As expected, Vortigern is our lifelong nemesis.
"Whatever Uther offers, I'll double it."
My father married me off to this Horndog.
So what's your "double"?
Morgan gripped her staff and unleashed a spell directly at Vortigern.
Vortigern was still puzzled by the strange look on the man's face when suddenly—attack?!
Dodging the spell, Vortigern glared at Morgan, his expression dark.
What the hell is going on here?
Ambushing my army, burning my supplies—fine, those are standard tactics in war. I can accept that. But now, I come here to recruit this man, and you suddenly attack me out of nowhere?
Where's your knightly honor?!
"Lot will never surrender to you!" Morgan hissed through gritted teeth.
Lot chuckled from the side, nodding in agreement.
At the same time, he thought to himself:
[This damn Tyrant King, a perpetual bachelor—how could he give me two daughters? And even if he did, would they be as beautiful as Morgan? Wait… isn't Vortigern Morgan's uncle? So any child would still have a Saber-face… Ugh, better stop thinking about this.]
Morgan's eyebrow twitched.
Oh, you dare actually consider the idea of "two," Horndog?!
Bastard, am I not beautiful enough?!
You want a second one?!
I know thinking isn't a crime, but—
I'm biting you later to vent!
I won't stop until I leave a permanent mark on you!
Deal with the real culprit first.
Vortigern, I've got you marked.
If I don't tear you apart—
I'll take your family name!
Morgan recalled one of Lot's usual swears and instinctively echoed it in her mind.
She unleashed another spell, triggering a series of explosions right in front of Vortigern.
Her talent was undeniable, but in both experience and raw power, she was far outmatched.
Vortigern blocked her attacks effortlessly.
His fury was palpable.
He swung his sword at her—
But Lot intercepted it mid-air, his own blade clashing against Vortigern's.
"You think you can touch my wife? Do I look like a decoration to you?!" he roared.
Morgan heard the words twice—once from Lot's mouth, and once from his heart.
His resolve was unmistakable.
A small smile curled on Morgan's lips.
Fine, Horndog… I won't bite you later.
Maybe… a passionate kiss instead.
Vortigern, if you dare hurt my husband, I'll end you!
Morgan channeled her magic again, launching another assault.
Lot had always told himself he was like Huo Zhongru—good for nothing except siring sons.
But deep down, he knew he was a skilled knight in his own right.
His three children with Morgan all held high positions in the Round Table.
While most of the credit went to Morgan's relentless training (fueled by vengeance), it was impossible to deny that Lot, as their father, had contributed strong bloodlines.
The reason Lot commanded such loyalty wasn't just due to his inventions—his personal combat prowess was nothing to scoff at.
None in his territory could match him.
Now, facing Vortigern, he had no choice but to go all out.
Their blades clashed repeatedly.
"Not bad," Vortigern remarked, mildly impressed.
Lot's skill was exceptional among ordinary men.
But against someone with the blood of the White Dragon?
The gap was still there.
Victory would ultimately be his.
Even with that mage girl assisting, it wouldn't change a thing.
After just a few exchanges, sweat beaded on Lot's forehead.
[This guy… is ridiculously strong.]
I need to help Horndog!
Reading his thoughts, Morgan panicked.
My spells aren't powerful enough yet…
[To repel the Vile King, we need another plan.]
[Wait—that thing might work. But I need an opening.]
[A chance to draw the gun from my coat.]
Morgan's eyes lit up.
Horndog needs an opening!
Without hesitation, she rushed straight at Vortigern.
She threw out one of the taunts Lot had taught her.
The insult instantly snapped Vortigern's attention toward her.
Morgan poured every ounce of her mana into her staff.
A blinding light erupted before Vortigern's eyes.
This girl's mana isn't weak…
But a flashbang won't threaten me.
Vortigern had kept his distance.
If Lot charged now, he could easily evade.
So what's the point of this?
Vortigern didn't understand.
No idea how she knew, but—
I'm not wasting this chance.
"Tyrant King… the times have changed."
From his coat, he drew the gun.
While the Origin Bullets might not affect Vortigern much, a bullet was still a bullet.
Aimed straight for Vortigern's head.
Sensing danger, Vortigern twisted aside at the last second.
Something grazed past him.
A thin cut opened on his cheek.
Vortigern leaped back.
By the time the light faded—
Lot had already scooped Morgan into a princess carry, mounted his horse, and was galloping away.
Vortigern turned back to the supply depot.
It was already engulfed in flames.
The food stores—reduced to ashes.
"Next time I see those two… I'll slaughter them."
Vortigern's voice was ice.
That woman—taunting him, ambushing him without honor.
That man—attacking with hidden weapons.
Both of them—slipperier than snakes.
Truly… a perfect match.