Over the next period of time, Aslan and his group traveled through various parts of Great Britain, observing the local customs and studying magic. At the same time, Aslan began experimenting with forging the weapons he desired.
It's no surprise that this was the Dark Age of Britain—there was hardly any scenery to speak of. Instead, they saw displaced refugees migrating constantly due to the scarcity of food. As the divine era came to an end, and with the frequent wars, the once abundant crops began to dwindle. These days, potatoes were the primary food source, and only a few people knew how to cultivate other crops. After all, not every nation had an inherent agricultural inclination. If things were prosperous at this time, Camelot would not be serving mashed potatoes at every meal in the royal palace.
During this time, their carriage was attacked several times by bandits, but these were just ordinary raiders and posed no real threat to them. After all, the strongest witch in all of Britain, the most formidable blacksmith, and the fastest dragon were all in this region. The bandits were merely courting death by trying to harass or rob them.
As for the Continental magi who attempted to ambush them, Morgan would often throw Aslan out as a test of his magical progress, making Aslan lead the charge. Of course, if the magic didn't work, his forging hammer could always handle it.
For Morgan's simulated persona, her original personality was already planning to deal with that old man, Vortigern. So if they encountered magi or soldiers sent by him, she wouldn't mind dealing with them herself or letting Aslan teach that old fool a lesson.
Aslan, on the other hand, found these battles to be a fast way to solidify the magical knowledge he had gained from Morgan. Furthermore, they were staying near his cheap father's territory, and the gears of fate had begun to turn. Vortigern's defeat was inevitable, and Aslan felt that his actions were simply aligning with the course of destiny.
Unbeknownst to Aslan, he had already caught the attention of two young girls, though he hadn't realized yet. After all, he had entered the trajectory of fate, but with slight alterations to the path. These changes weren't significant enough to shift the general course, and Morgan's crisis had also been defused. Regardless, he had to do something to show the forces that governed fate that he wasn't attempting to alter the entire trajectory. Otherwise, they might send a stand-in, which he definitely didn't want to face.
Looking at the cavalry before him, wearing foreign attire, Aslan let out a heavy sigh. It seemed like this was the third wave of soldiers sent to bother him.
He glanced at his forging hammer. Fighting in the same manner repeatedly was starting to wear thin. So, he decided to test the new weapon he had just forged. The weapon, a combination of magic and forging techniques, had evolved beyond the category of a mere magic weapon or ceremonial item.
The small dagger, forged from dragon tooth, glittered with magical runes and elven inscriptions. Golden light shimmered across its surface, and the dagger emitted a strange, magical aura.
In reality, embedding so many elven inscriptions on such a small blade had made it difficult to maintain its current form. To fully unleash its power, the blade could probably only be used once. But that was fine—this was an experimental piece, just the initial product of testing his theories.
"A small dagger, and you think you can deal with us? You're too arrogant for a little brat like you," the leader of the knights sneered.
Aslan didn't respond. He silently assumed his battle stance, gripping the dagger tightly. He pressed a small gem on the hilt, injecting a bit of his magic into it. As the magic flowed in, the magic and elven inscriptions began to glow brighter, losing their subtle appearance.
The platinum light enveloped his entire right arm, transforming it into something akin to a mechanical arm. The arm now matched his height, with glowing lines resembling electric cables or meridians running along it. The arm had dragon-like spikes and a dragon-head-shaped hand—though he hadn't yet refined the finger structure.
The dragon's mouth on the fist had a cannon-like barrel, allowing for both powerful punches and tearing attacks. Even the mouth of the dragon could launch a devastating attack.
With a determined expression, Aslan raised his right arm. Magic gathered in the dragon's mouth, and the immense energy created a shockwave, causing cracks to appear in the ground beneath him.
"Fire!" Aslan shouted.
The blast that followed was akin to the breath of a mighty dragon, wrapping around the first few knights in a fiery explosion. Although the attack should have pierced through them like a laser, Aslan was still a beginner and had only just started learning this technique. The result was a burning magic fire that consumed his foes.
When the magical flames receded, the knights at the front had already perished. Aslan merely flicked his hand. Aside from the cannon barrel, the rest of the armor remained undamaged.