Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

The Unfallen City, the Pure White Holy City—Camelot...

Merlin awoke from her slumber. Being a half-blood of human and otherworldly lineage, her eyes gleamed a peculiar shade of pink—an eerie hue that, instead of diminishing her beauty, only enhanced her otherworldly allure.

This was the woman known as the Flower Mage, Merlin, a powerful sorceress who had served as advisor to three generations of Celtic kings and would go on to guide the future King Arthur.

On the entire isle of Britain, perhaps only one other could rival Merlin's mastery of magic—the true ruler of the island, the savior fairy, Lady Morgan.

"Strange... something managed to pull me into a 'dream journey.' Has fate shifted...?"

Merlin narrowed her eyes. As a hybrid of human and a succubus, she could maintain lucidity in dreams, control them, and slip into the dreams of others. But controlling dreams was nothing compared to her true prowess—Dream Prophecy.

It might sound rude, but as a half-demon, Merlin lacked any human emotions. Everything she did was because she deemed it what she ought to do.

As a grand mage who could foresee the course of destiny, she understood that all things in this world were but chapters written by fate.

And she was a mage who danced along the threads of destiny, without purpose or aim of her own.

Merlin chose to aid the Celtic kings throughout the ages because she knew that in the weave of fate, there would inevitably be a deadly clash between the red dragon of the Celts and the white dragon of the Saxons. Her role, as dictated by fate, was to stand by the red dragon.

So, no gratitude was needed. Merlin was merely following the path that had been laid out for her.

"But these are just inconsequential side stories, hardly enough to sway the main narrative... Hmm, not worth bothering about."

Thinking back to the boy who spoke with such sorrow, Merlin chuckled softly, "Ah, what a fascinating response. Humans truly are... There's nothing in this world more interesting than humans."

"Well then, since no one else knows, I'll pretend it never happened."

Merlin was not the only one on the Isle of Britain who possessed prophetic insight, though there were no more than three who had such powers. And even those individuals, when casting their prophecies, were at the mercy of luck and circumstance.

Merlin's method of prophecy was through dreams, but the other two had their own unique means.

By sheer coincidence, one of the others with the gift of foresight had also been drawn into an involuntary prophecy under the subtle pull of destiny.

Lady Morgan sat in her magical workshop, staring curiously at the ink-stained page of her book. The smeared marks, if ignored, left behind a collection of letters that formed a single word:

Maple Ridge.

"A prophecy... How rare."

With slender fingers painted a shade of deep azure, Morgan stroked the letters. Her touch carried a mysterious and bewitching allure, unique to a sorceress. "It's only been a few months since the last prophecy—the birth of that false red dragon..."

"That prediction brought only misfortune. What about this one?"

A stunning smile graced Morgan's lips. "Ah, it seems that Britannia still favors me, Morgan... After all, I am the true child of this island. I am the rightful ruler of Britain!"

"Maple Ridge, hmm? Sir Ector's territory?"

"Well then, I suppose I should pay a visit..."

6 Years Old: Your mother begins to frighten you with tales of the wicked witch, Morgan, from Celtic legends. Though you aren't truly afraid of her, you pretend to be, just to make your mother smile.

7 Years Old: After a year of enduring your mother's warnings about Morgan, you finally rebel and declare, "I'm not scared of witches! Morgan is the cutest in the world!"

Little did you know, those words reached the ears of a certain witch observing you from the shadows, interpreting the prophecy.

8 Years Old: Your mother switches tactics and tries to scare you with stories of the wicked White Dragon and the shadow-devouring dragon, Vortigern. But you remain unfazed, and casually remark, "They don't seem as cool as Morgan..."

After all, it's just idle talk. There's no way Vortigern would cross the sea just to get you.

9 Years Old: You have become a promising knight's squire. This year, your mother passes away...

"Kaelar, my child..."

A frail woman lay on velvet-smooth sheets. Despite the luxury of her surroundings and the ancient magecraft employed, nothing could extend her lifespan—her time had come.

Su Kai—or rather, Kaelar, the son of Sir Ector—stood before her with a sorrowful expression.

Sir Ector, a knight loyal to Uther Pendragon, was rarely home. Whether guarding Uther in Camelot or battling Vortigern and the Saxons, he was always away.

The Maple Ridge estate was close enough to Camelot that, if he chose, Sir Ector could have breakfast with Uther in the morning, then arrive at Maple Ridge by midday to argue with Kaelar until their faces were flushed with rage, only to return to Camelot by nightfall.

As a man from a modern age, Kaelar despised the Celts' barbaric ways—killing for the sake of killing. Such meaningless slaughter would only lead the Celts to ruin.

This clash of ideals was more profound than any dispute over wealth, and Sir Ector felt both pride and irritation toward his son.

Britannia was far from peaceful. The island's mysteries faded slower than the mainland's, leaving a lingering echo of the Age of Gods.

Here, trees bore sweet fruits year-round, and crops flourished even with minimal effort.

But the slow decay was still decay. Once the compression of resources began, it would not stop. Life would have to find a way.

The fairies who truly controlled Britannia were Gaia's children, Earth's tendrils, and favored by the Greater Source. Even though they foresaw the inevitable decline of the Age of Gods, they would not seek a future like humans did.

The fairies simply wished to take Britannia, with its last vestiges of magic, and sink it into the Inner Sea of the Stars.

The Outside of the World and the Inner Sea of the Stars were the two havens for those who sought escape—one for the wise humans who ascended beyond, and the other for beings like fairies, spirits, and non-human creatures.

But Uther was a king of men. He would not allow the fairies to take Britannia, yet he did not possess full authority over the island. In terms of dominion, he held less sway than Vortigern, the White Dragon.

Still, Uther's fame as a wise ruler far surpassed that of Vortigern, whose reputation was vile and who was known as the Cunning White Dragon. Many in Britannia awaited the arrival of the prophesied Red Dragon, who Merlin foretold would ultimately defeat the White Dragon.

Yes, fairies, Vortigern, invading Saxons, Uther, Merlin and the druids, and even the Romans backing Uther from behind...

Britannia was a boiling cauldron of chaos. The situation was so dire that Uther couldn't manage it, so he laid an egg—a little Red Dragon to handle the mess for him.

Such was the state of Britannia in the Age of Gods...

"Mother, is there any last wish you have?" Kaelar asked, his voice somber yet dry of tears. He stepped forward to hold her hand. "What can I do for you?"

"A last wish..." She shook her head gently. "Kaelar, my child... There's nothing I want. If I had a wish, it would be only that I can't see you grow up."

"Kaelar, you've always been strong-willed and mature beyond your years. Even Ector couldn't sway you..." Her expression softened. "I know you've humored my attempts to scare you. Once I'm gone, there will be no more stories to tell."

Kaelar fell silent, squeezing her hand without knowing what to say.

She gently stroked his chestnut hair and asked, "Kaelar, what kind of person do you want to be?"

"There's no need to answer me now. That's a question to ponder for a lifetime."

9 Years Old: At your mother's funeral, Sir Ector returned. With him came a boy, slightly younger than you. Sir Ector declared that this boy would grow up alongside you as a fellow knight.

After the funeral, Sir Ector pulled you aside to explain the boy's identity—the future king of the Celts. He commanded you to pledge your loyalty to this future king, as he had.

You said nothing.

10 Years Old: You have turned Maple Ridge into a thriving and prosperous domain. Peace reigns, and even the Gauls across the sea have heard of your wisdom.

But you feel lost. Did you really work so hard to become a feudal lord—a master of slaves? In your heart, is that your true desire? Do you genuinely wish to be a ruler like Caesar or a general like Bai Qi, pushing yourself forward relentlessly?

What is your path?

Do you still remember that you are a child of the 21st century, a time of democracy and human rights, where everyone lived free and joyous under the sun?

Do you... really want to become an oppressor?

As the de facto ruler of Maple Ridge, there is no one who can hear your thoughts. Unknowingly, you wander into the forest that Ector ordered burned years ago. The bones of the dead remain scattered and unburied.

You know this is a Celtic custom—to use the bones and blood of enemies as offerings to the nameless spirits within the woods.

You kneel, gathering the scattered, nameless white bones. Perhaps some of these people had never seen Maple Ridge before stepping onto its soil, driven by orders to pillage and burn. Dying at the hands of the Celts who lived here was a fitting end.

It was, and should have been, that way...

The Saxons set sail under their captain's orders, who in turn obeyed his chieftain, who followed Vortigern, who vied for power against Uther. It seemed everyone had a reason, each doing what they thought was right.

The Celts led the invaders into the forest and burned them alive, brutal but effective. The Saxons hadn't returned to Maple Ridge since. It was proof.

But you knew—it was wrong.

Everyone was wrong!

No... No... Everything was wrong!!!

But what was right?

You begin to ponder.

11 Years Old: You meet someone—a woman as beautiful as a fairy. The moment you see her, a thought flickers in your mind: No earthly beauty could rival hers; she must be either a demon or a fox-spirit. You understand the sentiment of old storytellers—the otherworldly beauty before you seemed too perfect for the human realm.

To your surprise, she seems elated to see you, murmuring to herself, "I've found him... Finally, I've found him... Is it really him?"

12 Years Old: After two years, you have long recognized that the young 'boy' who arrived with Ector is actually a girl. Her quirks are too many to miss—bathing alone, sneaking away for privacy, and even...

Well, no one can eat as much as she does.

Kaelar raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a teasing smile. "Arthur, why are you always following me around? You don't let me join you when you relieve yourself, and you wait until I'm asleep to take a bath. We're not exactly the best of brothers, are we?"

The small, blonde 'boy' pursed her lips, her azure eyes reflecting a hint of stubbornness and defiance. Although young and dressed in the plain attire of a knight's squire, her delicate features were stunning—flawless from every angle.

Kaelar wasn't blind. Even as someone who was only familiar with the basics of Type-Moon, he knew well who this little one was.

He knew exactly who stood before him.

This was just his little guilty pleasure. Kaelar chuckled to himself. Her body may have shrunk, but her mind... also seems smaller!

Somehow, it reminded him of a young boy teasing a girl he fancied to the point of tears.

To the farmers and noble peers of Maple Ridge, Kaelar, the son of Sir Ector, was the ideal noble heir—calm, composed, brilliant, and strong.

Despite being only ten years old, he was already a match for many grown knights. When he reached adulthood, he would undoubtedly become a title-worthy warrior, able to take on a hundred foes.

But when it came to this little tag-along, Kaelar sometimes couldn't help but act childishly. After all, wasn't she just too adorable?

Hearing Kaelar's words, Arthur flushed bright red, her azure eyes glimmering with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. Still, she forced herself to respond, "Sir Kaelar, I came to learn from you..."

"Learn what?" Kaelar tilted his head to one side, giving her a sidelong glance. "At your age, you should be playing and having fun. You can start studying properly in a couple of years."

"What you need now is a perfect childhood." Kaelar waved her off dismissively. "When I was your age, I was still listening to bedtime stories from my mom. Go do what children are supposed to do—don't rush yourself."

"I order you to go play in the mud!"

It was far too early. The little dragon, not yet ten years old, was in no position to bear the burdens of the future. Forcing her to grow up too soon could destroy Britannia's last hope.

Besides, Uther was already reprehensible for pinning all his hopes on a mere child. The very act was despicable.

"Sir Kaelar, training must not be neglected!"

Arthur tightened her little face, staring intently at Kaelar like a determined lion cub. Her emerald eyes held an unwavering resolve.

Perhaps those stubborn, resolute eyes would accompany Kaelar for the rest of his life.

Kaelar, with a promise on his mind, answered dismissively, "Then go practice the basic sword forms. The same ones I use..."

Arthur hesitated, unwilling to leave, until finally, with Kaelar's insistence, she said reluctantly, "Kaelar, a true knight should not frequent such places..."

"What places?" Kaelar asked, not understanding at first. Then he noticed her flushed face and realized what she meant.

He had casually mentioned going to 'a place adults enjoy' to get rid of his little shadow, and she must have asked a maid what that meant, only to misinterpret it.

Come on, I'm only twelve. Isn't it a bit early for that?

But Kaelar, the mischievous rascal, didn't clarify. Instead, he put on a knowing grin. "Oh-ho~ Arthur... I'm going to a super cool and amazing place. Guess who wasn't invited?"

"Y-you, you..."