Speed. Pure, blinding speed. Faster than thought, faster than pain.
Despite all his protective spells, Aslan felt like his body was being flattened under an invisible weight. The sensation lasted barely a second before vanishing—replaced by dizziness and a nosebleed.
He closed his eyes and waited for the nausea to subside. At least they'd broken through the outer patrol. The rest would be easier.
He wiped his nose and used a soft magic wash to clean the blood, careful to avoid emitting any magical signature. Merlin might be in the royal city, after all. And while Merlin rarely used magic directly, he was still a legendary mage. It was best not to take chances.
Aslan pulled a small treasure-hunting bird from his pocket and pressed a shard of the Golden Sword of Victory to its head. That would ensure it locked onto the right target. The city was full of holy relics—it wouldn't do to have the bird fly straight to Arthur's throne.
He released the enchanted bird and slipped back into the shadows, following at a distance.
The treasury, it turned out, lay deep within the palace. Along the way, Aslan even spotted Sir Kay managing affairs in the late hours. Clearly, Camelot's court worked tirelessly—no wonder Arthur was always burdened.
Altria was likely still at her desk. Guinevere, meanwhile, was probably alone in her chamber.
Aslan exhaled. With this many servants around, stealth wouldn't work forever. Time to adopt a new role.
He'd assume the identity of a servant. Melusine would remain in the shadows, moving independently at high speed. Even the treasure-hunting bird was passed to her.
One in the light. One in the dark. If anything went wrong, at least one of them could escape.
Aslan emerged from hiding and approached a weary-looking knight who had just finished his shift. Adjusting his strength, Aslan swung his forging hammer and knocked the man unconscious—gently.
When the knight woke up, he'd think he had dozed off on duty. The highest form of service, really.
Stripping him of his uniform, Aslan stowed his own gear and wrapped the man in cloth to keep him warm. The scene, he noted dryly, resembled a crime scene. But it would have to do.
Once disguised, Aslan checked his appearance and continued forward. A flash of silver hair in the window told him Melusine was still nearby, watching.
Just then, a stern-looking knight with slicked-back black hair and black armor approached. Aslan recognized him immediately—Sir Agravain. Not the most striking Knight of the Round Table, but one with an intensity that made others instinctively obey.
Agravain held a tray of mashed potatoes and juice. Without missing a beat, he thrust them into Aslan's hands.
"You're just in time. Take this to Queen Guinevere. I've got urgent matters elsewhere."
To be fair, in Camelot, delivering a snack to the queen was considered urgent.
From the moment Agravain saw Arthur, he'd sworn himself entirely to the king's cause—even defying his mother Morgan's wishes. Camelot's survival came first.
"I hope you do this properly," Agravain said over his shoulder. "Camelot doesn't keep the useless."
Aslan looked down at the tray. He could ditch it and head straight for the treasury… or eat the food and destroy the evidence.
Before he could decide, Melusine's head popped into view.
"Aslan. I found the treasure vault—but it needs a key. If we force it, alarms will go off. The key's only held by the king and queen."
Of course it was. Aslan didn't ask how she got the intel. She probably beat up some poor soul in a quiet hallway.
One way or another, it meant he needed to see Guinevere.
He only hoped the magic Morgan taught him would be enough.
If not… he might need to use less subtle methods.