Chapter 447: [447] Arthur!!!

From the moment she stepped into Sigishwara, Mordred felt that something was off.

Anticipation, rejection, fear, anger, hatred, joy, unease...

These conflicting emotions surged forth, not directly occupying her mind, but crackling like intermittent electrical signals, making her restless when she least expected it.

What could be causing this? Mordred herself was at a loss, her overly sensitive intuition picking up on subtle shifts, but the significance of these disturbances was something only she could decipher.

This clouded feeling had once made her extremely agitated, but when she encountered the masked figure with the lion mask, that irritating itch abruptly ceased, replaced by a profound sense of reassurance and an unshakeable confusion.

What does this mean? Could this masked stranger be someone she subconsciously deemed trustworthy?

"No, there’s another possibility..."

Trailing behind Kairi Sisigou, little Mordred mumbled, prompting her master to turn in surprise.

"What’s wrong, Saber?"

"No, it’s nothing." She gestured for Kairi to relax, but after a brief pause, Mordred couldn’t help but mutter to herself again.

"It should... be fine, right?"

She knew that to dispel the ancestral intuition of the Daisuke family, there were two methods: one was to find the key to solving the problem, and as for the second...

It was like the last straw that broke the camel’s back; the fall of Louis XVI’s happy platform; the long-awaited release after the final exam results were finally announced, that sense of relief after a torturous wait could also halt her intuition.

After all, the source of danger was standing right in front of her; what more warning did she need?

"Ha, no way."

With that thought, Mordred shook her head, casting aside the absurd notion.

There weren’t many who could defeat her, Mordred; someone who would stand motionless by a vendor due to hunger, hiding in the shadows, probably couldn’t even block one of her strikes, right?

—Besides, why dwell on it so much? Living well in the present was enough!

So, with a light heart, she tossed her worries aside and began her adventure in Sighișoara, pulling along the masked Arthur.

At first, Artoria thought about running away, but considering tonight’s objective and the temptation of delicious food, she ultimately chose to ’bear the humiliation’ and obediently followed little Mordred.

"Do you want to eat grilled skewers?"

"Ah? Oh."

"How about this, smoked meat?"

"Um, that’s not bad either."

"Sauerkraut with roasted pork shoulder?"

"Mmm... wasting food is wrong, so let me help you."

"Ha ha, your way of speaking is so funny! It’s completely different from someone I know. Well then, hey, Master!"

"Hey what hey, I’m talking about you." Kairi’s eyebrows twitched, "At least leave me some money!"

Thus, the retro-styled streets were transformed into a food street by little Mordred and the oblivious Artoria, with only Kairi’s wallet suffering (big fog).

But as they continued their stroll, Kairi noticed something was off.

—His servant, Mordred: defiant, rebellious, a knight without rules, was unconsciously serving this masked stranger!

He was certain that even Mordred herself hadn’t realized this; all along, she had been seeking the masked figure’s approval before taking action!

What surprised Kairi even more was that the masked stranger showed no discomfort in accepting Mordred’s flattery, casually enjoying the food and drink as if it were only natural.

...What a thick skin.

Unaware of the truth, Kairi sighed, and as Artoria finally had her fill, Mordred seemed to have known all along, pulling her into a clothing store.

"Come on, you look uncomfortable in that mask, and wearing a black cloak, don’t you think it’s strange to be hiding like that?"

Thus, Artoria was dragged into the clothing store by a bewildered Mordred, still holding an unfinished grilled skewer.

Not knowing where her sudden enthusiasm came from, Mordred quickly navigated through the store and soon picked out an outfit, presenting it to Artoria with an expectant gleam in her eyes.

"What do you think? Want to try it on?"

"Um..." Artoria hesitated, looking at the shorts that were as short as men’s swim trunks and the top that was no different from a tube top, feeling a chill.

Isn’t this a bit too revealing? Moreover, isn’t this exactly like what you’re wearing, Lady Mordred?!

She instinctively wanted to refuse, but at that moment, her intuition flared, and Artoria suddenly recalled Sakatsuki’s earlier words.

"If you’re going to interact with Mordred, remember not to refuse directly, my king."

"Why?"

"Why? Because all of you at the Round Table have communication barriers; one or two can’t even speak properly. Not to mention that clueless Tristan, if it weren’t for me pushing things along, would you have understood what that foolish Lancelot was thinking?"

The young man sighed, tiredly patting his superior’s shoulder: "In any case, follow your heart’s guidance and speak your true thoughts, my king!"

Speak your true thoughts, huh...

Artoria fell into contemplation, while on the other side, Kairi couldn’t help but secretly connect with Mordred through the causal line:

"Saber, do you know this masked person? Are they an enemy or an ally? Are they a servant or an ordinary person?"

"I don’t know!"

"...Huh?"

"I told you, I don’t know anything!"

"Then why do you look so self-righteous? All the bounty I earned from risking my life these past few years has been spent by you guys!"

"Ah, it’s fine, Master, you’re still here, and besides, if they’re an enemy, can’t we just cut them down!"

"True, but still..."

While Kairi lamented his empty wallet, Artoria, after serious contemplation, finally spoke up:

"I have a question: why is your outfit different from everyone else’s? Isn’t it a bit too revealing?"

Perhaps sensing that the question held no malice, Mordred didn’t get angry; she merely mumbled, "What’s wrong with it?" and then replied dejectedly, "I just think it’s comfortable enough; it’s not for others to see, as long as I can move freely! Besides, no one cares how I dress (quietly)... Ah, it’s such a hassle, just forget it if you don’t want it!"

In a fit of inexplicable anger, Mordred tried to reclaim the clothes, but her arm was held back.

"I understand; although I’m not used to this kind of clothing, I agree with your perspective. I’ll accept this outfit as a gift." After a moment’s thought, Artoria looked at the rebellious knight and added, "Thank you."

This was the first time Artoria had ever expressed gratitude to Mordred, not just tonight, but from the past until now.

Perhaps because of the mask, Artoria didn’t need to uphold her identity as a king, and Mordred merely regarded her as a kindred companion.

So, just as Sakatsuki said, it was enough to speak one’s true thoughts.

"T-thank you?" Mordred stood frozen, watching the ’stranger’ take the clothes, feeling inexplicably happier than if she had eaten honey.

"You’re welcome, you’re welcome, ah ha ha..." After a silly laugh, she elbowed Kairi, her tone excited, "Look, Master, she praised me! She praised me!"

"I know, I know, no need to repeat it twice." As he handed over a few Enescu (Romanian currency) bills, Kairi’s hands trembled, "Seriously, we’ve been spending money on her all along, right?"

"Ah, don’t be so petty, Master! I had plenty of wealth back in the day that I didn’t spend, and then I died in the war... Ah, of course, I didn’t mean to curse you!"

"I really appreciate it!"

Quietly instructing the waiter to bag the items, Artoria watched Mordred, who was getting along harmoniously with her master, and she couldn’t help but smile slightly.

I’m so glad you have such a compatible master, Lady Mordred.

After leaving the clothing store, the three of them continued walking down the street. After being thanked by Artoria, little Mordred seemed to be intoxicated, her excitement reaching a peak, and her speech became increasingly unrestrained:

"Hey, I’m saying, Master, the medium you used to summon me was a fragment of the Round Table, right?"

A fragment of the Round Table?!

Artoria became alert, suppressing the urge to turn her head. Kairi also withdrew his scrutinizing gaze, looking at the deep night sky with a helpless sigh.

There are outsiders present; is Saber being too reckless?

"Yes, what about it?"

"Well, that means any of the knights from the Round Table could appear. Even Lancelot, who insulted my father, or the annoying Gawain, wouldn’t be surprising."

Mordred began to talk to herself, her tone tinged with confusion.

’Father?’ Artoria shuddered, somewhat taken aback.

"Lancelot and Gawain?" Kairi was surprised, "I remember they are two of the top knights of the Round Table, right?"

"Huh? What are you talking about, Master? The strongest knight is clearly me! I’m the son of King Arthur, destined to surpass her!"

After initially rebutting Kairi’s statement loudly, Mordred’s voice quickly lowered, unable to hide her self-doubt: "But it’s me who was summoned, the rebellious knight who destroyed Britain... It’s such a strange situation."

"Ahem, sorry to interrupt." Artoria cleared her throat, interrupting Mordred’s contemplation, "I seem to have heard you discussing the legends of Britain. May I ask what your thoughts on the Round Table are?"

Although she had set aside her desire for restoration, as the king of the Round Table, she indeed wanted to hear others’ evaluations, especially from a knight who had personally participated.

"Oh, I didn’t expect you to be interested in the legends of that era!" Mordred said cheerfully, "Let me think about where to start... Ah, right! Let’s start with that loyal dog Gawain! Always acting like he’s the big brother, go away!"

That loyal dog... Mordred’s first sentence left Artoria stunned; she never expected that the prince charming Gawain would be seen as so unworthy in Mordred’s eyes.

She wanted to intervene, but Mordred’s words seemed to carry a strange magic, drawing Artoria to continue eavesdropping on the gossip about the knights.

After all, this was a side of the knights that they could never show in front of the sacred king.

"As for the other knight you mentioned, Lancelot... sigh, Lancelot... Although I’m not qualified to say this, if he shows up, I’ll definitely smash his head!"

Lancelot has already received my forgiveness, and besides, your crimes are far worse than his. My Britain... tsk.

"Why do I suddenly feel a chill... Ah, whatever, anyway, there’s also Bedivere! He’s a real top student! Although he’s not good at fighting, he’s a decent general, much gentler than that always stern Agravain! And he was with my father... with King Arthur until the very last moment, right... No, never mind."

Bedivere... hmm, he’s a good knight, but why did you fall silent at the end, Lady Mordred?

"Oh, and there’s that Agravain guy, the big steward of the Round Table! Ah, of course, if it weren’t for him, my rebellion wouldn’t have gone so smoothly; I really have to thank him for that!"

No, Sir Agravain did nothing wrong; the one at fault is me...

"As for Tristan... ugh, useless Tristan! If he becomes your servant, Master, I advise you to fire him! After all, he has the skill to fall asleep while standing! And he’s quite similar to Lancelot in some ways, hmph."

What? Sir Tristan has such a skill? No wonder he always volunteers for guard duty, missing many of the banquets hosted by Gawain... how cunning.

As if recounting treasured memories, Mordred spoke endlessly about the stories of the Round Table knights.

The French knight from across the sea, Lancelot, blessed by the Lady of the Lake;

Morgan le Fay’s child, the heir of Orkney, Gawain, blessed by the sun.

The son of the Duke of Cornwall, the tragic prince, Tristan, symbolizing the romantic era.

The valiant and battle-hardened Lamorak.

The stubborn Percival; the skilled Kay; the loyal Bedivere.

The passionate Gaheris; the gentle Gareth; the executor Agravain.

The lone Palamedes.

The gentlest knight, the only one chosen by the Holy Grail, the apocalyptic Galahad.

And, the silent Mordred...

In total, there were fifteen, the peak of the Round Table, the shadow of a once-glorious legend.

Kairi and Artoria listened silently to Mordred’s narration. Although her evaluations were filled with childish mockery and criticism, they would not overlook the wealth of knowledge Mordred shared, nor would they miss the pure joy shining in her eyes.

Mordred...

The knight’s demeanor was so innocent, so joyful, that just watching her made Artoria feel an urge to cry.

It turned out that even you, who instigated a rebellion, loved the Round Table just as much as I do, loved those people...

Emotions surged within her, and an impulse almost made Artoria want to remove her mask and reveal herself to Mordred, but just then, Kairi looked at the satisfied Mordred and spoke softly:

"So... what about King Arthur? As the king of the Round Table knights, why haven’t you described him?"

The originally lively atmosphere fell silent, and Mordred’s expression visibly cooled, turning into cold iron or indifferent stone.

"There’s nothing to say, Master. The one to whom I entrusted my sword is you. As a knight, I don’t feel disloyal enough to serve two kings at once."

Like a wake-up call, Mordred’s words jolted Artoria from her emotional reverie.

Indeed, no matter how much she longed for the past Round Table, all of that had vanished with the passage of time.

Only the knight Mordred, who destroyed Britain, was forever etched in the annals of history as the rebellious knight, the cursed child.

The rebellious knight Mordred—who ended King Arthur’s legend—who killed King Arthur—an unfaithful and unfilial villain.

For future generations, remembering this one sentence would be enough.

Who would care about her lonely past? Who would concern themselves with her reasons for rebellion?

Beyond the mask, Kairi sighed silently, and Mordred’s expression remained cold.

Beneath the mask, Artoria’s expression dimmed as she closed her eyes.

All past matters would never be spoken of again.

However, as they approached the end of the street, this tranquility was ruthlessly shattered—

Watching the scene inside the house, Mordred’s breathing suddenly became heavy, her eyes bloodshot.

Following her gaze, Kairi frowned, seeing the gentle smiling female magus by the piano, and the Command Spell etched on the back of her hand.

"The black master?"

At these words, Artoria’s heart sank, a chill running through her, prompting her to look through the window—

A silver-haired little girl cheered as she rushed towards the golden-haired young woman before her, who bore an identical beautiful face to King Arthur, as well as an incredibly similar dignified aura.

The room was dimly lit, obscuring the girl’s eye color; had she not been aware of her surroundings, Artoria would have certainly believed that the one kneeling on the ground, embracing little Jack, was herself.

And with servant-level hearing, the girl’s cheerful voice was crystal clear:

"Mommy!"

Mommy? Mommy!

She called out to ’King Arthur’ with a voice full of affection, and ’King Arthur’ responded with a gentle expression, answering the adorable girl.

—And Mordred stood outside on the cold street.

Having realized what was about to happen, Artoria painfully closed her eyes, wanting to free herself from the armed restraint, but as her body lightened, she was gently pushed away, and in the place where she had stood, a crimson thunder erupted!

The vast sky suddenly resonated like a drum.

As if the iron curtain had shattered, countless cracks appeared in the night sky, a testament to the fragile air’s inability to bear such overwhelming power, already on the brink of collapse.

Blood-red thunder roared, piercing through the ground, spreading across the night sky of Sighișoara, and as it reached its peak, it rolled back, crashing down like a hammer onto the earth.

Just the sound.

Countless windows of houses shattered in response!

Unreserved crimson thunder transformed into a hellish scene, tearing the night apart, igniting it, as red and white demons surged wildly in a prison filled with blood and hatred, surging, surging, surging!

With nowhere to vent, disbelief.

Dragging the crimson thunder, roaring in rage.

Like a blood-cry, a piercing roar echoed throughout Sighișoara:

"Ar——thur!!!"