[39] The Best Gift in the World 

[Stepping out of the spiral staircase in the underground, everything seen and heard before felt like a hazy dream.]

[You chatted and laughed with your father and the witch, yet the atmosphere in the banquet hall remained somewhat stagnant and silent.]

[He had understood your beliefs and comprehended your determination, but he still couldn't accept it. What father could watch his child embark on such a perilous path, challenging the world itself.]

[However, Vortigern knew he couldn't stop you, the stubborn individual with wings. A bitter smile, reminiscent of an old father, hung on his face as he closed his eyes, remaining silent.]

[With age comes a decline in appetite. Even though you personally prepared the meal, your old man found himself unable to eat.]

[You beckoned, and a broken wooden sword instantly flew through the air, effortlessly erasing the cracks with a casual swipe of your hand.]

[It was the sword you and Vortigern often practiced with during your childhood.]

[Preserved with great care by you.]

["Old man not feeling up to the meal, how about loosening up those joints a bit?"]

[You suggested, lifting the sword and pointing it at your father, Vortigern.]

[Facing your provocation, Vortigern gazed at the mottled marks on the wooden sword, chuckling with a hint of dumbfoundedness.]

["Seems like there's been a lack of discipline... otherwise, it wouldn't have come to this. Let me properly discipline you today, Alvin!"]

[The candlelight dimmed for a moment.]

[The light-devouring Dragon slowly stood up...]

"Perhaps, Father shouldn't have let you practice swordsmanship."

The robust figure of an old man stood on the combat field, holding a wooden sword. His hands naturally hung down, and his whole body exuded a suppressed aura, towering like an unmovable earth.

"There's no regret medicine in this world, old man."

Alvin held the sword high with one hand, facing Vortigern with a sideways stance that seemed full of flaws.

"Using the sword posture I taught you, thinking you can surpass me? You're too arrogant, my son. Besides strengthening your weapon, I'll teach you a lesson without using magecraft."

"No magecraft? Old man, you're still playing tough. Arrogant or not, give it a try, old man."

"Then I'll test your mettle, Alvin."

As the words fell silent, King Vortigern took a step forward.

Thud!

Despite being an incredibly casual movement, it suddenly produced a heavy roar. The step seemed to hit not on the training ground but in the depths of a person's heart.

Crushed stones scattered, and the massive figure of the old man vanished in an instant. At the same moment, a ferocious slash, almost making a sound of breaking the wind, abruptly aimed at the silver-haired youth's neck...

Then, it passed through!

Vortigern's strike only hit the afterimage of Alvin.

Without any warning.

The daylight in the training ground was suddenly swallowed, as if plunged into a deep and dark night, enveloped in a gloomy and profound atmosphere.

"Light Devour... Good, my son."

Witnessing this scene, Vortigern's eyes revealed a hint of admiration.

This skill, even as a White Dragon, he understood the principles behind it. It took him until the age of sixty, sitting in the polar night, to finally master it.

The name of the light-devouring Dragon began to surface from that time.

"Come! Yet, this alone is not enough to defeat your father!"

"Hmn."

With the humming and singing voice accompanying.

Eight figures appeared in an instant.

The silver-haired youth's figure suddenly split, and in the blink of an eye, it simultaneously slashed at Vortigern from eight directions. The sword in his hand emitted a solemn and mysterious sword light, slender and sharp like shadows.

The interweaving of light and shadow made each figure seem incredibly real.

The ultimate life form's supreme speed allowed Alvin to switch between truth and illusion in an instant.

This is a technique he used before against Merlin...

...A momentary brilliance woven together by illusion and swordsmanship, called the instant bloom of death.

However... this kind of petty trick was far from enough to deceive the light-devouring Dragon, also known as the White Dragon of Britain.

In an instant, he recognized the true body, and Vortigern abruptly raised his sword, slashing at the figure he was certain of. A sharp sound erupted again...

Sizzle~

Even without using magecraft, even with just the physical body!

The violent strength of the White Dragon, now towering like the earth, was not something a not-yet-adult ultimate life form could shake!

However...

Alvin completely did not dodge or avoid, facing the raging airflow and slash, the sword light directly targeted the weakest joint in the Dragon's defense.

Watching his sword tip, getting closer and closer to his son's forehead.

Closer and closer...

With Alvin's speed, he could undoubtedly form a prolonged stalemate, yet he still, still had no intention of avoiding!

He wanted... to exchange injury for injury!

A slight tremor in Vortigern's heart, he suddenly tilted the blade, the sinking sword directly hitting Alvin's sword.

...This was a flaw!

Hundreds of dark sword lights erupted suddenly, like a silent black rose blooming.

Clang~

A teeth-aching explosion, the figures of both sides passed each other.

Morgan, who was standing on the balcony observing, was so nervous that she almost held her breath, gazing at the result of this father-son battle.

Hiss...

A bloody trace silently opened on the face of the silver-haired youth, and viscous red oozed out slowly.

"Alvin lost, didn't he..."

Morgan sighed, there was no surprise at this result. After all, the opponent was... King Vortigern.

The light-devouring Dragon had been suppressing Britain for a full twenty years.

How old was Alvin now? He hadn't even reached fifteen, let alone his coming-of-age ceremony, which was still a few days away!

It could be said that being able to face Vortigern head-on was a freak that could not be described even as a peerless genius.

"I lost..."

The slow voice of the old man echoed, surprising the witch.

Snap~

The wooden sword in Vortigern's hand suddenly burst open, instantly turning into a pile of powder, lightly drifting away with the wind.

"You held back, I won unfairly."

Yes, Alvin did it on purpose.

From the beginning, he didn't think about causing harm to the other party. Instead, he aimed to destroy his old man's weapon.

He was gambling.

Betting that Vortigern would divert the blade.

Betting on the father's gentleness towards his son.

So, he won the bet.

As Alvin said... this is truly an unfair victory.

In a life-and-death confrontation on the battlefield, he could never win no matter what.

Vortigern, the White Dragon of Britain, losing his sword might be his strongest true form. His hands were natural treasures, an extension of the British land. With a casual strike infused with magecraft, it echoed like the thunderous roar of a hammer, capable of shaking the whole of mainland Britain.

However, this was a Sword Duel.

The sword was shattered, and naturally, he lost.

"Unfair victory, so what? Losing means losing."

"Alvin, you seized the only opportunity you had."

Yes.

If it happened again, Vortigern would never fall for the same trick.

Alvin seized the only, fleeting glory of victory.

Reflecting deeply on this, the old man's voice carried no trace of defeat or bitterness.

On the contrary, as he looked at the silver-haired youth before him, the accumulated frustration seemed to dissipate, and the knots in his heart unraveled.

He lost but witnessed Alvin's determination.

Amidst the endless brink of death, he earned that slim chance of survival.

It was indeed an unshakable and worthy resolve.

The best gift Alvin gave him in this world.

With a son like this, what else could a father ask for?

"You've grown, kid."

Vortigern said softly. His posture was straight, as if the earth itself stood tall from his figure.

"I admit, you now have the qualification to stand with me. I won't stop you anymore, Alvin. Do whatever you want. My old body will support you with all its might."

"But..."

The robust old man stepped forward, giving the grinning young man before him a fierce headbutt.

"Oof!"

Alvin held his head in pain, eyes seeing stars from the impact.

"No more of that! If I didn't hold back, your head is already shattered."

Rubbing his face, he staggered for a moment.

The silver-haired youth took a deep breath, finally regaining some clarity in his vision.

"It's nothing, just a small injury."

He smiled, wiping away the bloodstains on his face with his fingertips.

Under the influence of the ultimate life form's physique, the gruesome wound visibly healed at an eye-catching speed.

The smile on the old man's face disappeared.

"Alright, I was wrong! Old man, next time, I promise, next time..."

Alvin hurriedly apologized.

He was always humble, never remorseful.

Next time, for sure.

Looking at the burly old man before him, now he even had a head on him. Well, he'd probably surpass him in a few years.

Alvin raised his hand, gently rubbing the frosty silver hair of his old man.

This time, the old man accepted it without any fuss.

"When will you pass the throne to me?" Alvin asked.

"Get lost!" Vortigern cursed with a laugh.

"Then I'll get lost."

Alvin was ready to slip away.

Better go and have a deep conversation with Morgan. The old man won't spill gold coins.

He raised his head, gazing at the blushing witch on the balcony.

Just at that moment...

A sharp eagle cry came from the sky.

Vortigern raised his hand, and a magnificent eagle landed on his arm, claws entwined with rolled-up parchment.

A secret message from the frontline army.

[Report! The great sage Merlin has announced in Orkney County that the time has come. In seven days, the King's selection ceremony will be held in Essex County, and the masses are in an uproar! How will Your Majesty decide?]

After reading it, Vortigern casually crumpled the message into powder.

He looked at his son, a smile that seemed like a jest on his face.

"In seven days... that happens to be your birthday, Alvin."

"I see."

Alvin lifted his gaze, looking at the clear sunlight in the east.

The golden fields of wheat and her flowing golden hair seemed to sway in his mind.

The silver-haired youth smiled.

"Merlin."

"I really miss him..."

"He truly delivered to me... the best gift in this world."

Vortigern nodded.

"Such a grand ceremony, no need to think, all the named or unnamed knights in all of Britannia will gather in Essex County..."

"How many troops do you want, Alvin? Your father will allocate an entire legion to you."

"No need, Dad."

Facing the bright sunlight.

The son of the White Dragon gently raised his hand.

With his iron-gray eyes hollow, in those blooming feather-like pupils, it seemed like black flames were burning fiercely.

Alvin spread his five fingers.

Slowly, he slowly squeezed that sun...

...into the palm of his hand.

"I alone am enough."