would be a waste of such a name. As long as he didn't pass it on to others, it shouldn't affect the course of history.
Aslan took a deep breath and turned his attention to the final knight before him.
Seeing Aslan's actions, the last knight crawled backward, trembling with fear and losing strength. He could only cry and beg for mercy, "Wait! Spare me! I won't cause trouble for you again!"
Aslan shook his head. If apologies and fear worked, then the conflicts between the locals and the foreigners on this island wouldn't be so prevalent.
Moreover, Aslan had no intention of letting this man go. The damned old man had caused him trouble countless times. It was time for him to be dealt with. Aslan had to make it clear to those who wished to oppose him—come at me if you dare, but once you do, there's no turning back!
In a sense, this situation was a perfect example of "the father being kind and the son filial."
While Vortigern's magi and soldiers wanted to eliminate Aslan and Morgan, Aslan simply wanted to follow the course of history and eliminate his old man. Morgan's motivation was simpler—if they attacked her, she wouldn't just stand by.
Aslan slowly opened his palm. The dragon-head on the mechanical armor's front also slowly opened its mouth, casting a shadow over the knight's head.
By now, Aslan had grown accustomed to bloodshed, though he still disliked it. But why did some people insist on making things difficult for him?
Looking at the blood-stained armor, Aslan deactivated the transformation. The armor, once resembling a mechanical arm, returned to the form of the original dagger, though it now bore many cracks. This symbolized the fulfillment of his idea, even if it was no longer usable.
Aslan took a box from his bag, placed the dagger inside, and quickly shrank the box down to the size of a pendant. He strung it onto a thin thread. This was a symbol of his first achievement. He couldn't bear to throw it away.
Perhaps, he thought, it was better to lock it away like this, as a memento, and wear it as a decoration.