Chapter 98: I am not Guinevere
As night fell, the indigo sky hung like a deep sapphire inverted over the earth, and the scattered brilliance of countless stars resembled fine grains of sand strewn across an endless canopy, casting a mesmerizing glow that mirrored the myriad lights below.
In front of the grand and imposing castle, armor-clad guards stood steadfastly at their posts, their appearance diligent and meticulous. Yet, the empty look in their eyes revealed that their thoughts had long drifted elsewhere.
It was not entirely their fault, for this was the castle of the Vile King, Vortigern.
Since the great battle fifteen years ago, no outsiders had breached these walls. Furthermore, the alliance of southern kingdoms was now trapped behind Hadrian's Wall, making it nearly impossible for anyone to infiltrate this fortress, even if their heads were on the line.
Unbeknownst to them, at that very moment, a shadow as dark as the night itself was suspended high above them, blending seamlessly with the evening sky, its gaze fixed on their location.
After confirming something, the dark figure made a move, descending silently towards the ground, aided by the cover of night.
Just as it was about to approach, a faint crimson glow suddenly flickered on the castle's roof.
*Whoosh!*
The sound was quieter than the wind, swifter than an arrow, and in an instant, a red beam pierced through the dark figure's forehead.
*Crack!*
The dark figure abruptly froze in place, its body cracking like shattered glass, and a scarlet radiance seeped through the cracks before dissipating like smoke.
On the castle's roof, Crimson Moon, dressed in a flowing white dress, retracted her finger, her smooth brows slightly furrowing.
"Resolved?" Vortigern asked calmly, seated high on the throne, gently swaying a glass of red wine, his golden vertical pupils revealing an icy silence.
"Just a decoy." Crimson Moon shook her head lightly.
"Is that so?" Vortigern raised his cup to his lips and drained its contents. "It seems someone has grown suspicious of me."
"Could it be that new king?" Crimson Moon squinted.
"Who else could it be besides him?"
Vortigern curved a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"This young man is quite decisive. Once he caught wind of something, he didn't hesitate to strike. In terms of audacity, he far surpasses Uther and Merlin. If only he had been born twenty years earlier, perhaps Britain would have undergone a dramatic transformation by now."
*Clang!*
The exquisite wine glass traced a graceful arc in midair, shattering into countless sparkling shards. Vortigern's white cloak vanished into the dark corner, leaving only a lingering resonance.
"It's a pity, he was still a step too slow."
===
In the backyard of the Duke of Lucanmont's residence, Arkhan slowly opened his eyes, and his pitch-black gaze revealed an indescribable depth.
"Found out, huh..." Arkhan mumbled to himself, with a hint of resignation on his face.
Although he had prepared for failure, Arkhan still felt a bit disheartened at this moment. However, he hadn't come away empty-handed. From the last surge of power, he had sensed the presence of Crimson Moon.
At least this could confirm that the person associated with the Crimson Moon was indeed Vortigern, the one who had been hiding in the shadows, manipulating the restoration of the Age of Gods, and whom people had believed to be dead for over a decade.
Trading this valuable information for the creation of a doppelganger powered by Rune and Fenghuang Down didn't seem like too much of a loss.
Arkhan shook his head ever so slightly, tilted his teacup, and downed its contents.
In the grand hall of the duke's residence behind him, the lights shone brightly, and the atmosphere was vibrant. Faint echoes of rousing music and the duke's hearty laughter could be heard, even from several hundred meters away.
"Looks like they're having a blast."
A faint smile played on Arkhan's lips. After all, this was a victory Camelot had waited for fifteen long years, and the excitement, no matter how excessive, was entirely understandable.
To put it plainly, these past few days in Lucanmont had descended into madness.
The streets were filled with celebrators day and night. People organized spontaneous celebrations, and the taverns served free drinks. Any hopeful young man had the opportunity to confess his love to the girl of his dreams, with a success rate exceeding seventy percent.
Especially when the duke had boldly announced that from now on, Lucanmont's taxes would be reduced by half, thanks to Arkhan agreeing to allocate Ganna's most prosperous piece of land to the House of Lucan.
Because of this significant gain, the duke had emptied his coffers without hesitation, hosting an unprecedented grand banquet. He also promised Arkhan that he would find better equipment to outfit his knights.
"A bit greedy, but reasonably wise, bold, with a sense of knowing when to advance and retreat, and willing to make sacrifices. There's some logic in choosing him as the duke."
Arkhan muttered to himself, then suddenly heard distinct footsteps approaching. He turned around to see a tall figure emerging from the darkness.
"Guinevere?" Arkhan's face displayed a hint of confusion. "What brings you out here?"
Guinevere, at this moment, didn't appear as timid as usual but carried a subtle air of pride. She wore an elegant black dress, resembling a queen of the night as she walked gracefully.
She gazed at Arkhan, her pale golden eyes showing a hint of complexity, and her sensuous lips parted to form clear words.
"I am not Guinevere."
Arkhan's expression stiffened unnoticeably and his eyes flickered slightly.
"Don't play such tricks; who else could you be but Guinevere? I know today is a day worth celebrating, but your jests are a bit too crude. If you have the time, I suggest you seek advice from Merlin on the art of pranks. You know, he's the expert at such things."
After he spoke like that with a casual tone, he glanced at the night sky. As if he had suddenly remembered something, he continued:
"By the way, I need to head back soon, or else Lily will come looking for me. You know she's a worrywart, so, let's call it a day. Hopefully, your prank skills get better next time."
With that, Arkhan turned to head towards the main hall.
*Thud! Thud! Thud!*
A few dark spikes suddenly emerged from the ground, blocking his path.
"Are you sure you want to keep pretending to be clueless like this?"
'Guinevere' walked up to Arkhan, and their eyes, pale golden and pitch black, met just a mere ten centimeters apart.
"I said, I'm not Guinevere. I am Morgan le Fay Pendragon."
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