"..."

Listening to the silver-haired youth's smiling response, the sturdy old man could only manage a bitter smile. He raised his hand and gently ruffled his son's silver hair.

"Come with me. Since you insist so much, let me tell you about the truth of this cage called Britannia, the whole story..."

[Holding Morgan's hand, you followed Vortigern to the underground where you were born.]

[This place was covered in cobwebs, with dusty candle holders, seemingly untouched for a long time.]

[The old man waved his hand, and a hidden door leading to a deeper place appeared in the underground.]

[Descending along a spiral staircase, you finally arrived at a complex and spacious underground cavern resembling a maze.]

[The rock layers here were densely filled with thick, tree root-like conduits, through which flowed a faint blue glow like fireflies.]

"Is this... the underground leylines?"

Alvin immediately understood where they were. The Clock Tower also had the underground Spiritual Tomb of Albion, and even built the vast mining city of Magisfair within it.

"Yes, this is the underground of Londinium, where a part of the thickest leylines runs through the entire island of Britannia."

Vortigern's voice echoed in the underground cavern.

"However, compared to twenty years ago, the true ether flow of these leylines has been reduced by more than half. Perhaps in a few decades, these leylines will completely wither away."

"...If they wither, what will happen?"

Alvin asked, already anticipating the cruel answer.

"Everything prosperous in Britannia now bathes in the true ether. It is a genuine object of the age of gods."

"The decline of the age of gods is like the arrival of eternal night. True ether, for us is like the sunlight. If ether diminishes, the land will become barren, crops will wither, magical beasts will go extinct... Most people will starve to death, famine will spread, and people will be forced into cannibalism..."

The old man spoke softly.

"This island will become a literal hell on earth."

Alvin frowned. He had experienced such a cruel famine era in his previous reality and knew how brutal it could be.

"So, Father, is this why you want the age of gods to return?"

"Yes, this is the only way to save Britannia."

"...If that's the case." 

Alvin asked the question that had been bothering him for a long time.

"Why don't you make this information public? Instead, you bear it alone. If people understand the truth, no one would want to die. The whole Britannia would work together, and you wouldn't have to endure being blamed. Why subject yourself to public condemnation?"

"It's not that I don't want to say, but I can't say, Alvin."

The old man spoke each word calmly.

"The Celts are remnants of the age of gods. If they were to learn the truth of the age of gods's decline and it triggered a collective panic, it would further accelerate the decline of the age of gods."

"Such a thing exists..."

The witch was astonished. She knew that the decline of the age of gods was inevitable, a rule of the planet's rotation, but she had no idea of such secrets.

Deadlock.

This was undoubtedly... a deadlock.

Realizing this, Alvin fell into an unspeakable silence. Now he finally understood why his dad Vortigern had to shoulder everything alone, risking the wrath of the world, even willing to bring in the barbarians to usurp the throne.

Yes, it was an unspeakable deadlock.

At that time, Vortigern had no choice but to bear this cruel truth alone because if he revealed it, all efforts would be in vain. Bury the secret, die a slow death, and perhaps seek a turning point.

Revealing the truth, everyone dies together.

It was a dilemma reminiscent of the trolley problem.

Vortigern Pendragon.

This man bore the weight of the entire era, enduring the cruel truth, bitterness, loneliness, growing in the shadows, honing fangs and claws.

Misunderstanding. Resentment. Hatred. Prejudice.

Even if he was pointed at by thousands, cursed by tens of thousands.

Even if he was called the vile king, the dragon that devoured light.

The infamous name spread throughout the island, destined to stink for thousands of years, an indescribable infamy.

Vortigern, he didn't care.

He was the White Dragon of Britannia, possessing an unshakable will.

"You drove away the Celts for this reason too." 

Alvin said quietly.

"... This is the central part of the island, where the decline of the age of gods is most intense. If I fail..."

Vortigern closed his eyes heavily.

"...Running away a bit, they can live a bit longer."

"..."

Silence. No music.

Even breathing became difficult.

The atmosphere in the underground cavern became nearly stagnant.

Morgan stared blankly at her uncle.

Though usually at odds, at this moment, she felt that this person was so unfamiliar.

A sorrowful figure.

She opened her mouth, wanting to call him... uncle.

But nothing came out.

Alvin stepped forward, gently patting his father's shoulder.

"You should have told us earlier, Dad. Even if we can't let the Celts know, maybe we can gather more advanced power and work together on this."

Alvin had realized the turning point in all of this.

If most people had to be kept in the dark, what about a small group?

"With such a position, perhaps the Red Dragon and the White Dragon can set aside their grievances and work together to save Britannia from peril."

"It's not that simple, Alvin..."

"If it's just that, why did I have to fight with Uther, my brother who is indifferent but not unreasonable?"

The old man opened his dim eyes, sounding somewhat weary.

"The birth of the Red Dragon is the will of the world."

The will of the world.

Alvin heard the eyebrow-furrowing term once again.

But he remained silent, just listening quietly.

Listening to the tired voice of the old man.

"The Quantum Time-Lock of the world records the collective of all events on the timeline. In other words, those destined key points have long been engraved on the fabric of time. Because of human development, the rules on this planet will gradually evolve into ones more suitable for human survival. The decline of the age of gods is a destined event. The birth of the Red Dragon is also so. What if we change the mind of the Red Dragon? Under the interference of the world's will, even if she wavers, a new Red Dragon will be born again. If the flow of history deviates, our world will be pruned, abandoned, and stopped, at the end of that eternal night, a sunlight without any hope. In other words... the entire Britannia is imprisoned in this tragic cage called history."

The old man's words were like the flickering remnants of a fire.

In the depths of Britannia's underground, they burned.

"Alvin, this world demands us to offer our necks, demands us to die."

Who would want to die?

However, when the world wants you to die, you have no choice but to die.

If you don't want to face it honorably, the will of the world will do it for you.

It will build a tombstone for you, erect a grave for you.

So, the elderly, aged White Dragon shook off the graveyard soil from his body, grew sharp wings and claws, and let out the dying roar of a dragon in the tomb.

The entire Britannia's resolute will was concentrated on Vortigern alone, a lonely sorrow named solitude for an old man on the verge of death.

The age of gods was like the scorching sun.

Decline meant the darkness and no light of the eternal night approaching.

When the eternal night comes, I will start burning from now until death.

I will not marry, not inherit land, not have children.

I will not wear a crown, not fight for glory.

I will faithfully perform my duty, living and dying here.

I am the flame resisting the darkness, the dawn at the break of day.

I am the dying ember of the age of gods, the last line of defense for this island.

I will dedicate my life and honor to Britannia.

Today and every day.

In this dire situation of the approaching eternal night.

An old man engraved the oath of a guardian in his heart.

Then, he ultimately failed to strictly adhere to it.

"If I fail in the end, I want some of my things to be passed down. It is proof that I, as a person, once struggled..."

"And then, you were born, Alvin."

The old man lifted his hazy gaze. Although his figure remained strong and tall, this once King Vortigern had never appeared so hunched and aged. Whenever he was seen, he seemed as substantial as the earth.

However, now, the earth was trembling.

"I never made any demands of you, Alvin. I always let you choose for yourself, and I never wanted to interfere with your choices. But, even if it's the final advice from a father... Not as the King, not as Vortigern, not as the light-devouring Dragon, just as your father... Don't tread down the same path as me."

Trembling voice.

The old man's voice gradually extinguished like the flickering remnants of a fire.

The witch stood still, in a daze.

The silver-haired youth seemed about to take that step forward.

Morgan abruptly grabbed Alvin's hand.

Her face carried a dazed expression.

She shook her head absentmindedly.

"Listen to your dad, Alvin..."

Alvin stepped forward, gently kissing the witch's lips.

"Trust me."

The warmth that always captivated people.

Her stiffened fingers slowly loosened.

"Eternal night is approaching... so what? Even if it's eternal night, sorry, Dad, you can't teach me. Because I am the son of the fully evil White Dragon."

Slowly.

Alvin slowly raised his hand. He raised his hand and ruffled his father's silver hair filled with frost.

You've worked hard.

"If there is no torch fire from now on..."

Alvin Pendragon smiled.

"Well then, I am your only light."

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