Fate/Ultimate Antagonist

[37] Have You Ever Disciplined Me

"Knights of the Round Table? Just a bunch of greenhorns. They dare to come, and I'll make sure they won't leave alive."

As the devourer of light, how could Vortigern, the vile king, hold knights in high regard, especially those seeking fame and glory?

A dead knight is a good knight.

With the appearance of the Round Table Knights, local lords and vassals gradually formed an alliance, and recent battle losses didn't look good.

But, what does the army's casualties matter to Vortigern? He didn't care about the life or death of the Saxons people, losses were losses.

It's like cutting chives, new shoots will grow.

On the other side of the sea, the Germanic tribes coveted the fertile land of Britannia. The incoming Saxons people would continuously replenish the king's army.

In the end, these plunder-loving barbarians were just useful tools in Vortigern's hands, livestock not worth cherishing.

"If they come to Londinium, I might consider them. Those disturbances... are just mosquito bites, not worth mentioning."

Vortigern sneered.

"Because your coming-of-age ceremony is approaching, I returned to give you a gift. I retracted the army's defensive line for your sake, but they really think it's their achievement."

Only in front of his son would the king speak so softly.

"Never mind, what's there to talk about with these small fries."

The tall and straight silver-haired old man sat at the table, smiling gently, waving to the young man.

"Come, Alvin. It's been a while. Let your father have a look at you."

A helpless smile appeared on his face.

Alvin walked up, bowed, and his father rubbed his son's head.

"You've grown taller, Alvin."

"I'm almost an adult, old man. As a dragonkind, reaching one meter eighty is pretty normal, right?"

Vortigern's sturdy figure already exceeded two meters. Alvin, inheriting the blood of the White Dragon, reached one meter six when he was eight. People and artificial beings couldn't be compared in physique.

"Hmm..."

Vortigern assessed the young man in front of him. Now, sitting down, he even had to look up.

... How time flies.

"Time waits for no one. Father still remembers when you looked like a baby in swaddling clothes. Fifteen years have passed in the blink of an eye."

The old man's gray eyes lowered slightly.

"In a few days, it will be your coming-of-age birthday. Is there any gift you want?"

"In these years, father is sorry. I haven't had much time to accompany you."

Rubbing his son's head, Vortigern smiled gently.

"Could it be that you want me, this old bone, to accompany you in sword practice?"

"Long time no see your swordsmanship. I'm a bit eager."

In Britannia, who could still surpass Alvin in swordsmanship now? Perhaps only his old man, the king, could do it.

Is it ten rounds now? Or is it evenly matched? Alvin felt the outcome was uncertain.

"However, let's talk about these entertaining matters later. I have two somewhat unpleasant requests."

"But feel free to say. Do you still need to be polite for your adult ceremony gift?"