N-A-A Chapter 46 The Island Seal
Chapter 46 The Island Seal
When the core rose to a position ten feet above the Earth's surface, the earth cracked open.
The watchtower's dilapidated foundation split in two, with rubble rolling to both sides, revealing a crack more than three zhang in diameter.
The edges of the crack were not soil or rock, but grayish-white, constantly wriggling roots.
The roots spread up from deep underground, clinging to the edge of the crack, like countless gray-white fingers gripping the ground.
Then the nucleus appeared.
A fist-sized, pure black heart slowly rose from the crack. It did not struggle, nor did it try to break free of the six chains; it simply rose.
A grayish-white light radiated outward from the surface of the core, and with each pulsation, everyone present felt their heart skip a beat.
Six chains pierced its body, pinning it tightly, but it did not struggle; it was watching Arthur.
Everyone sensed it at the same time: there was no hostility, no threat, only a pure, ancient gaze.
That feeling,
Like a mountain looking at a person, like a river looking at a fallen leaf, like an island itself looking at him.
Arthur gripped the swords with both hands; the blue of the sword in the lake, the gold of the sword in the stone, the red of the red dragon, and the white of the white dragon—four colors of light flowed across the blades.
But that's not enough; he needs more.
The first ray of light came from the east.
From the far east, from the direction of Camelot.
A very thin, warm golden ray of light pierced the sky, crossed the wilderness, passed through the light barrier of the sealing array, and landed on the back of Arthur's hand holding the sword.
This is Guinevere's prayer. She learned from her father what Arthur was going to do, so she came here.
She knelt in the castle's prayer room for a whole day and night.
In front of me lay a letter with only the beginning written on it; the letter contained only two words: "I am here."
She didn't continue writing; she just knelt there, clasped her hands together, and closed her eyes.
She didn't ask anything of God; she just kept repeating the same phrase in her heart: "I am here, I am here, I am here."
As the golden light fell on the back of Arthur's hand, he heard it—Guinevere's "Here."
The second ray of light came from even further away.
Silvery white, like snow, like moonlight, like the morning mist over Lake Avalon.
It drifted from the far west, towards Avalon, through the clouds, through the wind, through the light curtain of the sealing array, and landed on Arthur's shoulder.
Meryl's Avalon blessing: She stands by the lake of Avalon, her long silver hair flowing in the lake breeze, her amethyst-like eyes closed, her hands clasped together, and her lips moving.
She was saying, "My dear red dragon, come back alive."
She gave up half of her blessing, exchanging five hundred years for this ray of light. The moment the light fell on his shoulder, an extremely light and gentle power appeared in Arthur's dragon power channel.
That was "existence" itself; Merry shared a part of her existence with him.
The third ray of light came from the Land of Shadows.
Dark red, burning runes erupted directly from the runestone on Arthur's collar.
Scáthach's guardian rune did not disappear after filtering the gray fog; it waited patiently for the moment when Arthur needed more power.
The runestone cracked, breaking into countless fragments, each fragment transforming into an individual rune that floated around Arthur.
Kill gods!
At the highest point of the castle in the Land of Shadows, Scáthach held a crimson spear across her knees, her wine-red eyes gazing into the void.
She offered no prayers, no blessings, and no tender emotions.
She only said one sentence, her voice as cold as the eternal deep purple sky of the Land of Shadows: "Show me what I taught you."
The fourth ray of light came from the Round Table Hall.
Silver and emerald intertwine, extremely fine, like a vine that hasn't grown up yet. That belongs to Mordred, not to an infant, not to a teenager, but to "recognition" itself.
Morgan's blood, shed while constructing the sealing array, not only activated the array,
The magic in her blood flowed back to Camelot along the earth's veins, back to the East Tower, and into the cradle of that blond, blue-eyed baby.
The baby opened his eyes. He didn't know what was happening, he didn't know that his mother was bleeding, and he didn't know that his father was standing in front of Vortigern, holding a sword in his hands.
But he felt it; his bloodline called to him. He reached out his small hand, which had never held a sword before, and grasped a strand of silver hair left by his mother beside the cradle.
Then he smiled; that was "approval."
Transcending time, transcending space, transcending everything he has yet to experience.
His approval arrived on the battlefield before he himself did.
The fifth ray of light emanated from Arthur's own chest.
The light was pure white, not the white of sword light, not the white of magic, not any white he could name.
That is the white of the stars themselves, the "starlight" chosen by the trajectory of the stars.
It was the power he awakened on the day he drew his sword that was the fundamental reason why he was able to observe and intervene in parallel world lines.
The light emanated from his body, from the deepest part of the Dragon's Furnace, from a place deeper than the Dragon Force, and older than the Red Dragon's heritage.
There was a tiny, pure white core of light, which had been quietly suspended there ever since it was chosen by the Star Trail, and now it had awakened.
Five rays of light: Guinevere's gold, Merry's silver, Scáthach's crimson, Mordred's silver and emerald, and his own pure white.
In addition, there are six beams of light on the sealing array.
Crimson, golden yellow, dark green, lake blue, silver white, ice blue.
Eleven rays of light.
Arthur's dragon power channels fully unfolded, and the dragon power riverbed that had sunk deep into his bones when his dragon heart awakened now floated to the surface, each channel filled with light.
Eleven colors and eleven rays of light flowed in parallel within his body, without interfering with each other, each surging along its own course.
The sword in the lake and the sword in the stone began to resonate; it was a resonance of light.
Eleven rays of light simultaneously shone on the blades of the two holy swords, like eleven stars embedded in the blades.
Arthur raised his two swords.
Vortigern's core was ten feet away. Its pure black heart, illuminated by eleven rays of light, had stopped beating, yet it continued to watch Arthur, watching him from beginning to end.
The greyish-white body was impaled and nailed down by six chains, remaining motionless.
But that thing deep within the core, "darker than black," that thing that kept sliding away and that even the holy sword couldn't cut through, began to move again.
Extremely slowly, like a drop of ink so thick it can't be dissolved, seeping out from the deepest part of the core.
It was fleeing; it sensed eleven beams of light and knew that this time was different from any other.
It must slide away, sink deep into the earth's veins, leaving only the core part, waiting to sprout anew.
Arthur didn't let it escape.
He released the sword in the stone. The sword did not fall to the ground; it hovered to Arthur's left, tip pointing downwards, and slowly descended, embedding itself in the ground.
Insert it into the very center of the sealing array, at the point where the six chains intersect.
The earth shook violently.
All six chains taut simultaneously, and Kay, Gawain, Tristan, Lancelot, Bedivere, and Morgan all let out a muffled groan.
The moment the sword in the stone pierced the ground, they felt a direct connection between the node beneath their feet and the sword.
"Recognition" has been fixed.
As the sword that selects kings, the sword in the stone is itself the embodiment of "recognition." With it stuck there, the six chains are anchored to the position of "king."
Vortigern's core trembled, and the "blacker than black" substance that was seeping outward was suppressed by the anchoring force of the sword in the stone.
The anchoring force suppressed its "escape," preventing it from sliding away.
Arthur gripped the sword in the lake with both hands.
Eleven rays of light simultaneously burst forth from the sword, converging inwards, and eleven star-like points of light lined the blade, lighting up one after another from the guard to the tip.
The sword fell.
Instead of striking Vortigern's core, it struck that point deep within the core that was "blacker than black."
The moment the sword tip touched that point, Arthur heard it.
What I heard was not a sound, but a memory.
On the day the Age of Gods ended, the will of the British islands stood on the shore, watching the last batch of fantasy creatures depart on the light.
Dragons, fairies, giants, elves—all beings that did not belong to the human era departed on that day.
The island's will stood there, watching them disappear at the horizon. It did not cry, it did not plead, it did not rage; it simply stood there.
Then it turned and walked into the depths of the island, burying itself in the oldest intersection of the earth's veins, where it curled up and closed its eyes.
It doesn't want to curse humanity; it just doesn't want to see it.
I don't want to see the world after the Age of Gods ended, I don't want to see fields replace forests.
I don't want to see castles replace stone circles, I don't want to see human lights replace the phosphorescence of fairies.
It refused; it buried its head in its body, closed its eyes, covered its ears, and shut everything out.
It is waiting, waiting for the return of the gods.