The blonde-haired figure.
The king draped in a silver cloak walked slowly.
His expression was solemn.
His gaze fell on Ian, his brow tightly furrowed, as if he sensed something unusual.
"What is that strange scent?"
Ian was somewhat surprised.
"You... have a very peculiar scent about you."
Pandro, who is King Arthur, continued speaking in a low voice.
His tone carried a hint of caution.
Ian was taken aback for a moment.
"A peculiar scent?"
He smelled it himself, but didn't detect anything abnormal, not even under his armpit. Instead, there was a delightful milky scent about him.
This wasn't narcissism.
Ian knew he had a milky scent.
Because he loved drinking milk.
He was bound to be steeped in the aroma of milk on a daily basis.
"Hmm." King Arthur circled around him, his nostrils subtly flaring, as if sniffing for some invisible essence, "It's not the scent of blood, nor magic residue. More like... the scent of death."
At these words.
Ian's smile froze.
He roughly understood what King Arthur was expressing—could that be the mark left by the God of Death's gaze? Or was it the remnants from watching the battle between the God of Death and the Raven earlier?
"Did you encounter the God of Death recently?" King Arthur was evidently very cautious, which was normal, given that he was a soul and would naturally be very sensitive to such beings.
Every soul is nourishment for the God of Death.
Especially a legendary soul like King Arthur.
Because of this.
King Arthur's gaze remained fixed on Ian, those hawk-like sharp eyes slightly squinting, the creases in his brow deepening. He slowly raised his hand, fingers spreading and then closing.
As if capturing some invisible essence in the air.
Ian was momentarily stunned, the apple he was holding suspended in mid-air. He put down the food, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the apple, nodding: "Yes, it happened just now."
"Just now?" King Arthur's brow twitched, the hand holding the sword unconsciously tightening, "Tell me in detail."
He continued glancing left and right.
His tone carried a faint hint of tension.
As if fearing a surprise attack from the God of Death.
Ian took a deep breath and recounted his experiences in the black-and-white world—alchemy from the Raven, the God of Death's surprise attack, the Dementors' chaotic battle, and that inexplicable "there's another round." He described it in great detail, including the chilling moment the God of Death's gaze fell on him.
Mainly because he couldn't figure things out.
Wanted to borrow King Arthur's wisdom for a bit.
Pandro, regardless of anything, was a legendary king.
Well-versed and experienced.
He knew and experienced far more than Ian did; perhaps this legendary king could help Ian analyze something from his experiences.
Ian narrated in great detail.
King Arthur listened, his tense shoulders gradually relaxing. When Ian finished saying the last word, he even chuckled lightly, casually sheathing the King's Sword.
The sudden ease in his demeanor.
As if he'd set down a heavy burden pressing on his heart.
"Then there's nothing to worry about." His voice suddenly became relaxed, as if the earlier gravity had never existed, and as if the previous tension had merely been Ian's imagination.
Isn't this a prime example of turning the page faster than turning a book?
"Ah?" Ian blinked, "How is there suddenly nothing to worry about?"
King Arthur approached the table, picked up a fallen piece of apple pie and stuffed it into his mouth, speaking indistinctly: "You've definitely tried to influence the past, haven't you?"
Though not having seen it firsthand.
His tone was incredibly confident.
Evidently.
Knowledge gave him assurance—the so-called forgotten past, not knowing exactly which past was forgotten, or perhaps this legendary king had been lying all along.
Ian nodded.
"I indeed used magic to interfere with that Thorn Crown."
He softly began recalling past events when the Raven hinted for him to take action. He wasn't sure why he instinctively went along with it.
Unexpectedly, he actually managed to influence the past.
He didn't know from where King Arthur deduced this point.
"That's exactly right."
King Arthur swallowed his food and dusted off the crumbs from his hand, "When you touch the past, the essence of the past clings to you as well. That's why I could smell the scent of the God of Death—it's the residue of the past, not a threat now."
He walked over to the window, sunlight spilling over his golden hair, casting a faint halo.
Ian squinted, pondering the meaning behind those words.
"You're saying... the God of Death I encountered in the world of the past was merely a piece of history, thus unable to affect the present?" Indeed, he didn't quite grasp King Arthur's words.
"Correct." Arthur nodded, "When you touch the past, the essence of the past clings to you, like mud splattered on clothes. I was able to smell the scent of the God of Death because its mark lingered on you. But this doesn't mean you're being marked by it now."
Ian remained silent for a moment, seemingly finally understanding some things.
"The God of Death was active frequently in the past, especially during the periods the Raven was active. But if it were now... that wouldn't be good." King Arthur shrugged, a light smile playing on his lips. Upon discovering Ian wasn't leading the way, not bringing the God of Death, he returned to his usual relaxed, leisurely demeanor.
"What if you encounter the God of Death now? How bad would that be?"
Ian pressed further.
Arthur's smile vanished immediately.
His entire aura changed, from one of relaxed demeanor to a state of high alert. He stared directly at Ian, with a low, serious tone: "Then things would be of a huge magnitude."