Just as King Arthur's legend began to swell and the Knights of the Round Table gathered, Aslan received a new report from the fairies: Arthur had changed the sword she carried.
Upon hearing this, Aslan's expression darkened. He nodded in silence.
According to lore, the Golden Sword of Victory had two possible fates: one claimed it was lost due to Merlin's negligence, the other that it broke during a duel between Arthur and a knight—King Pellinore, father of the future Round Table knight, Percival.
Either way, Aslan was in a foul mood.
The Golden Sword of Victory was his—recognized him, chose him. If Merlin lost it, Aslan would hunt him down and give him a beating. If it was the latter...
Could he blame Altria?
Perhaps.
If the sword had shattered in battle, then once he reforged it, Aslan would definitely use it to fight her. He imagined the sword must feel wronged—angry, even.
He rose to his feet.
Perhaps because he had drawn the sword early, his body had stopped growing. But that was still better than Altria, who had taken up the sword at fifteen. At least he had reached nearly eighteen before drawing it—his growth was mostly complete. Not that he minded. Otherwise, when the contract ring was completed and Melusine reached adulthood, she would look like an adult and he like a child…
And then it would be Melusine who got thrown in jail.
Aslan's pale blue eyes turned toward the edge of the forest. His mastery of magic had progressed. He could now create illusions and shield his location from magical surveillance. If he left now, Merlin wouldn't even know. And this was fairy land—if Merlin dared spy too long, he'd earn the fairies' wrath.
"Melusine, let's go. This island's about to enter a period of upheaval. If we're lucky, I'll store the Spear of Longinus inside your body."
He spoke thoughtfully. As the remnant of the Horizon Dragon, she should be able to house a holy spear. If not, he could always inscribe some fairy glyphs on it—even if it lowered the spear's rank.
After all, what good is a divine weapon if you can't wield it? A weapon that can be used is a good weapon.
Whether the spear could be reforged or not remained to be seen. Later tales mentioned that the Spear of Longinus was broken into three and reforged by three churches—so it wasn't invincible.
But first, the Golden Sword of Victory.
Aslan pulled a sphere of metal from his custom space ring, took his forging hammer from his waist, and struck the sphere three times. The metal changed shape, its weight lessened, and a guidance enchantment was imbued to help him find the sword.
From the fairies, he learned where Altria had last traveled before acquiring the Sword of Promised Victory. With luck, the original Golden Sword of Victory was still there. Otherwise... he'd have to sneak into Camelot.
This time, Aslan traveled with purpose—no detours. He headed straight for the site: a forest clearing where traces of battle lingered. The aura of the holy sword still faintly clung to the air. It had definitely shattered here.
Squatting down, he released a forged mechanical bird. After a short flight, it located a gleaming fragment of metal: a shard of the blade, marred by telltale marks of impact.
Aslan took out a magnifying glass etched with fairy runes—its sole purpose was to examine metal in fine detail.
Studying the fragment, he analyzed how the sword had broken. A holy sword wouldn't just shatter in combat—not unless something deeper had gone wrong.
He remembered an old theory: that the sword broke on its own, rejecting Arthur for abandoning the chivalric code. Others said the blade couldn't handle the sheer magic flowing through her.
A balloon can only hold so much air before it bursts. The sword, likewise, became brittle under pressure.
If the second theory was true—if the sword couldn't contain Arthur's power—then Merlin was at fault. He made the sword. He raised Arthur. Didn't the old man know how much magic she held?
Aslan's gaze sharpened.
In his mind's eye, the image of a certain "aquatic cryptid" took shape—Merlin, in all his smug, slippery glory. A wicked smile curled on Aslan's lips.
He would be hunting down Merlin soon.
Surely no one would object.
After all, even if Aslan never sought to claim the sword from Arthur, it didn't mean he didn't care about it.
He could almost hear the Golden Sword of Victory weeping.