If he hadn't chosen to leave the forest, then in this era, a powerful blacksmith wouldn't have suddenly emerged in the rumors. Without such rumors, the lord's daughter naturally wouldn't have hosted such a gathering, and all subsequent developments would've been entirely different. At the very least, Morgan's magical workshop would have remained overwhelmingly dominant.
Had that been the case, even if she were injured by this dagger, she could have immediately used the magic formulas within her workshop to strike back. There's no way she would have ended up being killed on the spot by some nameless upstart.
What a joke—there's no way he would let Morgan die here.
Morgan played an extremely important role in the entire legend of King Arthur. If something were to happen to her here, the world would truly begin heading in a different direction, and he didn't want to live in a timeline where events were arbitrarily pruned!
After sensing the enemy behind her had been killed, Morgan turned her hazy gaze toward the main door. Though she didn't want to place her trust in others, after seeing that familiar flash of color, she ultimately chose to trust—just this once. After all, she didn't exactly have any other options right now, did she?
As Aslan recalled his forging hammer, he saw Morgan close her eyes and fall in his direction. Naturally, Aslan couldn't let Morgan just collapse to the ground, so he rushed forward a few steps and caught her. Seeing the blood still oozing from her abdomen, and hearing the sounds drawing near from all around, Aslan had no intention of staying here any longer.
"Melusine! Bring our luggage and come get me!"
He called silently in his mind. Back in their room, Melusine—who had been writhing restlessly on Aslan's bed—suddenly sat up, grabbed their luggage without hesitation, and didn't even bother using the door. Instead, she kicked open a window and darted out, sprinting across the castle walls with impossible speed and agility.
Meanwhile, Aslan picked Morgan up in a princess carry, stepped onto the windowsill, and the moment he saw a white-and-blue figure racing toward him, he jumped out. He had full faith that his dragon would catch him with ease. Don't be fooled by that little girl's appearance—her physical capabilities were entirely intact.
Though Melusine was more than a little annoyed at seeing Aslan holding another woman in his arms, the moment she saw how deeply he trusted her—leaping out of the window without hesitation—she couldn't help but feel a little happy.
Besides, she recognized the woman in Aslan's arms as the powerful magus she'd sensed earlier.
Once she caught Aslan, Melusine wrinkled her nose. The smell of blood was far too strong here. But thankfully, none of the blood belonged to Aslan, which was a relief. Had he been injured, she might have torn this castle down on the spot.
Even without reverting to her dragon form, she could still ensure that this castle vanished from the world.
Taking advantage of the castle's current chaos, Aslan retrieved the blood-staunching potion the elves had given him from the luggage. After stopping Morgan's bleeding, he went to the stables, mounted his horse, and rode away from the castle—casually making off with a carriage, too.
After all, the potion only stopped the bleeding; even though it was effective, it couldn't instantly heal the wound. If Morgan were riding on horseback, the constant jolting would tear open her wound over and over again, forcing the potion to work overtime, gradually healing it only for it to rip again. That cycle would repeat endlessly.
Although Aslan didn't really understand why Morgan had become what she was now, and admittedly didn't think much of her actions in conventional accounts of history, that didn't mean he was going to just sit back and let her suffer repeatedly from her wound.
Disapproval was one thing—but Morgan's actions had nothing to do with him. He didn't hate or despise her.
Shortly after Aslan's departure, a road-worn knight arrived at the castle. Seeing the state of disarray, he scratched his head and asked the servants what had happened.
The servants didn't know the full story, but the memory of the wyvern attack earlier in the day was still fresh. Just recently, they'd found one of the guest rooms completely empty, while another was littered with corpses. This string of incidents within the castle and the territory had undoubtedly dealt a blow to the lord's prestige.
Thankfully, the incident was far beyond what any of them could handle, so the blow to the lord's reputation wasn't too serious.
The weary knight, after hearing the servants' explanation, rubbed his chin. He more or less understood what had happened. Who would've thought so much could happen while he was still on the road?
Naturally, this travel-worn knight was Balin.
Unlike Aslan, who had a horse, the penniless Balin had no choice but to walk the entire way, trying desperately to follow in Aslan's footsteps—but even so, he still arrived half a day late.
He asked the servants where the blacksmith had gone. When they told him the blacksmith had already vanished, Balin buried his face in his hands and slowly slid down the wall, sitting down in exhaustion. He had pushed himself the whole way, never stopping, and still ended up one step too late… He didn't even have the energy to chase after them now. He could only hope that he might be able to beg the local lord for a fast horse in the morning.
Knights are poor. There's nothing to be done about it.
Balin patted his legs, didn't bother entering deeper into the castle, and instead asked a maid where the common guests were staying. His bond with the red-handled sword had yet to begin.
Meanwhile, the carriage continued along the road. Once they'd put enough distance behind them, Aslan slowed the pace. No matter how you looked at it, he had just placed a metaphorical shackle—or rather, a curse—on the lord's daughter. Even though the lord himself seemed like a decent enough person, the fact that he had raised such a daughter likely meant he was a doting father.
There's no reasoning with doting fathers. When it comes to their daughters, they abandon all wisdom and rationality.
By placing such a curse and restraint on the lord's daughter, no matter how wise and heroic the lord might normally be, he would likely develop resentment toward Aslan. To avoid having such a powerful man send knights to attack him, it was best to put as much distance as possible between them—quickly.
Just then, Morgan—injured as she was—began to regain consciousness. After all, she had fallen unconscious under extremely dangerous circumstances. Even with her injuries, her subconscious would push her to wake up as soon as possible.