First, he ruled out the idea of rushing up to snatch it away. As a seasoned and capable knight, Balin could naturally sense just how powerful that white-haired girl truly was.
Even disregarding the white-haired girl, the blacksmith alone seemed to possess considerable ability. Offending him now would mean trouble in the days to come.
Indeed, the best solution would be to find an opportunity to help them, and in return, earn a favor.
That was what Balin thought as he quietly followed them on horseback.
Of course, if there were other ways to obtain the sword, that wouldn't be bad either. He could provide materials—though he had no money, he had discovered the locations of several rare mineral veins during his travels.
It was just that he was rather lazy by nature, and currently had no lord worth pledging allegiance to, so he had never reported the discovery of those veins to anyone.
Meanwhile, on her way to the grand event, Morgan fiddled with a pendant in her hand. It looked more like a small mirror than a piece of jewelry.
The surface of the mirror was cloudy and murky, yet a faint light flickered across it. If one looked closely, the shifting stains on the surface seemed to be constantly changing in shape and size—almost like a strange kind of map.
To complete this magical artifact, she had even visited King Uther's tomb, extracted his blood, and used magic to hypnotize the soldiers guarding it. She hadn't hesitated at all while using magic to draw the blood.
Ever since learning she had a half-brother or sister and realizing she was not the rightful heir who could be acknowledged and protected by Britain's destiny, Morgan had lost all respect for the man who was her father in name only.
She was gradually transforming into that jealous-hearted witch. For now, her heart had merely turned a little colder, but if she were to witness Artoria being adored by the Knights of the Round Table, and see the mystery of Britain begin to fade away, Morgan might truly lose her mind.
At this moment, a light flickered not far away on the cloudy mirror that resembled a map. Judging by its location, she had found someone with Uther's bloodline. Whether this person was meant to become the so-called King Arthur or not, she was going to see what kind of person dared to surpass her, the one who should have been acknowledged as the true ruler of this island!
Morgan didn't know that the future King Arthur—Artoria—had no intention of attending this tournament.
Merlin extended his hand, and a butterfly gently landed on his fingertip. It conveyed all the information it knew to the Magus of Flowers. A faint smile appeared on Merlin's face, though his eyes were filled with deep contemplation.
Seeing Artoria, who had become noticeably more cheerful, and Kay, who treated his adopted sister gently, Merlin sighed quietly in his heart. It was clear that, for now, he was the only adult in this group, and there were many things he needed to worry about. Though he often liked to stir the pot, when it came to matters as important as the future of this island, there was no room for error.
He didn't know exactly what Morgan was planning, but he couldn't risk letting Artoria encounter that terrifying witch before she had matured. That woman was someone who even he found frightening.
"So, sorry, Aslan, my friend… but I'll have to trouble you for a while to keep that woman's attention diverted."
Merlin's tone remained as light as ever. He showed not the slightest hint of worry that his actions might bring trouble to others. In fact, there was a trace of amusement in his expression. After all, Morgan meeting Aslan was nothing more than a coincidence—it wasn't a scheme. No one could blame him for it, could they?
"Sorry, Artoria, but we're quite far from the Sword Appraisal Tournament. We probably won't make it in time. How about we take this opportunity, while everyone's attention is fixed on the event, to sneak into Vortigern's territory for a look?"
Artoria didn't object. Taking this chance to understand her greatest current enemy's domain was a good idea. In the future, she'd be better prepared to wage war against Vortigern. For now, it would help her better understand what kind of man this "uncle" of hers really was.
Merlin nodded and adjusted their route, then set off again with the children.
At the castle of the lord who was about to host the Sword Appraisal Tournament, a young girl was running joyfully through the halls. Her expression was bright and cheerful, practically bouncing with excitement. Anyone could see how happy she was.
She ran into the main hall of the castle and leapt straight into the arms of a middle-aged man. "Father! Is it true what I heard? That you've found out information about that famous blacksmith from recent years? Is he really coming to the tournament we're hosting? Will I have a chance to have him forge me my own custom knight's sword?"
The middle-aged man gently patted the girl's head. Looking at his beloved daughter, the lord's smile grew even brighter. Even his thick beard seemed to curl upward in delight.
"Oh yes, my dear daughter. I swear to God, I truly did hear news of that blacksmith from some wandering bandits. And he really is headed toward our castle. Barring any mishaps, he'll definitely attend this grand event. My precious daughter, your wish will come true.
I promise you, whether by gold or by power, I will ensure that blacksmith forges a one-of-a-kind sword just for you. Look at you—so unique, so lovely and beautiful. Even an angel would pale in comparison."
Hearing her father say this, the girl's face lit up with delight. Indeed, whenever she wanted something, her father would do everything in his power to get it for her. There was no wish she couldn't fulfill—and this time would be no different.
The servants nearby, who were cleaning and decorating the castle, quietly lowered their heads. It was always like this. The lord's unconditional pampering had made the young lady spoiled and domineering, with an air of entitlement that made her believe everyone existed to serve her.
The servants silently prayed that, in this event, their lady wouldn't end up offending some powerful noble. If war broke out, it would be them—the lowly servants—who would suffer most.