Blue-Eyes White Dragon: Adopted by the King of Knights [48]

Albion, the Dragon.

A super-lifeform born alongside the Earth, carrying over 4.6 billion years of biological memory.

“The oldest and most primordial being this planet has ever known!”

Merlin continued his explanation of the ancient true dragon.

And to prove he wasn’t bluffing, he even took Bluey and Artoria directly to Albion’s remains—a massive canyon hidden deep beneath a lake. The sheer size of it was so vast that even Bluey, whose body was as large as a mountain, could fly through it with ease.

In this abyssal rift, whose depth was impossible to estimate, Bluey looked as small and insignificant as Artoria.

“It’s huge—”

Not just Artoria—even Bluey, who hadn’t initially been all that impressed by the name “Albion,” now found himself instinctively tensing with respect before this colossal relic of an ancient world.

They flew through the vast gorge.

According to Merlin, this entire canyon was once Albion’s body—after the pathways to the Reverse Side of the World were sealed, the stranded true dragon had tried to burrow through the Earth’s core to return to the Root. But it had failed.

Its corpse was left here, fossilized into a vast maze-like canyon.

“The mystery contained here… it’s on par with a full-blown Lostbelt.”

Such was the power of a true dragon.

Even dead, Albion’s lingering mystery was enough to form a sacred domain. Bluey could see the traces of many rare phantasmal species that lived in the canyon—most of them bore partial signs of draconic transformation.

“The Lost Dragonkin, huh…”

Bluey glanced at the beings guarding the dragon’s tomb. For a moment, the thought crossed his mind to seize this place for himself.

But in the end, he chose to let it be.

If something belonged to the dead, then let it remain undisturbed.

At the same time, Bluey suddenly understood what Scáthach had meant when she’d said:

“Old things like me—whose roles are finished but who refuse to die—sooner or later, we have to find a place to belong.”

What if she hadn’t prepared a place for herself?

Would her body have become something like Albion’s—a sacred ruin frozen in time?

—Bluey would soon learn the answer.

Because moments later, he was presented with a living example.

…

Britain. The White Cliffs Citadel.

Once the capital of the Kingdom of Camelot.

Now it had become Vortigen’s stronghold—the White Dragon King’s lair.

A true dragon’s den.

“That’s… a dragon.”

From high in the sky, Artoria sat on Bluey’s back, gazing down at the city beneath the heavy clouds. Her eyes widened in shock.

There it was—a pale dragon sprawled across the ruined city. Its eyes were half-closed, as if asleep.

But Bluey could tell at a glance—it wasn’t resting.

“He’s already noticed us.”

“He’s just too weak to fight right now. He’s doing everything he can not to provoke a confrontation.”

Bluey could see it clearly—the weariness in that pallid dragon’s frame.

And in the next instant, he unleashed it—a burst of pure, destructive light, roaring from his maw straight at the wounded White Dragon King.

“Strike while they’re down—kill while they’re weak.”

A lesson he’d learned from Scáthach. Once you were sure of your enemy, there was no need to hesitate. A battle between dragons only ended when one fell for good.

“Wait—!”

“You’re attacking already?!”

“Huh? Why isn’t he dodging? Did that hit him?”

“Did it… actually land?”

Artoria’s expression cycled rapidly from concern, to confusion, to anticipation—

—Until finally, it froze in astonishment.

“The attack… landed.”

She saw it with her own eyes—Bluey’s breath struck the pale dragon’s back, blasting open a massive hole.

But what flowed out wasn’t blood.

It was sludge—thick, black, nauseating muck that oozed from the wound and spilled across the ground, igniting into sickly flames that consumed the long-dead city.

A curse.

The highest level of curse—emanating from the land itself.

Even Artoria—who had not inherited the title of "Sovereign of the Isle"—could feel the overwhelming hatred emanating from the black mud:

[Why resist? Why deny? Why pretend to be human?]

[If Britain must fall, if we must perish, if mankind is to defile this sacred isle—]

[Then let me return it to its origin.]

[—Let me turn this great Britain into hell.]

[—A dark paradise where no human may ever live again!]

…

The dread dragon howled.

A roar of agony. Of rage.

It writhed in the fire, struggling to rise, and let loose a breath of black corruption at the enemy above.

It was the filth of the world—the antithesis of all that was sacred. A single touch could strip the divine of its light.

Bluey recoiled, unwilling to let that disgusting sludge touch him, and retaliated with another attack.

Boom—

This time, a brilliant white blast struck the dragon’s left wing.

But it meant nothing.

More black mud poured out—seeping into the ground, healing the wound as it defiled the earth. In moments, the dragon's body looked as though it had never been harmed at all.

“Let’s go.”

Artoria exhaled and gave the order to retreat.

—She understood now what had happened to Vortigen.

This man, once a king whose presence had shaken the land, had become something else entirely.

He was no longer himself.

He had fused with the island.

He had become its will—its voice.

Any attack on him was recognized by the land itself as an attack on Britain.

“We have no way to kill him.”

“We’ll have to go back… and come up with a new plan.”

---

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!