Magician in Type-Moon

Page 85

Furthermore, it possesses a uniquely shaped horned helmet, and its entire being carries an ominous magical power, like a messenger from hell.

"...Mordred?" In Artoria's eyes, the identity of this strangely styled knight was already clear.

Without even needing to guess, the person before her was one of the culprits responsible for the destruction of Britain, and the one who took her life—an ominous child created by her sister Morgan using evil magic.

"Ah, it's me..." The knight's helmet in front of her automatically detached like an exquisitely crafted machine, revealing a strikingly handsome face that bore a resemblance to Artoria.

After removing her helmet, Mordred shook her ponytail and said:

"Father, I never expected to dream about you. The Holy Grail War is so interesting... haha."

"What are you saying? You're involved in the Holy Grail War?" Artoria had initially thought the person before her was just a figment of her imagination, but now it seemed that wasn't the case...

And the Holy Grail War? Could it be that there's another war being waged secretly elsewhere without anyone knowing?

"Yes, the Holy Grail War is quite interesting. The two sides compete for an omnipotent wish-granting device, and each side summons seven Heroic Spirits to fight each other."

"If I can obtain the Holy Grail, I must try the Sword of Choice. Father, you have no objection, right? Haha?"

Mordred's tone carried a hint of smugness, as if she was quite satisfied with her current situation, and of course she wouldn't miss the opportunity to mock her.

She wanted to try and provoke Artoria...

Artoria was shocked by Mordred's words; this child was also involved in an unknown Holy Grail War.

They even threatened to pull out the chosen sword...

But isn't the Holy Grail only present in Fuyuki? Perhaps it's not at the same point in time... After all, Valhalla exists outside the river of time, so it makes sense if the Holy Grail War took place at another time.

But why is it a war between two sides? Shouldn't the Holy Grail War be a battle between seven Masters and Servants? According to Mordred, at least fourteen Heroic Spirits participated in the battle...

"Are you in Fuyuki, Lord Mordred?" Artoria probed. Since the other party thought it was just a dream, she would have to pretend to be normal, calm and boring...

"Fuyuki? No, I'm in Romania, but the Holy Grail here does seem to have been stolen from Fuyuki. Hmm, Father, how do you know about this?"

Mordred seemed somewhat surprised, but quickly regained her composure, though she appeared slightly displeased with Artoria's behavior...

"Romania... stole the Holy Grail? Then this is another Holy Grail War." Artoria muttered to herself, her suspicions becoming even stronger.

"Father, you really know a lot. But it's nothing serious. It's just a dream, and everything will be back to normal when I wake up."

Mordred smiled, a hint of anticipation and excitement flashing in his eyes.

"When were you summoned, Lord Mordred...?"

"It must have been June 1994. You were still as indifferent as ever, Father. No matter what the issue is, you should get to the bottom of it..."

Although Mordred has a carefree personality, she still sensed that something was amiss, but since she was now facing the Knight King...

Deep down, I automatically ignored the absurdity.

Artoria kept this information firmly in her heart. It was the same year but a different month, and it even started earlier than the Holy Grail War here.

Moreover, it was the Holy Grail that was stolen from Fuyuki... This means that she and Mordred live in different worlds.

Artoria tightened her grip on her sword slightly, a hint of determination flashing in her eyes.

Although the doubts have been resolved, how to escape this illusion has become her most pressing problem.

She could still feel the burning pain of the karmic fire in her body. The pain was so real that it seemed to remind her that she was still trapped in some kind of incredible illusion.

Mordred noticed the fleeting look of pain on Artoria's face, and her brows furrowed slightly; she was quite displeased with Artoria's behavior.

After looking around, I realized where I was in this dream world...

The surrounding area was a battlefield stained with blood.

The false voice of miracles echoed across the Hill of Regret.

In this Hill of Regret, Mordred's gaze pierced through the misty flames of war, revealing the battle-ravaged signs all around.

Ancient flags and broken shields fluttered in the wind, like the echoes of an ancient battlefield calling out in the air.

The scene was so familiar, as if it were happening yesterday. This was the place where the man named Mordred met his end.

It is also the site of the final battle in the Arthurian legend—the Battle of Camlann...

Infamous as the Hill of Camlann, thousands of knightly longswords surrounded the king like a fence...

Mordred fell silent, pondering why she hadn't noticed at first. Was it because she was too excited to see her father? Absolutely not. She was simply captivated by the man who had murdered her...

That must be it...

In the silence, Mordred's anger and doubts gradually intensified.

Why does Artoria maintain that pained yet calm expression even in such a situation?

Why not confront this rebel with the wrath of a king?

Could it be that even when faced with the destruction of a country and direct betrayal, she could maintain her distance and remain devoid of personal feelings?

How could Mordred not feel angry and frustrated? She felt as if she had been belittled; her rebellion, her existence, and even her death seemed to have failed to elicit much of a reaction from Artoria.

It's like dealing with an indifferent father who gives a cold response to his child's participation in a competition—no blame, no guidance, only a detached inquiry, completely ignoring the child's efforts and expectations.

This illusion was created by the burning resentment and karmic fire of Berserker, and it inherently possesses the power to influence the mind.

In this illusion woven from resentment and karmic fire, Mordred felt an unprecedented sense of isolation and anger.

For her, it was just a dream...

But this wasn't the response she wanted. What she craved was a direct confrontation, an emotional clash, not this kind of calm, almost objective handling.

In Mordred's eyes, Arthur was just that kind of person...

Even if it's just a sword slashing at me...

This is so incredibly frustrating!!!

Chapter 120 The Battle of Camran

Mordred suddenly thought—she wanted to leave this infuriating dream.

King Arthur, how noble and magnificent!

She recalled the saying, "King Arthur did not understand human nature."

At first, she just smiled and didn't take it to heart.

After all, in her eyes, King Arthur was as radiant as the sun illuminating the darkness.

It's inspiring, it's...

Mordred's wish is to challenge the chosen sword.

The great King Arthur pulled the sword from the rock when he was only fifteen years old, and Mordred, as his descendant, firmly believed that he could do the same.

She couldn't accept the fact that she couldn't pull out the sword—that would mean she was unworthy to be the king's heir.

That's what she thought shortly after she was summoned.

"Father, what oath did you swear when you drew that sword?" Mordred asked himself silently.

Is it a promise to protect the kingdom's peace?

Or does she aspire to be an invincible queen?

She thought about things she had never considered before over and over again.

Did Father have a dream?

If so, what would it be like—would she dream of herself like she does now?

She had a recurring dream in which she stood before a hard rock, with a magician beside her who was either young or old, with snow-white hair and who was always uttering nonsensical words.

A sword was stuck in the rock, and the magician shouted to the knights of the country.

Whoever draws this sword will become king.

Brave and warlike individuals, people of noble blood and status, and renowned knights all came to challenge this sword, but gave up because it wouldn't budge an inch.

What a bunch of idiots.

This sword is a weapon created to select a king; only the chosen one, capable of saving the nation, can draw it.

To think that you could just pull it out with brute force—there's a limit to stupidity.

So she went to the sword that no one cared about anymore.

She walked toward the lone sword, and the magician beside her reminded her in his calm voice:

"Think carefully about your decision before you grasp the hilt of the sword."

She has made her decision; she has considered it, every single time.

The significance of drawing this sword.

What does it mean to become an outstanding king?

She reached out her hand, firm and without hesitation.

The magician then sighed and waved his hand.

However, the moment she touches the hilt of the sword, the magician sighs and then waves his hand...

The dream always ended at that moment, and the magician's voice rang in her ears again:

"You are not qualified."

This sentence filled her with anxiety and frustration.

She became anxious and agitated as a result, and finally pleaded.

"Let me draw my sword, let me become king, there's no way I can't draw it."

The magician simply looked at her calmly and asked:

"What oath will you swear to this sword? What ideals underpin your kingship?"

These questions forced her to consider what kind of monarchy she desired. Was it absolute justice? Was it unparalleled power?

To become a just monarch.

Correct governance, the adoption of the right strategies, and strong support for the entire nation.

Where exactly do absolute justice and absolute power fall into error?