"Though Britain has now become a wasteland—sparse trees, grass struggling to grow, prey scarce—there is still life here. It is a sanctuary where the shadows of the past linger.
In this harsh environment, life shines with a noble brilliance, unlike the waste and abuse seen in the mundane world."
Moran, having lived through many lifetimes, understands the original sin of humanity. Yet he also knows the light within them better than anyone. Britain still holds value worth saving, a truth Vortigern fails to see.
No, perhaps he does see it, but in his view, these things are inherently evil. Thus, he cannot recognize their worth.
"In a way, isn't this the essence of nature? The coexistence of light and darkness that Britain once embodied can still be seen today."
"Perhaps you are right, Albion. But with your deep understanding of humanity, you must also know the lengths they will go to in order to survive, don't you?"
Vortigern does not deny Moran's words. However, his focus is different.
"I know it well—behind that brilliance, humans are a species that proudly destroys nature, shamelessly exploiting the planet that nurtures them! They leave nothing untouched, devouring even the scraps. The Saxons are proof of this!"
"All for the sake of survival! They seek to consume everything, trampling even what they deem worthless, all while proclaiming it as a noble act of necessity! Shameless—!!"
Dark, turbid currents surged around Vortigern. His towering frame seemed to churn with boundless rage, voicing the sins of humanity on behalf of the island.
Hatred and anger overflowed, as if the entire island of Britain wept.
"Even the mother who birthed them—the planet itself—they would kill! This is what humanity is! Ridiculous! Truly ridiculous! What are humans but parasites!? They lack even the resolve to die alongside this island!"
"All they know is to consume, forever hungry! After devouring one island, they move on to the next!"
"Rather than let this vile species defile it, let it all be destroyed! I will return it to its primal state with my own hands!"
The shadows beneath Vortigern's feet expanded, staining his armor in darkness.
Though it was midday, the sun seemed to have been swallowed by a dragon, casting down a rain of tainted tears filled with hatred.
"—Turn glorious Britain into hell! A dark paradise where humans can never dwell again!"
Vortigern's trembling hands reached toward the sky, his expression filled with longing hope.
Like a child offering a sincere prayer to a god, his pure evil bordered on the realm of good.
"Vortigern, have you truly gone so mad? Your hatred for humanity's sins has blinded you to the point where you can no longer see even a glimmer of light."
Moran's sigh carried a hint of sorrow.
[You could feel Vortigern's love for Britain]
[You possess the records of Britain since its birth, and in a way, you understand his perspective]
[Yet, you cannot agree with it]
[To fixate solely on the darkness while ignoring the light—what beauty could such a land possibly nurture?]
"Vortigern, you have gone too far. As the dragon who guards Britain, I will grant you one final mercy. I will not allow you to bring down this darkness."
"Hahahahaha! Very well! Even if we understand each other, it means nothing! Since ancient times, the victor reigns supreme! Come, Albion! Show me if you can withstand Britain's madness!"
[Understanding each other does not mean acceptance]
[This is the situation you find yourselves in]
[Both of you carry something you wish to protect, and both hold beliefs you refuse to yield to anyone]
[Words and thoughts are too frivolous]
[At this point, only the most primal method remains—to prove who will survive through sheer strength—]
It was a hole torn into the world.
Swallowing molten iron, scorching and searing, Vortigern devoured the light of this island.
His human form had long been discarded.
What stood before Moran was a grotesque, worm-like abomination, a being that inspired revulsion.
The Mad Dragon Vortigern.
This was the true form of the entity that sought to lead Britain to extinction.
"Hah, even my light can be devoured?"
Moran transformed into his dragon form.
The True Ether flowing from his body was instantly consumed.
The darkness clung like a parasite, growing denser the more sacred the opponent.
If Vortigern were merely a dragon, he would stand no chance against Albion, the Dragon of the Boundary.
But Vortigern was no ordinary dragon.
Now, he was Britain itself.
The island's will, its avatar, the Mad King.
The weak tribal king who had drunk dragon's blood was no longer human. He was the embodiment of Britain's self-destructive consciousness.
"However, even the strongest darkness has its limits. Devour my light to your heart's content! Let's see how much you can handle!"
Moran unleashed True Ether with grandeur.
The radiant aurora surged like the polar day, rendering space and position meaningless under his control.
Everything within reach faded in color.
In an instant, the dark world vanished.
It was as if night and day had rapidly alternated.
It was not that Vortigern had withdrawn the darkness, but that the light had grown so intense it pierced through it.
Vortigern let out a deafening roar.
Transformed into a dragon, he writhed and struggled as if in agony.
The sensation of being overfilled and ruptured was far from pleasant.
"I told you, don't underestimate my light. See? You've been overwhelmed."
Moran smiled faintly.
But his smile did not last long.
His dragon heart convulsed violently, warning him not to overexert himself as he had just done.
It had been too long since he last returned to Avalon.
He had been enduring through sheer willpower until now.
"—After holding on for so long, just hold on a little longer."
Moran gritted his teeth and raised his dragon head.
In his mind, he saw Artoria.
And Morgan, on this island.
He would not admit that this light could lose to darkness.
The one who would survive—was him!