"The Pure White Utopia, the White City—Camelot!"
Alaric's confident words echoed in the ears of both Sanzang and the magus, who both looked puzzled.
"Huh?"
Seeing their confusion, Alaric couldn't help but feel perplexed himself. He could understand why Sanzang might not know of Camelot, but how could this Crusader magus not know?
"You don't know what Camelot is?"
The magus shook her head.
"I don't. There's no such information in the original copy's knowledge."
Alaric raised an eyebrow. So, all their knowledge comes from the original copy, with no outside information? Since he had already started explaining, he went ahead and told Sanzang and the magus about the White City—Camelot.
After he finished, he turned to the magus.
"By the way, what's your name?"
He paused, realizing he didn't know the magus's name. Could it be the same as Alaika?
"I am Alaika, the Alaika of Strength," Alaika II introduced herself.
Alaric rubbed his chin, examining this second Alaika.
"So, even though you're all from the same model or series, each of you has a different specialization, and that's reflected in your titles?"
Alaika II nodded.
"We didn't perfectly inherit the original copy. Differences arose, and that's how the various Alaikas came to be."
Alaric pondered this, wondering what kind of original copy could spawn so many different versions. Not wanting to dwell on the topic, he turned to Sanzang with a slightly apologetic look.
"I'm sorry, Miss Sanzang. Our search for food and water might take a bit longer."
"We'll only find food and water once we leave the desert."
Sanzang smiled warmly and shook her head.
"It's no problem. Wukong used to take a long time begging for food, too. Besides, it's more meaningful to search together, right?"
Alaika II, standing between them, looked around uneasily and pulled her tattered black robe tighter around herself.
After successfully defeating Vlad, capturing Alaika II, and gathering a lot of information, Alaric and Sanzang chatted a bit before finally leading Alaika out of the desert.
Several hours later, they finally left the desert behind. But instead of a lush landscape, a desolate wasteland greeted them. Unlike the barren desert, this land seemed scorched by intense heat, its ground cracked, and all signs of life were obliterated.
"..."
Seeing this, Sanzang's expression softened with compassion. Alaika II, however, was unfazed; to her, this was completely normal.
"Was this the work of the Crusaders?"
Sanzang asked, stunned.
"Hmm… more or less. Yes, it's the Crusaders' doing," Alaric replied, memories of what he first saw here days ago flashing through his mind.
As they ventured deeper, Sanzang began to grasp the extent of the devastation. It was as if the very life force of the land had been severed!
A few minutes later...
"Wow! Water!"
Sanzang exclaimed, spotting a water source. She rushed over, crouched down, and scooped some clear water with her hands.
"Yikes!"
She shivered as she drank but looked satisfied.
"Miss Sanzang, aren't you going to drink more?"
Alaric asked casually as he arrived, glancing around.
"Even from the Three Thousand Weak Waters, I only take one scoop. Here, who knows how many lives rely on this water? How could I monopolize it?"
Sanzang replied with a smile.
"As expected of Miss Sanzang—"
Alaric chuckled, crouching by the water to drink as well.
"Oh, someone's coming."
Sensing something, both Alaric and Alaika II looked toward the distance.
A dozen ragged figures approached, their eyes locked hungrily on them.
Sanzang turned and froze. It was a group of gaunt refugees, battered by hardship, their eyes filled with desperation—for food.
"They're refugees," Alaric said quietly, watching the figures approach, expressionless.
"People who once lived here, but whose homes were destroyed by the Crusaders, leaving them with nowhere to go."
Sanzang glanced down at the water source and quickly grasped the gravity of the situation. She raised her voice.
"Wait! We're not here to take the water from you!"
At that moment, Sanzang showed remarkable insight, stepping forward to negotiate and calm the refugees' desperation before Alaric could even react.
"Food! Fresh food and water!" the refugees cried out, desperation filling their voices.
Alaric watched silently as Sanzang knocked down one refugee after another, doing her best to subdue them without hurting them too much.
"Miss Sanzang, leave the rest to me."
Sanzang, still thinking of how to help the refugees, looked up, her eyes brightening.
"I'll leave it to you, then!"
"You bastards, why are you—" the group's leader stammered, weakly pounding the ground as he glared at Alaric.
Meeting his gaze, Alaric stepped forward, his aura radiating authority.
"I am Alaric, the Wandering Knight, the last seat of the knights of the round table under the Lion King. I am here to perform the Holy Selection on you—"
Before he finished speaking, he raised his hand. Magical energy began to flow, his eyes narrowing into vertical slits that glowed faintly.
What Alaric couldn't see was that, at that moment, he looked remarkably like the Lion King.
"In the name of the Lord of the End, I declare: Show your radiance—"
The magical energy spread out like ripples from his palm. A beam of light rose, revealing a young girl who resembled Hassan Serenity.
"What is he doing?"
Sanzang asked curiously.
Even Alaika seemed intrigued, her gaze shifting between Alaric and the scene before her, puzzled by this unknown ritual.
"Selecting those worthy to bring to Camelot; the others will be sent elsewhere."
Alaric explained.
This was the first time he'd used this power given to him by the Lion King. It was a process of sifting, selecting pure souls, those who would remain untainted by evil—souls that could be called eternally unblemished.
But in the back of his mind, a question lingered: Why was I chosen, too?