Chapitre 428: Chapter 428: Kill Me
Sighișoara, the Ancient City of Romania.
Fifteen hundred years later, the legend reappears, and the Battle of Camlann reenacted.
No one anticipated it would come to this: not Mordred, not Artoria, not even Shinji, who triggered it all.
King Arthur, Artoria, pressed her child Mordred against the wall, refusing to let go no matter how fiercely Mordred struggled.
Mordred even thought of using the horns on her helmet to gore Artoria, but their height difference meant the horns could only reach her shoulders, not her neck or head.
It was only then, as her mind cleared from the storm of intense emotions, that Mordred realized something was wrong—when had her father grown so tall? Weren't they supposed to be the same height? (Both standing at 154 cm.)
The hatred and anger surging within her chest gradually subsided, and her intelligence, influenced by the "Monkey's Deduction," reclaimed its ground. She finally understood the situation.
"Have I... lost? Lost to my father, once again."
Noticing the force pressing down on her gradually weakening, Artoria also lessened her strength, though the suppressive stance remained unchanged.
Mordred removed her helmet and dispelled the Noble Phantasm that concealed her true name, given by her mother Morgan, revealing a face identical to King Arthur's except for the hairstyle.
This was the second time she had done so.
The first time was when she had confessed her lineage to her father.
Disappointed in Mordred, Morgan had revealed the secret of her birth—that she was the illegitimate child created by King Arthur and Morgan. She also delivered a prophecy that was more of a curse: "King Arthur doesn't know you are her child, and even if she did, she wouldn't recognize such a filthy fact."
Mordred was deeply shaken, yet also filled with incomparable joy.
She wasn't truly human; she was the child sharing the same bloodline as the great king. No, as the legitimate heir of a king who surpassed all humans, her non-human birth was a mark of honor, perfectly fitting for the king's successor. Ecstatic, Mordred had approached the king. To someone who had never known paternal love, King Arthur's "father" figure was akin to a deity.
However, when she stood before the king, removed her helmet, and revealed everything, hoping for recognition, the king heartlessly rejected her.
"I see. Although it is my sister's scheme, you are indeed my child. But I am not prepared to acknowledge this, nor will I entrust the throne to you."
"I see... So that's why I could only remain at the lowest seat of the Round Table—I finally understand."
King Arthur despised her sister Morgan. How could Mordred, as Morgan's child, ever gain the king's recognition?
No matter how hard she tried, even if she outshone everyone, Mordred was scorned by King Arthur as a tainted offspring from the moment she was born.
The higher one stands, the more painful the fall. For Mordred, this was the shift from hope to despair, igniting a burning hatred for King Arthur within her heart.
But this time, there was no hatred in Mordred's eyes, only a dead calm, like the ashes of a fire that had burned out.
"Hahaha, I thought I had surpassed my father, how ridiculous—my life is a joke."
Artoria sighed, at a loss for words. Whether as a king or now, she never understood her child. She didn't know what Mordred sought, why she rebelled, why she hated her so much, or what madness had possessed her earlier.
Seeing her father remain silent, Mordred's face showed a hint of pleading: "Come on, say something, won't you, King, Father?"
"I... don't know what to say." Artoria's expression was troubled, but Mordred couldn't see it as her face was covered by her mask.
"You—you don't know what to say? Don't you hate me? Don't you hate me for destroying your kingdom! For destroying the Britain you loved and gave everything for! You know, right? The Britain of today is nothing like your Britain, not at all!!!" Mordred began to get agitated again.
"Britain, huh?"
Artoria lowered her head, her eyes unfocused.
Do I hate Mordred? The truth is, that question is quite complicated.
As a king, as the embodiment (slave) of righteousness, she did not hate, or rather, she never thought to hate. Back then, her only thought was to save her country and her people, even if it meant making a pact with the Counter Force and traversing time and space to seek the Holy Grail. If she truly hated anyone, it was herself. As a king, she was ultimately the one to bear all burdens, and Mordred's rebellion was also the king's sin.
Having untied the knots in her heart, shed the mantle of kingship, and returned to being an ordinary girl, she admitted that she had once hated and resented Mordred. But that was merely an emotion indulged in the dreams of the past, an ephemeral feeling that faded upon waking.
After all, fifteen hundred years had passed, and even though the ideal realm within the Avalon felt almost timeless, she had changed significantly compared to her "previous life"—though she had not yet realized this.
Seeing her father turn into a mute again, Mordred felt a wave of sadness.
You won't even say a word to me? Then—
"Fine, I understand. You don't hate me, nor do you see me as your child. You only see me as an ordinary knight, perhaps a rebellious knight at best."
"Kill me, King. The rebellious knight, having failed, deserves a fitting end."
Mordred's eyes lost their usual spark, as if her soul had been taken away.
She had challenged her father a second time and was overwhelmingly defeated.
Even when she brought up their beloved Britain, it did not evoke any emotion from her father, not even hostility.
She had spoken her heart out, yet there was no place for her in her father's eyes.
More importantly, her father had other children—she was truly envious, envious of that child being held in her father's arms, envious of her father's gentle demeanor towards the child.
Ah, even though she knew it was impossible, she truly wished her father would treat her the same way.
If that were the case, then dying would be worth it.
"Mordred..." Artoria involuntarily stepped back two steps, releasing her hold on Mordred.
In the past, she did not understand the intense emotions in Mordred's words, and she still didn't fully understand now, but at least she could feel a profound sadness.
She hesitated.
"That's not like you, King Arthur. Just like at Camlann, pierce my chest once more. This is my final plea—you're the Black Lancer, you should have it, right? That Holy Lance." Mordred closed her eyes, her expression peaceful and serene, finally showing a bit of her father's demeanor.
Artoria raised her hand, and the Holy Lance that once illuminated the darkest of times materialized in her grasp. However, the trembling of its tip revealed the turmoil within her heart.
"Goodbye, Father," Mordred whispered.
And then, the lance roared.
PS: A bit of trivia: Modern Britons are descendants of the Anglo-Saxons. King Arthur's Britain was Celtic, and back then, King Arthur led his army to resist the invasion of the Anglo-Saxons, which is why Mordred had such sentiments.
PS2: This family has a knack for obsession and overthinking, and they all have a penchant for hiding their faces. Sigh... it's quite exasperating.
PS3: The mention of the Battle of Camlann at the end of the previous chapter was a jest; in their lifetimes, there was no special attack against father or son.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone