Fate: Typemoon - My Dragon Knight

Aslan's memories, he could still recall the appearance of his so-called old man from many years ago. Deep within the distant impressions of this body, Vortigern's hair had once been a pale golden hue, not like now—faint gold tinged with too much grey. Over these long years, Aslan had grown up, and his cheap old man had grown old.

Since he was getting on in years, since age had caught up with him, it was only proper to supplement his health with some... health products.

As luck would have it, the Spear of Destiny in his hand held powerful holy energy and possessed the ability to heal injuries. Unlike in the faraway Avalon, this healing power could also be released onto others, as long as he willed it.

Aslan was a truly filial child. The moment he realized that his father was aging, of course he had to prepare some nourishing gifts to help his dear old dad take better care of his body.

Yes, like this Spear of Destiny in his hand—its holy light and life-giving power were surely the perfect remedy for his old father's physical condition.

And as a model of filial piety, Aslan naturally hoped that his long-absent father could quickly recover his aging body. Therefore, he would do everything in his power to make the holy spear radiate with sacred and life-giving brilliance. And wouldn't the release of its Noble Phantasm be the perfect condition to allow the sacred spear to shine in full?

He truly was such a considerate son!

In order to keep his father from suffering, he had to give it his all—no holding back, no saving mana. He would unleash the full might of the sacred spear!

Ah~ Father! You, so proud and strong your entire life—what can I do for you? Please accept this small token of my concern!

Am I your pride? Are you still worrying about me? The child you once cared for… has grown up now.

I'm so touched I could cry. And you?

The Spear of Destiny flared with brilliant light and unleashed its greatest power, hurtling toward Vortigern's neck with roaring force. Given the sheer might of this attack, if the target were anyone of lesser strength, there'd be no neck left to speak of—hell, the entire person might have been reduced to ash.

Vortigern reacted instantly, retracting his demonic sword and summoning the island's power to shield his body. In the next moment, a dazzling radiance pierced the darkness. In this space where only blackness remained, the holy light was blindingly bright.

Aslan's face showed no sign of relief. Until he confirmed that his old man had lost the ability to fight, everything remained uncertain. He didn't believe that his presence alone—deviating from the original timeline—was enough to defeat this demon dragon so easily. If it were truly that simple, then in the original story, Artoria wouldn't have needed nearly a full day of bitter combat.

As the light gradually faded, Aslan, empowered by both Avalon and the dense magic of the island, rapidly recovered his mana. Sensing how quickly he was regenerating, he couldn't help but muse: among all the participants in this hunt, perhaps only he had the ability to unleash Noble Phantasms repeatedly.

However, the dark power, as vast and oppressive as ever, showed no sign of lessening or stopping. That meant his all-out attack with the Spear of Destiny hadn't inflicted any serious damage on his cheap old man. That… wasn't exactly good news. Who would've thought his dear father would be such a tough opponent?

Should he feel proud and say, "As expected of my old man"?

What's there to be proud of?!!

He wasn't one of those masochistic players who enjoyed challenging every extreme-difficulty level! People who got addicted to Cat Mario were the ones who needed to be examined!

At times like these, he really did wish his old man was a bit weaker. Ah, but if he truly failed here, he'd probably die too. Even though they hadn't spent much time together, that man—Vortigern—wasn't one to let any enemy of his go unpunished.

Not even his own son, dragon blood or not.

As the light and dust settled, Vortigern's figure emerged before them. The black armor on his body showed signs of damage, and even the black demonic sword in his hand bore visible cracks.

Looking at the broken armor and weapon, Vortigern shook his head lightly. Then, with one hand, he grabbed the tattered armor, tore it off, and tossed it aside, revealing his well-toned physique.

But that flesh was no longer flesh-colored—it was covered in scales, countless scales. Jet black, yet reflecting a faint shimmer, like black gemstones—only deeper, more profound than any gem.

The black scales clung tightly to his abdomen, chest, neck, and even crept up his cheeks, forming a second skin of armor. Most likely, it was those very scales that absorbed the majority of the Spear of Destiny's destructive power.

"Truly worthy of being my son," Vortigern said. "You really gave me quite the surprise. If I hadn't been on guard, I might've fully enjoyed your little gift. But sadly—if you think a present like that is enough to move me, my boy, you've still got a long way to go!"

At his words, the island's power surged toward Vortigern. Even the shadow behind him slowly unfolded a pair of wings that wrapped around him.

The holy brilliance from Aslan's spear was also being drawn toward that same point. That space—it was deeper than any black hole, a rift in reality, a tear in space. Anything that entered would vanish completely from this world, never to return.

Darkness fully enveloped Vortigern and began devouring everything around it. The wind whipped through their hair, tugging at them and drawing them toward the abyss. If they hadn't slammed their weapons into the ground for anchorage, one misstep might've sealed their fate for eternity.

Meanwhile, that tightly compressed darkness began to pulse like a beating heart. If one had to describe it, the scene resembled an egg—a dark shell nurturing something unknown and terrible.

When Melusin saw this black shell again, she clenched her teeth, growling like a beast. It was instinct—the dragon within her reacting to a presence that had entered its territory, a threat that demanded warning. But that only confirmed what she already feared: a dragon was about to be born from the depths of that abyss.

No—"born" wasn't the right word. A better phrase would be "returning to his true form."

Her cheap old man was about to return to his full dragon form!

Crack—!

A fracture appeared on the black egg, but what spilled out from within wasn't light—it was a darkness even deeper, even more absolute. A darkness so overwhelming that even a single glance filled the soul with terror!