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The blond-haired, silver-cloaked King Arthur approached slowly with a grave expression on his face. His gaze fixed on Ian, his brow furrowed tightly, as if sensing something amiss.
"What's that strange smell?"
Ian was taken aback.
"You... you have a very peculiar scent about you," Pandero, also known as King Arthur, continued in a low voice with a hint of wariness in his tone.
Ian froze for a moment.
"A peculiar scent?"
He sniffed himself, detecting no unusual odors. Even under his arms, there was no foul smell; rather, he carried a pleasant milky fragrance.
That wasn't narcissism, Ian knew he had a milky scent because he loved drinking milk. He was likely permeated with its aroma from daily consumption.
"Hmm," King Arthur circled him, his nostrils twitching like a Niffler probing for some invisible aura. "It's not the scent of blood, nor the residue of magic. It's more like... the smell of death."
At those words... Ian's smile stiffened.
He likely understood what King Arthur was implying, but was this a trace left by the Death God's gaze? Or perhaps a remnant from when he had witnessed the Death God's battle against the Raven?
"Have you encountered the Death God recently?" King Arthur's wariness was palpable, which was understandable. As a soul, he would naturally be highly sensitive to such an existence.
Every soul was sustenance for the Death God, especially a legendary soul like King Arthur's.
For this reason, King Arthur's gaze remained fixed on Ian, his eagle-sharp eyes narrowing slightly, the lines between his brows deepening. He slowly raised his hand, fingers spreading and then clenching, as if grasping for an invisible presence in the air.
Ian froze, the fruit in his hand hovering mid-air. He set the fruit down, his fingertips unconsciously tracing its surface as he nodded. "Yes, just now."
"Just now?" King Arthur's brow twitched, his grip tightening unconsciously on his sword. "Tell me everything in detail."
He continued to glance around, a barely perceptible tension in his voice, as if fearing a surprise attack from the Death God.
Ian took a deep breath and recounted his experiences in the black and white world one by one: the Raven's alchemy, the Death God's sudden assault, the Dementor's chaotic battle, and that inexplicable phrase, "There's still another round."
He described everything meticulously, even the chilling sensation of the Death God's gaze upon him.
Mainly, he couldn't make sense of it himself and hoped to draw on King Arthur's wisdom.
Pandero, after all, was a legendary king, renowned for his vast knowledge and experience. He had seen and experienced far more than Ian ever could, and perhaps this legendary king could analyze Ian's experiences and offer some insight.
Ian recounted every detail with meticulous precision.
As King Arthur listened, his tense shoulders gradually relaxed. By the time Ian finished speaking, Arthur even chuckled softly and casually sheathed his sword.
That sudden relaxation was like setting down a massive weight that had been pressing on his heart.
"Then it's fine," Arthur said, his voice now light and carefree, as if the previous solemnity had never existed, or as if Ian had imagined the earlier tension.
Wasn't this a perfect example of changing one's tune faster than flipping a page in a book?
"Huh?" Ian blinked. "How is it suddenly fine?"
Arthur walked to the table, picked up a fallen piece of apple pie, and stuffed it into his mouth, speaking indistinctly, "You definitely tried to influence the past, didn't you?"
Though he didn't say it outright, his tone was utterly confident.
Clearly, it was knowledge that gave him this confidence. As for what was meant by "forgetting the past," it was unclear which pasts were being forgotten. Perhaps this legendary king had been lying from the beginning.
Ian nodded.
"I really did use magic to interfere with the Crown of Thorns." He admitted softly, recalling the events that had led him to act. The Raven had subtly urged him to intervene, and he still couldn't explain why he had followed through.
To his surprise, he had actually managed to influence the past, which was a suprise considering that he hadn't expected it to work at all.
Nor did he know how King Arthur had guessed this.
"That explains it," Arthur said, swallowing his food and brushing crumbs from his hands. "When you touch the past, its essence clings to you. That's why I could sense the Death God's presence; it's a residual trace from the past, not a present threat."
Arthur walked over to the window, sunlight spilling over his blond hair and casting a faint halo around him.
Ian narrowed his eyes, thinking over the meaning of those words.
"Are you saying... the Death God I encountered in the past was merely a part of history, and therefore unable to influence the present?" He still didn't fully grasp what Arthur meant.
"Exactly," Arthur nodded. "When you touch the past, its essence clings to you, like muddy water splashing onto your clothes. The reason I could smell the Death God on you is because traces of it lingered on your body. But that doesn't mean it's targeting you now."
Ian fell silent for a moment, as if finally grasping something.
"The Death God was particularly active in the past, especially during the Raven's era. But if it were to appear now... that would be very bad." King Arthur shrugged, a relaxed smile playing on his lips. Having confirmed that Ian wasn't a traitor who had brought the Death God with him, he reverted to his usual carefree demeanor.
"What if someone encounters the Death God in the present? How bad would it be?" Ian pressed.
Arthur's smile vanished instantly.
His entire presence changed, the relaxed posture transformed into one of high alert. He stared directly at Ian, his voice low and grave: "That would be a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions."
Arthur turned away, half his face shrouded in shadow, his voice sounding as if it were rising from the depths of the earth.
"How bad?" Ian asked, his heart pounding.
"So bad…" King Arthur tapped his fingers lightly against the sword hilt. "...that everyone might be doomed."
Ian frowned.
"Why?"
Arthur fell silent for a moment as if choosing his words. Finally, he sighed.
"Because the Death God went mad a very long time ago."
As he spoke, King Arthur felt a lingering dread, as if haunted by some past trauma.
"Mad?" Ian blinked in surprise. The word struck him like a hammer blow.
Arthur continued, his voice heavy with ancient weight. "He was originally the embodiment of rules, the guardian of the boundary between life and death. He should have been devoid of emotion, free from desire. But at some point, he became tainted by humanity and began to feel joy, anger, greed, obsession... these things that should never have belonged to him twisted him into something monstrous."
Ian nodded thoughtfully. "Rules don't need their own emotions, do they?"
He began to understand what "mad" truly meant in this context.
"It's like an iron law," King Arthur nodded, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes. "Once an iron law is tainted by human sentiment, it becomes a joke. And when the Death God gained humanity..."
"It became a madman," Ian finished. He looked down at his palm, the Death God's icy eyes flashing in his mind. There truly had been hatred in them.
This was an emotion that the embodiment of an iron law should never possess.
"Exactly."
A sharp glint flashed through Arthur's eyes.
"I saw that he was sealed," Ian said.
Arthur chuckled softly, a hint of joy in his smile, and clapped Ian firmly on the shoulder. "Yes, only a Death God unable to move freely can truly benefit humanity."
Ian looked up at him. "Then the Raven did something good after all, right?"
At that... Arthur neither confirmed nor denied it.
"Who knows? Let's not dwell on that."
His sudden change in demeanor caught Ian off guard. Arthur, however, had already turned toward the door and called out into the courtyard, "Ariana! Stop practicing your swordsmanship!"
Ariana, who had been practicing her swordsmanship on the other side of the square, immediately sheathed her sword and hurried over. Fine beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, but her eyes remained bright.
"What's wrong?" she asked, turning to Arthur.
"Come on, let's go to the tavern," Arthur said with a grin, waving his hand. "The wine I brewed earlier is finally ready. Let's celebrate!"
Ian and Ariana exchanged a surprised glance.
"You can brew wine?" Ian raised an eyebrow. He knew Arthur had been planning to brew wine, but he hadn't expected him to actually succeed rather than end up with a batch of swill.
"Of course!" Arthur puffed out his chest proudly. "I'm a jack-of-all-trades, after all."
The three of them walked shoulder to shoulder toward the tavern in the center of town. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on the path. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked bread, creating an exceptionally cozy atmosphere.
The Round Table Tavern, located at the heart of the town, was Arthur's latest whimsical creation.
A crooked wooden sign hung above the entrance, depicting a lopsided round table.
Scrawled beside it were the words: "Knights and lazy dogs welcome."
Pushing open the door, they were greeted by the rich, intoxicating scent of ale. Arthur strode confidently to the bar, drew three amber-colored drinks from a wooden barrel, but abruptly withdrew them as he was about to hand them to Ian and Ariana.
"No," He said sternly, shaking his head. "You two brats can't drink."
Ariana puffed out her cheeks. "Why not?"
"Bad habits," King Arthur declared righteously, then tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful of his own ale, exhaling with satisfaction. "But me? I love bad habits!"
Ariana rolled her eyes. "You're not much older than us."
"I am King," Arthur retorted, his tone unapologetic. "Kings are allowed exceptions."
With that, he tilted his head back and took a long swig of wine, sighing contentedly. "Ah... this is the life."
Ian couldn't help but roll his eyes.
King Arthur burst into hearty laughter, then turned and carried a large platter of roasted meat from the kitchen. The savory aroma of sizzling fat instantly filled the tavern. "Try this; it's a new recipe I've been working on."
Ariana eagerly speared a piece, hissing from the heat but refusing to spit it out. Ian slowly sliced his portion, unable to resist asking, "Are you serious about opening a tavern here?"
He suspected Arthur had lost his mind. In all the years he'd lived in this small town, he'd only ever seen Teacher Morgan once and another Dumbledore who had already left, a younger descendant of the House of Dumbledore.
Ian's mind drifted to the image of that young man riding the Phoenix.
'I wonder if that person has been reincarnated yet.'
"Of course!" Arthur took another swig of wine. "Being a king is too tiring, and being a knight is too busy. Running a tavern suits me best."
He leaned against the bar, sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast dappled colors across his face. In that moment, he looked less like the legendary king and more like an ordinary, happily drunk man.
Ian watched them, suddenly feeling that no matter how berserk the Death God became, or whatever Raven might be plotting, at least for now, this small town seemed to hold some kind of eternal, unchanging beauty.
"There aren't any customers in the tavern," Ian finally couldn't resist pointing out.
"There will be," King Arthur replied with unwavering confidence.
"Your skills are quite good," Ariana said approvingly.
"Are you really going to open a tavern?" she asked, sounding doubtful about its prospects in their small town.
"Why not?" Arthur shrugged. "I've fought my whole life. It's time for a change. This place is perfect... quiet, comfortable, and ideal for retirement."
Ariana took a bite of roasted meat and mumbled, "So you'll cook for us every day from now on, and can we drink here?"
"That won't do," Arthur shook his head. "Food is fine, but bad habits are not. You need to remember: some things are not to be touched lightly."
His eyes were serious and his tone firm as he said this, as if he weren't talking about alcohol but rather imparting some kind of life philosophy. Ariana and Ian exchanged a smile and didn't comment further.
As night deepened, the tavern's warm yellow light spilled across the tables, mingling with the aroma of roasted meat and a faint fruity fragrance. Ian and Ariana sat opposite King Arthur, each holding a glass of freshly squeezed juice. They savored the steaming roasted meat while sharing stories of their recent adventures.
"Anyway, I don't even know how to get back now," Ian said.
As Ian recounted his experiences from the real world, he gazed down at the roasted meat in his hands, a sudden wave of sentiment washing over him. He looked out the window at the town's twinkling lights, scattered like fallen stars.
And yet...
This place was not the human world.
In the distance, the forest's outline looked hazy and mysterious under the moonlight.
"There'll be a way," Arthur said, his voice low. He seemed to have stumbled upon a blind spot in his knowledge. After all, he wasn't a wizard, so it was only natural that he felt a gap in his understanding when faced with something even wizards had never heard of.
Of course.
It could all be an act.
No one could truly fathom the King's true intentions.
When it came to deception, every king was a master.
"There are still a few hours," He said quietly, as if to himself or his companions.
Ariana blinked. "You're thinking of going to see Teacher Morgan?"
Ian nodded. "Yeah."
Arthur Arthur didn't stop him, merely patted his shoulder lightly. "Go ahead. She may be eccentric, but she's always been good to you."
"Of course I know that," Ian said, standing up and finishing his last sip of juice. "That's why I'm bringing Teacher Morgan some roasted meat. I hope she can help me find my way home."
He waved goodbye to the two of them.
After leaving the tavern, he followed a familiar path into the forest.
The warmth and laughter of the town gradually faded behind him. The air grew crisp and cool, leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the soft, damp earth beneath his feet carried the scent of nature with every step.
As he passed through the forest, a clear boundary line appeared before him.
To the left stretched a sunlit world, while to the right loomed dark castle territory.
Ian took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.
Instantly, the temperature plummeted, and the surrounding light seemed to dim. Ahead, the ancient, gray castle stood silently atop the hill, like a guardian slumbering for millennia.
He ascended the stone steps.
Reaching the high platform.
The Ancient Dragon still lay dormant outside.
Its massive body nearly filled the entire platform, obsidian-like scales gleaming with an icy luster, its breath carrying the stench of sulfur and death.
As Ian approached, the Ancient Dragon suddenly exhaled a sulfurous blast of hot air from its nostrils. An amber-colored vertical pupil slowly opened, locking onto him.
"Oh..." The Dragon's voice rumbled like subterranean thunder. "How many Ancient Dragons have you slain?"
Ian froze. "What?"
The dragon braced itself on its forelimbs, shaking off moss and dust. Its massive head loomed closer, nostrils flaring. "I smell dragon blood on you... ancient and powerful."
'So it's not just King Arthur who has a nose like a hound,' Ian thought. 'There's a dragon nose here too.'
Ian was about to speak when the Ancient Dragon, showing no anger, leaned in curiously and asked, "Are you trying to collect Twelve Ancient Dragons to forge the legend of the Dragon Slayer?"
Its words touched on a complete blind spot in Ian's knowledge.
(End of Chapter)