The old magus spread his arms wide. Flames surged up from beneath his feet, and as his eyes opened once more, the weariness from before had vanished, replaced by a crimson glow as if they were ablaze. Clearly, this old magus possessed Mystic Eyes—and ones aligned with fire at that.
As those Mystic Eyes opened, the flames surrounding him grew even more intense. The slightly damp environment of the castle began to turn unbearably dry.
For a magus, not having Mystic Eyes wasn't a major handicap. It didn't prevent them from pursuing the pinnacle of the magical path—look at Morgan, or the patriarch of the Thousand Realms Tree in another world. But having the right pair of Mystic Eyes could drastically improve a magus's capabilities. At least for the old magus in front of them, his Mystic Eyes complemented his magic and elemental attributes perfectly.
Fortunately, these appeared to be merely elemental amplification-type Mystic Eyes. If they were ones capable of peering into the past or affecting the future, the situation would be far more dangerous. Just like those found on the Mystic Eye Train—Mystic Eyes that could leave an attack in the past and trigger it at a future moment were a nightmare to deal with.
Of course, Aslan didn't believe that these magi could easily acquire Mystic Eyes like the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. Those were hybrid Mystic Eyes—part inherited through alteration, and part inherited through fate, combining aspects of the Clear Eyes.
Besides, if such a godlike power had truly emerged in this era, there was no way he wouldn't have heard about it.
Drawing his thoughts back, even though the surrounding flames had grown more scorching, Aslan's expression remained unchanged. Truth be told, if it weren't for the fact that his so-called "cheap father" was, according to legend, defeated by King Arthur, and to avoid unnecessary trouble from the soldiers, Aslan truly would have preferred to drag Melusine straight into the heart of enemy territory and give this place a standard Type-Moon-style filial piety show. (TLNote: Gas Leak?)
After all, to catch the bandits, you capture the king first!
Though he couldn't take out his "cheap father" just yet, the minor commander pulling strings behind the scenes had stepped forward. If he could eliminate the general and the old magus in front of him now, then in the foreseeable future, he likely wouldn't have to deal with soldiers and magi constantly getting in his way.
By then, he could properly dive into the study of magic and smithing.
Aslan knew full well that he and Morgan were not destined to walk the same path. Sooner or later, they would part ways—maybe tomorrow, maybe next month. Before that happened, he had to master every technique he wanted to learn. Not necessarily to perfection, but at least to the point that he could continue his studies and research after Morgan's departure.
That made every moment of practice and study precious. Every time he had to fight off pests seeking trouble, it was time wasted—time that could've been spent advancing himself. If he could put an end to the interruptions for good now, all the better.
Thinking this, Aslan's expression didn't just remain unmoved—it grew even colder. His light blue eyes shimmered faintly with a trace of gold.
Because of the familiar feeling Aslan gave off, the foreign general, who had been staring at him, finally realized why this young man before him felt so strangely familiar—those golden eyes, and that vague resemblance in his features—it couldn't be!
But the thought was simply too outrageous!
The general knew that King Vortigern had once placed his child in the army camp to reassure these outsiders. The general himself had the honor of seeing the child once. Although the youth before him resembled that child somewhat, their temperaments were worlds apart.
More importantly, the general didn't believe a child only a few years old could've survived after escaping the army camp and entering the forest. Even if he hadn't become a wild beast's meal, he certainly wouldn't have grown into someone this exceptional. Even the king believed his child had died in the forest.
Regardless, they had failed to protect the king's child. That was a fact. Yet the king had chosen forgiveness. And it was precisely because of that forgiveness that these outsiders had so quickly submitted. One could say that Vortigern's rule over half the island was due in part to his immense strength, and in part to that long-ago mercy.
But the child in front of him—whether by presence or those cold eyes—was simply too similar to the Vortigern he had known. If he mentally traced back the appearance of that king, rewinding it to a youthful version… this boy might look exactly the same.
"Melusine, finish him. I know you can."
That command fell into Melusine's ears like a decree. Yet she showed no displeasure. The reason was simple—this sort of command was inherent in their original contract. She was Aslan's dragon, his wings, his shield, and his sword.
So what if she was merely returning to her original role?
In fact, this occasional command from Aslan felt almost like a shared private joke between the two of them—a little play, where the weaker Aslan occasionally took charge, subverting the usual dominance hierarchy of dragonkind. This reversal brought Melusine a peculiar sort of joy.
As for these rebel remnants on the island, neither of them saw them as an issue. Naturally, no one else had room to object either.
Melusine had long grown weary of these soldiers and magi interrupting her and Aslan's peaceful days. If not for Aslan wanting to use these weaker foes to sharpen his combat skills, she would've wiped out the intruders the moment they poked their heads out.
"I quite like this outfit, so I'll end this in a flash! Cold and sharp—I'll drag you down into the depths!"
Melusine stared at the magus who now resembled a fire god. She raised her sword, pointing it at his throat across the space between them. Through the blade's line of sight, she had already cleaved him in two in her mind.
The old man said nothing. He simply compressed a fireball in his hand. He could feel that the girl before him was no human. But so what? Whether she was a human blessed by the spirits or a mere fae—she was still no match for this stubborn old monster!