The Curse of the Age of Gods

With the conclusion of Camelot's counterattack, Camelot and the Northern Kingdoms stood facing each other across the Great Wall of the North, as if returning to their previous state on Hadrian's Wall.

But Arkhan knew very well that this was just the calm before the storm.

In no more than five years, Vortigern would surely make a move against Camelot, and by then, it wouldn't be a mere skirmish like it is now. Both sides would inevitably engage in a life-or-death struggle.

In the end, only the victorious side would determine the future of Britain.

To prepare for this final showdown, Arkhan had a lot of groundwork to do.

Throughout history, wars boiled down to two things—money and people.

For Camelot at this time, the quickest way to make money was through grain trade.

Thanks to Karl's efforts, after two years, Camelot's grain reform was almost complete. With grain production increasing more than fifty times compared to previous years, it was more than enough to supply all of Britain.

However, due to population limits and the lingering effects of the Age of Gods, the demand for grain in Britain was not exceptionally high. In addition, other nations seemed to realize something, as they started restricting grain trade with Camelot.

Under this dual pressure, Camelot's grain sales quickly hit a bottleneck.

No matter how they lowered prices, the grain wouldn't sell.

Just as Arkhan contemplated how to break through, a man claiming to be the top businessman in Britain appeared, declaring he could help him solve the problem.

===

King's Study.

"You're Harlan?" Arkhan sat behind his desk, scrutinizing the tall and thin man before him.

Having spent some time in high society, his discernment had improved a bit. A quick glance at Harlan's accessories revealed valuable treasures; selling them could probably cover one percent of Camelot's tax revenue.

'Are businessmen this wealthy now?'

Arkhan's eyes flashed with a thoughtful expression. If he raided this man's house, the loot should be significant.

Meanwhile, Harlan was sweating a bit.

As the top businessman in Britain, he had seen a lot of things. But before this king, he felt as if a dragon were staring at him, making it hard to breathe.

Moreover, for some reason, he sensed a hint of danger in the king's gaze.

"You say you can solve my problem?" Arkhan asked with a casual tone.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Harlan replied respectfully.

"Let's hear it."

Arkhan silently decided that if this man dared to deceive him, he would raid his house tonight.

Harlan suddenly shivered, feeling the ominous sensation growing stronger. Not wanting to keep the king waiting, he hastily said, "Your Majesty, your current trouble is not knowing how to sell the grain, am I right?"

"That's right, so?" Arkhan nodded.

"In fact, this problem could be solved easily." Harlan said reassuringly. "Britain might not lack grain, but that doesn't mean other places don't."

Arkhan blinked and then his eyes lit up.

Exactly!

Since his grain couldn't sell in Britain, why not sell it to other places in need?

Arkhan turned his head to the map on the wall, focusing on the large area to the right of the British Isles.

"Looks like you've already noticed." Harlan smiled. "That's right, the other places I mentioned are indeed in Europe."

"Now, with the Western Roman Empire on the brink of collapse, the glory is gone, and the entire European continent has descended into chaos. King Ban and King Bors are battling King Claudas, the people of Burgundy and the Basques are in a fierce conflict, and the Western Roman Empire is engaging in naval battles with the Vandals, who have occupied Carthage, it's war everywhere."

"The adult males on their side are mostly drafted into the army, leaving women, the elderly, and children unable to handle the heavy burden of farming. Plus, their land is not as fertile as Britain's, so they face a significant shortage of food."

"So... Are you saying you can help me sell grain there?" Arkhan raised an eyebrow.

Harlan suddenly sighed.

"To be honest, Your Majesty, my family has been involved in trading between the British Isles and the European continent for five generations. It's because of this that I've become the most famous merchant in Britain."

Arkhan's eyes showed a hint of interest. In this era, thinking of engaging in international trade and actually taking action was indeed a rare courage, even for someone from the future like him, who had forgotten about such possibilities.

"Alright, you've indeed helped me solve a big problem." Arkhan leaned back in his chair. "Feel free to make any requests. As long as I can do it, I won't hesitate to fulfill it."

Harlan knelt on the ground.

"I have no requests, Your Majesty. I just hope you can help lift the curse on my family."

"Curse?" Arkhan furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Since five generations ago, people in our family have suffered from deteriorating health after the age of thirty—coughing, vomiting, falling ill, spitting blood. They die before they reach forty. We've consulted numerous doctors, but it's been in vain. Later, a mage told my grandfather that our family might be under some unknown curse." Harlan explained with a bitter smile.

For years, he had been searching for a way to break the curse, but all his efforts had been fruitless. It was only by chance that he heard about the Chosen King of Camelot being the Chosen One, blessed by God. After learning about the king's deeds, he rushed here without hesitation.

After a moment of contemplation, Arkhan lightly brushed Harlan with a detection magecraft but found nothing. He raised an eyebrow and then used Primordial Rune, yet the result was still nothing.

"There's no curse on you." Arkhan affirmed.

There was no curse in this world that even Primordial Rune couldn't detect. The only explanation was that there was no curse on Harlan.

"Then why is my family..." Harlan looked utterly confused.

Arkhan furrowed his brow, thought for a moment, and then a subtle change crossed his expression.

"I know what's wrong with your family..." Arkhan lightly tapped the armrest with his fingers. "Let's do this—after the first batch of grain trade is completed, I'll help you resolve this issue."

Harlan hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded reluctantly.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He was now at a dead end, and the Chosen King was his last hope. So, regardless of whether the king was deceiving him or not, he had no choice but to trust him.

Watching Harlan's retreating figure, Arkhan sighed silently.

It was indeed a curse, but not on Harlan's family; it was a curse on this land.

The name of this curse was the 'Age of Gods.'

Now, only Britain remained in the final stages of the Age of Gods across the world; elsewhere, it had long ended. The people of Britain, tainted by the True Ether from the Age of Gods, would naturally be affected when they went to other places.

When the Age of Gods completely faded in the future, the people of Britain would disappear into the river of history.

This was the inevitable end awaiting Britain.

Vortigern couldn't accept this, which led him to become the 'White Dragon' and 'Final God', attempting to restore the Age of Gods.

But Arkhan knew that reversing history in this way wouldn't save Britain; it would only make the situation worse.

If the Age of Gods was truly restored, humans would once again become the cattle and slaves of the gods, with no hope of liberation.

'I will change Britain's fate, but, it'll be done my own way!'

Arkhan clenched his fists tightly and silently vowed inside his heart.