Blue-Eyes White Dragon: Adopted by the King of Knights [58]

Chapel of Light, Side Chamber.

Bluey watched the scene unfold before him with an amused glint in his eye:

Morgan—having just suffered a double failure in both education and experimentation—was radiating resentment, lashing out like a venomous serpent gone berserk. Her sharp tongue spared no one, not even the innocent little white beast that happened to pass by. Fou, caught in the crossfire, wore an expression of pure injustice: offended but too afraid to protest.

And yet, the one at the eye of the storm, Mashu, remained utterly untouched.

Composed. Unfazed.

Was it because she had a big heart? Or because she was forgiving?

No. Neither.

The truth was simpler—and more tragic.

This girl, raised in a sterile lab, had barely ever interacted with other people. She didn’t even understand what malice was.

Like a child who’s never been hit doesn’t know to flinch from a raised hand, Mashu—never having been scolded—didn’t realize she was being attacked at all.

To her, Morgan wasn’t lashing out.

She just seemed… mentally unwell. Like someone ranting nonsense due to stress or sickness.

Maybe, Mashu thought, she needs a doctor?

That thought made her recall Dr. Romani Archaman, and the comforting little routines he used to do for her.

So instinctively, she mimicked one of them right there in the temple.

“Magical Girl☆Merry reporting in! If you’ve got something on your mind, you can tell Merry all about it!”

Soft voice. Sweet smile.

Hands curled into faux cat ears, posed atop her head in a clumsy, cheerful gesture.

All of that—playing out in this sanctum of sacred mystery—left not just Morgan and the watching Bluey speechless…

Even the sulking white beast seemed stunned.

“…Fou?”

“Out. OUT. ALL OF YOU—!”

“Don’t let me see your faces again today!”

Ten minutes later, Bluey and Mashu had been forcibly evicted by a furious red dragon princess. They now sat in the garden behind the temple.

“Did I… make her mad?”

Mashu furrowed her brow, clearly distressed.

She held a steaming cup of potion—bitter beyond reason.
So bitter that even someone raised on a steady diet of medicine found it barely tolerable.

But she had to drink it.

Morgan, the island’s second Grand Magus, was undisputed in her talent for potioncraft.
After all, in a certain parallel world, she had successfully brewed a literal gender-swapping elixir—so healing Mashu’s congenital deficiencies and improving her base constitution? Child’s play.

As for why it tasted so foul… that only proved Morgan’s prowess.
Only someone of her caliber could engineer a remedy so potent while simultaneously making it taste unbearably awful. Who knew how much thought she’d put into making sure it hurt going down, just out of spite?

“Was it revenge? A little.”

“But honestly? I don’t think she’s actually angry.”

“If anything… she might’ve enjoyed it a bit.”

Few people truly understood Morgan—but Bluey was one of them.

When she was truly angry, she didn’t scream. She smiled sweetly—while secretly constructing a labyrinth of vicious plots.

Mashu’s so-called “punishment” didn’t even come close to that. If anything, it was… a tiny flicker of Morgan’s humanity.

Even if that flicker came wrapped in sarcasm and childish pranks.

For someone like Morgan—half a step into inhuman territory—this trace of emotion, no matter how twisted, was rare and precious.

---

Citadel, Main Avenue.

Three knights strode quickly along the road leading to the temple.

At the head was Bedivere—the first to join the King’s cause, and the only one in the kingdom who wasn’t disliked by Morgan.

Or perhaps more accurately: ignored.

“Sir Bedivere is unmatched, as always.”

“When it comes to grace under pressure, no one does it better.”

Trailing behind him, Gareth spoke with heartfelt admiration for Bedivere’s tact and composure.

That sentiment wasn’t hers alone.

Just like how Gawain was considered the most loyal knight, Tristan the most elegant, and Mordred the most… punchable—Bedivere had his own niche within the Round Table’s collective imagination.

He fulfilled his role as attendant and steward with practiced ease, maintaining amiable relations with every knight and official.

“Also—Agravain, seriously, you should take notes from Sir Bedivere.”

“When we meet Mother, do not speak right away. Let me soften her mood first. Then you can bring up the questions that’ll probably make her flip the table.”

Gareth turned back and addressed the stone-faced knight behind her with the patient gravity of an older sister.

In truth, she had no idea what Agravain wanted to ask Morgan.

But the potential fallout? Oh, everyone knew.

Agravain was a knight who rarely voiced his thoughts.

Which meant that when he did, it was to criticize—harshly.

Among the Round Table, he was the one who pursued truth above all.
He sugarcoated nothing, not even for the King herself. When he spoke, he said exactly what he meant—bluntly and without apology.

That kind of honesty was… not well-loved.
Even among the famously noble Round Table knights, few could say they liked him.

Now consider that their "Mother"—Morgan—was legendarily petty.

If Agravain really went off on her, no one would be surprised if she burned the entire city down out of spite.

That was why Gareth had insisted on coming along.

As Morgan’s only acknowledged daughter (Mordred didn’t count), she hoped she still held some place in her mother's heart.

Sure, this version of Morgan might not be the same “witch queen” Gareth once knew…
but the bond of mother and daughter wasn’t so fragile that it could be erased by a little reality shift.

“Worst case…”

“I’ll just butter her up. A few cuddles should do the trick.”

---

This is a fan translation of 综漫：青眼幼龙，被骑士王捡到了 by 歌冰丽月. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!