Chương 70: Chapter 70
In all honesty, this wasn't the first time that Shirou had interacted with the Magi of the Mage's Association. The first time had been several years ago back in the small village of Roan where Caliburn lay buried hilt-deep within a stone.
Back then, he hadn't displayed the full extent of his abilities nor did he truly implement what it meant to carry an entire armory on his person. However, the extent of the knowledge pertaining to the magical incident at Roan was largely kept confidential by the participants involved.
This wasn't to say that he had something to do with the concealment of information, but more along the lines of Merlin directly meddling into the matter. At the time, Arturia's possession of a Magic Core was made known to the representatives of the magus families, and as such, posed a viable risk to her safety.
Young as Arturia was, she boded no chance of fending off the pursuit of any real Magus when either he or Merlin were absent. In which case, Merlin would not stand for it.
Unreliable as Merlin appeared, the man was nothing if not dependable when it actually counted. Shirou didn't know what sort of threat that Merlin had used to keep the matter under wraps, but not a word about the incident was well known even to the present date.
He could only be grateful that Arturia had such a capable teacher by her side.
Now though, the times had changed.
He was older now and Arturia would no longer be as helpless to the assault of a magus. She was skilled with a sword, understood how to utilize her Magic Core, and even had Excalibur at her side; she was basically a walking magical beast with the bloodline of a Dragon.
Neither he or Arturia truly needed Merlin's protection any longer.
In which case, there was no need to suppress the knowledge of his capabilities. Instead, he'd use them as a deterrent starting with the skeptic members of House Barthomeloi of the Aristocratic Faction.
"Trace. On."
The words left his mouth under the scrutiny of the overseeing elder.
He held out a single hand in front of him.
To be a Magus, was to walk with death.
The words that he had heard so long ago came to the forefront of his mind, blue interface patterns gradually shining over the surface of his skin with a buzzing thrum.
Wind began to pick up, growing in strength and blowing back the tall reeds that grew alongside the grass.
In terms of Magi, he was a third rate with no real academic accomplishments in the field of magecraft. However, this wasn't necessarily a weakness, but a blessing in disguise. Rather than focus on other mysteries that he knew that he'd never make much progress with, he had devoted all of his time on a single aspect.
He was a Specialist.
A One-Trick Pony.
Magic to the origin.
Ever since he'd bathed in the blood of Dragons, his twenty-seven magic circuits had undergone a comparative upgrade. If before they were akin to a flowing stream, now they were a wide roaring river converging towards the ocean.
His eyes shut closed as the Magic Core within him pulsated at his calling. Warmth spread up from the center of his body and throughout his veins. His body throbbed, as if resonating with the blood of his heritage.
Embers drifted into the air, followed by a blistering heat maintained within an area of two meters around him.
In truth, it was hard to deny his heritage any longer.
His emergence at the wheat fields.
His discovery of the Ashton Manor.
Everything was just a little too convenient to be coincidental. He had been led there, drawn to it at the behest of some higher power. Moreover, he had always found it odd that out of every citizen in Fuyuki city, why was he the only one that had survived in a fire and taint that should have had destroyed everything?
Perhaps the answer was that he wasn't fully human to begin with?
His biological father was supposedly Lord Ashton, a flame elemental in the same league as Agatha of the Shadows.
Fire would not kill him for he had an inherent resistance. It was in his nature and explained his natural aptitude for blacksmithing.
In this case, his phantasmal half was reacting to the influx of magical energy generated within his core.
Embers shifted into open flames, prompting Arturia to balk since she'd never seen such a thing happen to him before. Mordred was even more startled and was moments away from going to grab a blanket or a bucket of water in order to put him out. However, noticing that no one but her seemed to be panicking, she stared dumbly at everyone present in horrified disbelief.
Arturia was fine because she had an in-depth education regarding magecraft from Merlin, yet Mordred was different.
Right now, she wasn't dealing within the domain of common sense, but instead she was delving into the skewed perception of the residents of the Moonlit World. Sure, it was true that she'd seen magic done before, but despite being largely ignorant of the ways of magi, she was certain that lethal spells were still lethal spells.
Damn it, why wasn't anyone doing anything?
Her body language was basically screaming out in protest. Mordred pursed her lips and did her best to quell the trembling of her hands as she watched the 'madness' take place in front of her. If it didn't end within the next minute, she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep still.
Caught up in his actions, he hardly noticed the reactions of those around him. Right now, he was just too busy focusing within himself.
If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel a certain connection within him growing stronger.
He reached towards it, willing it to manifest, and so it did at his beckoning.
Tinged with flame, the Ashton Magic Crest burst into life on his exposed upper right shoulder, causing the Elder's eyes to narrow sharply.
A Magic Crest was the most important treasure of a lineage of Magi passed on through inheritance from one heir to another. Each heir would place a certain amount of their own magic circuits and all of their spells within the Crest. Not only did it contain the thaumaturgical knowledge of a magus's predecessors, but it allowed the user to fully delve and utilize the spells stored within.
Seeing the Ashton Crest on his person, there was only a single conclusion that the elder could possibly conclude.
"An heir?" The elder hummed in thought before her breath hitched in her throat.
Magical energy swelled and expanded with an invisible force that pressured the area all around. The Elder had no choice but to shield her face, and yet not once did her gaze leave the Crest before her eyes.
The amount of magical energy stored within the Ashton Crest was jus too stunning. Although the Elder could not determine how many magic circuits were stored within the Crest, the magical output alone all but cemented that it came from an ancient family line.
The Elder's head snapped in Emily's direction with searching eyes, silently asking Emily what she'd promised in order to obtain the aid of an affluent heir of another magus family.
How else would Emily have had garnered support unless she had offered a substantial bribe?
If Emily was offended at the Elder's speculation, she didn't show it. Instead, she appeared far more interested in observing the intricacies of the magecraft in front of her.
Magical energy gathered into bright tendrils that writhed outwards from atop his palm in the form of crackling arcs. He molded it and formed it into the image stored within his mind such that the energy condensed and solidified.
Watching the process, the Elder's expression was fraught with ridicule.
Graduation Air?
It was a low-leveled magecraft that all Magi understood to be incomplete and mostly useless. The world rejected the projections made from Gradation Air on the basis that they were phantasms that did not exist in the natural world. Projections would fade with time, and in most cases, within seconds or minutes due to the inability of most magi to grasp the components of a replicated object. Therefore, it was far more practical for any magus to create objects using their own techniques and skills.
However, different from what the Elder imagined, his magecraft was not something as simple as Gradation Air.
He visualized the components within his mind while running through the familiar steps of his childhood and early years. Pain momentarily struck his nerves; a reminder of his past ignorance. Rather than use his Magic Circuits, he had converted his own neurological fibers into make-shift Circuits.
No matter, the experience made him stronger by giving him a key understanding of what his body could endure.
His brows furrowed in concentration.
The Seven Concepts of Creation.
The actualization of past history and knowledge.
The inheritance of skills and ways of thought.
All would lead to a new variant of projection never before seen and exclusive only to him.
Tracing.
"I am the Bone of my Sword."
The air stilled, a tension expanding with the furor of a wildfire.
The flames that burst around him ceased flickering entirely, the tongues of flame rapidly condensing over his projected image. The element of Fire mixed in with his Tracing, inadvertently forming what were known as Ether Clumps; a combination of a particular element and the ether gathered from mana.
These Ether Clumps took on the shape of his projections.
One sword formed, followed by two, then four, eight, then sixteen.
They just kept forming one after the other until the sky within the bounded field itself was blotted out with them.
Many exuded a type of aura and grace that no mundane weapon should have had ever possessed. Swords that would never dull, spears that would never miss, daggers that broke the bounds of magecraft, all were present in this single instance in the form of crystalized legends. They gleamed under the low evening light, weapons of myth and folklore hailed to be the objects of faith and devotion.
Noble Phantasms.
Abundant in number, the Elder could not even begin to categorize them by myth.
The Elder felt her throat dry. She couldn't speak. In fact, she could hardly think anymore while Emily gradually shut her mouth in wonderment.
Emily already had a vague understanding about the uniqueness of his magecraft, but what she was seeing all but confirmed her initial conjectures. She gingerly stepped forward and poked the floating Noble Phantasms while feeling the innate energy and gathered years stored within them. The weapons that she could see in front of her were as 'real' as real could ever be such that there was no doubt to their authenticity.
Gradation Air?
What a joke. The mysteries displayed weren't even on the same level.
The Elder standing next to Emily was quickly trying to devise a method to replicate the feat in front of her before pausing in abject horror when she realized that she couldn't. The Elder had come to the same conclusion as Emily. Unlike Gradation Air, every projection floating within the sky was authentic. A part of the Elder even doubted whether or not the world's influence would be strong enough to even begin to degrade them especially the weapons known for their durability.
The Elder was looking at a certain sword who's name even she did not yet know.
Durendal the Peerless.
Its edge would never rust or chip, and it was said to be entirely indestructible.
The Elder's expression fell, panic welling within her eyes. It was a fact that there was no way to replicate the feat that she'd just seen. Moreover, she knew that no one else in House Barthomeloi and the other prominent magus families could do so either.
The Elder's mouth firmly shut tight, her contemptable views towards bringing in the support of an outsider to House Barthomeloi largely mitigated by the assumption formed in her head.
A power reserved only for a being that had touched upon the truth of the Akashic Records, the Root.
Magic.
A True Magic.
Different from ordinary magecraft, a True Magic was the representation of the highest-class Mystery that surpassed all science and magic of the age. It was impossible to reproduce either by magecraft or by modern science. In the medieval age, there were many types of spells that could be categorized as Magic, but many of them would ultimately lose that designation over the course of human progression.
For example, if the ability to produce fire at will was once considered a True Magic, now it was nothing more than a 'craft' since humans had already learned to harness the power of flame.
Differences in power were irrelevant in the face of True Magic because skills on the level of standard 'crafts' could be entirely blown away. One in possession of a True Magic was no longer acknowledged with the mere title of a Magus, but with the prestigious title of 'Magician' as bestowed to individuals like Merlin.
The Elder felt her blood freeze after coming to the conjecture while heavily scrutinizing the Noble phantasms in front of her.
Ether, was in essence, a substance with no presence or relation to the physical or spiritual world. It was a blank material best described as 'nothing,' and as such, objects seemingly made from it fell into a certain category.
'Creation from Nothing.'
This concept along with the impression that the Elder had about Shirou hailing from a long line of magi cemented her hypothesis.
"The First Magic." The words escaped the Elder's mouth in a trembling voice. She was utterly stunned.
The First Magic was one of the oldest Magics in history with little details regarding it known to the public. There were no known successors and only those of privileged ranks within the Mages Association were said to be privy to more information. The Elder was one such individual who understood a little about the domain of the First Magic, namely, the concept of 'materialized nothings.'
To give shape and form without precedent.
An impossible feat, but one that was done right in front of the Elder's eyes by a youth from a family that Emily had said had been wiped out.
A descendant of the user of the First True Magic?
The thought appeared in the Elder's mind and refused to leave it. In fact, she was already convinced at this point; her mind actively assuaging her doubts in light of the Traced weapons before her.
Hearing the Elder's outburst, Shirou did not go out of his way to refute the statement, but rather, he was fine with other magi misunderstanding. It would give him more leeway in the Mages Association and by extension, increase Emily's odds in the Lord's gathering while deterring other magi from actively confronting him. Then again, perhaps there was some other merit in the Elder's outburst?
His Tracing did feel a tad different from normal after assimilating the power of the Ashton Crest. As a result, all of his Traced projections in the air were imbued with trace amounts of elemental fire energy. He wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but for the time being, he placed the matter at the back of his mind. Similarly, he directly ignored the way the Elder was looking at him in favour of addressing someone more important to him.
Rather than just a demonstration for the Elder of House Barthomeloi, he was only revealing so much of his abilities for a certain stubborn brat whose motivation he failed to understand again and again.
Mordred.
He stared directly at her and was momentarily confused to see a bucket of water in her hands, but now wasn't the time to ask.
He first nodded towards Arturia who nodded back before bearing the entirety of his attention towards Mordred. He was trying to convey a single message across not through words, but by his actions.
The Noble Phantasms and weapons in the air began to radiate a domineering pressure as he pumped them full of magical energy. Space distorted and an acute low whistling noise denoted just how close a few of the Noble Phantasms were to overloading.
He was strong; stronger than anything that she could have had ever imagined.
The Elder mistook his actions for anger and paled, but Mordred seemed to understand in some way.
In essence, he wanted her to realize that regardless of what danger or risk her problems may impose, he would not be ill advantaged.
Mordred noticed him staring at her straight away, and for a moment, indecision crossed her features. The bucket dropped from her hands and she kept shifting her weight from one leg to the other, all while never meeting his gaze. The words from their previous discussion must have had been at the forefront of her mind. In stark contrast, the savage appearance of her armour made her seem mad to those looking at her, but he could now read her like an open book. At the very least, she was easier to understand than some other black-haired woman that he once knew.
It was largely hidden by her apprehension, but Mordred was definitely hesitating. That much was clear. Thus, he could only take it up one step further. In order to convince her, he may need a little bit more help.
He reached deeper within himself, tapping into the boundary of his Reality Marble.
An Unlimited Blade Works.
A lonely hill and a land filled with swords.
Once upon a time, his inner reality was barren, yet now, patches of grass and green bloomed over the horizon. Hope existed in a place where he never should have had been able to hold anything.
A man unaware of loss, nor aware of gain.
A vast pillar stood erect at the center of his mindscape; tall, overbearing, and shrouded with columns of fire, it was the largest difference that ever occurred within his inner reality much like the watch tower of a certain wizard formerly trapped within the Garden of Avalon.
It was the Ashton Legacy formed from the completion of the Ashton slate.
His world was no longer just a hill of swords, but a world of flame, renewal and rebirth.
It was no longer just a world of Unlimited Blades, but a world upon a Boundary.
An anchor of the Reverse Side.
Hidden amidst the scenery, Shadows entwined themselves within the red flames around the pillar before the figure of a woman gradually emerged seated at the top.
A pair of deep crimson eyes blinked at him from his inner world before grinning and manifesting into the material plane with a burst of heat and dark that took everyone off guard.
The Elder staggered backwards in surprise. "E-Elemental?"
Agatha did not reply, but instead just smiled coyly while assessing her current form. She was healed, and the majority of her magical energy recovered by feeding off the energy of the Ashton Anchor. Her arms were held in front of her as she shifted her gaze from left hand to right hand before floating down to touch her feet onto the grass.
A veil of shadows surrounded her partially naked form and quickly morphed into a black dress.
"What would you ever do without me?" Agatha spoke with amusement. If anything, she just seemed happy that Efret wasn't around because the two never got along.
He refrained from commenting, afraid to stoke Agatha's ego any further than necessary because she reminded him too much of Rin's temperament. Once the flattery began, Rin would never grow tired of hearing them.
Rather than him addressing Agatha first, Arturia took the lead and directly bowed her head.
"Thank you!" Arturia could not forget the last time that she'd met Agatha all those years ago. "Y-You were the one who saved Shirou after I failed to."
Agatha had no shame in basking in the praise. "Naturally. Shirou has always been an idiot so of course it falls upon those who watch over him to actually take care of him."
"I'm not a child," He couldn't help but protest. He was a grown-up man. He could take care of himself, only the expression on both Arturia and Agatha's face was quickly throwing him into doubt.
Mordred, Emily, and the Elder were the only ones who felt left out, but regardless, Agatha knew that there was a time and place to actively gloat.
It was the first time that Agatha had been able to create a material body in years so she took the time to look around, her gaze stopping on Mordred with hints of peculiarity.
"Well, would you look at that," Agatha spoke up in contemplation. "Isn't this interesting."
Mordred knew that she was being stared at and immediately stood on the defensive like a startled cat. Worse, unlike Arturia, her mind was trying to come up with a reason why a random woman would suddenly pop up by Shirou's side. "The hell you looking at? Never seen a Knight before? Well, fine, look all you want. See if I care."
Shirou suddenly felt like sighing. If Mordred really didn't care, then why was she being so cross and moody?
"Quite a character that one, but I can understand that you wish for me to put her mind at ease." Agatha straightened her back and tucked a few strands of her hair behind her left ear. "Now then, shall we begin?"
Agatha's words threw Mordred for a loop, but it soon became clear what Agatha meant. For Agatha was just as much an extension of Shirou's power as he was of hers.
While Agatha had been within Shirou's inner world recuperating, it didn't mean that she wasn't entirely cut off from reality. When she had recovered enough strength, she had the means to share his senses due to the bond that they shared.
She directly looked towards the Elder of house Barthomeloi.
"We are partners," Agatha said slowly while drifting to float by Shirou's back. Additionally, she willed the shadows around her to expand and proliferate. "My darkness is your sword, and your will, my guide."
Darkness enveloped the area, blanketing the swords in the air and making it impossible to notice them. Agatha's form itself disappeared to be replaced by just the red of her eyes.
"You may be slow to anger, Shirou, but I am not."
The shadows took material form; black appendages and blurred figures moving in the dark of an abyss like realm: The inherent power of any Elemental.
A Marble Phantasm.
"I do not take well to being belittled and naturally, that extends to my current Master."
The Elder felt a tightness around her throat, her limbs unable to move in the slightest.
Agatha's whispered sweetly into the Elder's ears with honey dipped words poisoned in content.
"Enough with this farce."
Shirou dismissed his projections and reeled in his magical energy while Agatha decided that it would be best to return his inner world. The energy from the Reverse Side that the Ashton Anchor could harness had a nourishing effect on her so it was better for her to remain there. Besides, the fact that she was in his inner world meant that she could always be around in the case of an emergency.
"I'll talk with you later," she said before leaving.
In regards to his Tracing, he'd shown more than enough to pass whatever criteria house Barthomeloi had, and he didn't want to reveal any more. Moreover, Agatha had not been too forgiving in her forceful conclusion of the matter, but it wasn't like he couldn't relate to her anger.
All magi had their secrets and were highly protective of their craft. It could already be taken as an insult that he had to undergo an assessment by house Barthomeloi in the first place, but he had never been too critical regarding the secrecy of his magic. However, the Elder from House Barthomeloi did not know that and as such was now treading carefully around him.
She'd been petrified at Agatha's threat, and was now even more terrified after considering the ramifications of the event. Specifically, the prospect that she, and by extension, House Barthomeloi, may have had just offended the successor of the First Magic, a Magician.
The Elder looked at Emily in stunned silence before wordlessly shutting down the bounded field in the area. She did not dally or waste time any further.
"F-Follow me," she said stiffly.
Shirou and the others simply did as was instructed while Mordred trailed quietly near the back. What she was thinking about, only she would know, but he was definitely tempted to pry. Knowing her, there was a large chance that she may overthink things which is exactly what he didn't want her to do.
Fortunately, he didn't have to do anything drastic because Arturia slowed her pace in order to walk closer to Mordred's side. There was an instant effect. Mordred had always highly respected Arturia and to ignore Arturia when she was near, was not an option even if she was hiding her problems.
Leading at the front, the Elder would constantly flinch at his gaze.
He was being treated like a walking disaster.
Emily became the only real support that the Elder could rely on and as such, the Elder stuck close by until they reached a rather dainty looking cottage. It was far from what would be expected to be procured by a magus family as prestigious as House Barthomeloi. Evidently, the Elder knew this too.
"I apologize for the state of the establishment, but this is the best that we can currently offer until I report to the family about the results of the magical assessment." The Elder did not dare look up from her bowed position by the front of the cottage door. "The family has run into some unexpected circumstance."
Oh, he could guess what those circumstances were. Namely, no one in house Barthomeloi had much expectations for an outsider.
Perhaps the dry look in his expression was too much for the Elder to bear, but traces of apprehension appeared in the Elder's tone.
"I assure you that proper housing will be provided by tomorrow," the Elder hurriedly said. After all, it was already too late in the evening to have enough time to find an appropriate lodging without kicking someone else out.
Neither he, Arturia, or Mordred made much of a fuss. Using this time, the Elder was quick to make her escape back to house Barthomeloi.
Left on their own, Emily was the first to sigh. "I apologize for the reception. I may have underestimated the disdain the family had towards outside help."
He shook his head. "No worries." It wasn't like he'd never interacted with magi before. The majority of them were honestly pricks with only a few exceptions.
Sucking in a breath, he pushed open the cottage doors and entered followed by everyone else.
The interior of the cottage was exactly what he had expected: The bare minimum.
For a member of a high-class family, such living conditions would have had been considered atrocious, but out of everyone present, a cottage was actually the most comforting form of accommodation. Emily had started as a farm girl, Mordred did not have much in the way of preferences as long as there was a bed, and he and Arturia didn't even need to be considered. He could still remember an event in their young childhood where the two had fallen asleep on a pile of hay after he'd helped Arturia clean the pig stalls out of pity.
Rather than uncomfortable, the simple cottage had a homely sort of feel.
Arturia and Mordred dropped their belonging on opposite beds opposed from each other while they soon stared at him to see which bed that he'd choose. The beds themselves were separated down the middle of the room with two beds a side.
Suddenly, he felt a pressure building at the back of his head.
The hell was it that decided the room's layout?!
Merlin's antics came to mind, and for some reason, he blamed this karma on the damn wizard.
On one hand was the woman that he loved, and on the other was the girl whose mental and physical well being he cared for.
He really really did not need this sort of thing right now.
"Shirou." Arturia's stern, yet calm voice sounded out.
"Oi, what are you waiting for?" Mordred's brash, yet confident voice echoed in turn.
Near him, he noticed Emily stifling her laughter with a straight face. He would not be getting any help there.
Amusement aside, Emily had places to be as the potential heir of house Barthomeloi. "If you all will excuse me, I'll have to leave you all here for the time being. The Preliminary Selection of the Lord's gathering begins today and I have to at least prepare myself," she said.
His mind screamed at him while looked back between Arturia's expectant expression and Mordred's hopeful disposition.
Fuck.
Right now, he had to choose between one and the other. Therefore, his years of accumulated woman handling skill's kicked into overdrive after hearing Emily's words.
"Already?" He couldn't be too obvious with his intentions. "Do you have any idea of how the selection will take place?"
Emily blinked before clearing her throat. "Yes actually, but it might take too long go over them with you right now. Besides, I have to pass the preliminary assessment between the Mages Association's noble families in order to participate in the actual Lord's Gathering. Why are you asking?"
Cue and point. The time had come.
He scratched at the back of his head sheepishly.
"If you're going to attend a preliminary, then wouldn't it be best to go with a trump card or two?" He tried his best to sound as practical as possible. On his back, he could already feel a suspicious glare burning a hole through him from Arturia.
Emily looked between him and Arturia behind him before a glint flickered across her eyes. "Are you offering?" She saddled herself closer to him and wrapped an arm around his own. "Because I'd be much obliged."
Without thinking, he quickly nodded his head.
From behind him, he could have had sworn that he heard the distinct sound of a bed frame suddenly snapping in half.
Emily's expression stiffened.
Unlike him, she could see what was happening at his back, and it must have had been terrifying because she instantly let go of him. Coughing nervously into her hand she made for the door.
"Perhaps it would be better if we did this transaction elsewhere?"
His thoughts exactly. It was all part of the plan; the deathly purplish-black aura that suddenly exploded from behind him the only real variable.
He rushed towards the door only to be stopped by two hands that clamped down firmly on his shoulders.
"Shirou, where are you going with this harlot?"
H-Harlot? What?
He dared not turn around. He felt like he'd see a terrifying aspect of the woman that he loved if he did. "D-Didn't you hear? I was going to help her with the preliminary selection." The grip on his shoulders only grew tighter.
"Then why not do it here?"
He grew unease. Why did she sound so vicious?
He felt at a loss at Arturia's sudden shift in mood and turned to Emily for help only to realize that Emily was already several meters out the door and looking moments away from sprinting.
Traitor.
"Look, Arturia," he whispered lightly. "I was actually planning on visiting a certain part of the Mages Association. It's true that I'm going with Emily, but that's only to pass off a few items to her. It should take no more than a minute at most."
"A minute?" From Arturia's tone, it sounded like she was debating with herself. "Right. Of course. I knew my trust in you was not misplaced."
He was beginning to question himself about what sort of 'trust' Arturia was speaking about here, and morbidly considering what would happen if he ever broke that 'trust.'
Yup. That wasn't a bridge that he frankly wanted to cross.
The grip that Arturia had on his shoulders eased before he was released. The dark aura that he felt also vanished completely.
He turned around only to see Arturia smiling fondly at him.
"I'll be off," he nodded stiffly.
W-Was it all an illusion?
He really didn't know at this point. More like, he didn't want to know at all.
Gathering his composure, he took a step to leave, but paused when he heard the echoing of two others.
He turned around with a flat expression. "Nope. The both of you are staying here." He flatly stated.
Unlike Arturia and Mordred, he knew his way around the Mages Association and was not in danger of running into anything dangerous. Many experiments were constantly done by Magi within the Mages Association, many of which could be fatal and were often headed by unethical individuals.
He would not take the risk. Besides this was actually an opportune moment for Arturia.
Before Arturia could insist on going, he nudged her on the side and subtly motioned towards Mordred.
Arturia sucked in a breath in reluctance, but conceded due to her own rationality. Despite the silence between Arturia and Mordred, he could tell that they had much to talk about. Well, at least in Arturia's case.
Arturia backed down and retreated back onto her side of the cottage.
One was convinced to stay, which meant that there was only one more left to convince.
"I'm the King's Guard," Mordred had her arms crossed in front of her while radiating a disposition that dared him to say 'No.' She was levying her position which he himself had designated to her as leverage over him. "How can I not come along?"
He was long since prepared for such an excuse. It was a mistake to underestimate his years of womanly troubles. He'd already learned a thing or two from constantly being on the receiving end. That and Rin. A lot of time dealing with Rin.
"Because you're a Knight first and I worry about you. So, stop arguing."
Compliment them in the form of chastisement. It throws them off long enough to take prompt action. It always worked best when they had a lot of self pride.
Mordred's eye dilated and she felt her face flush in both embarrassment and warmth due to being cared for. She was spluttering and directly caught off guard.
She couldn't form any real sentences, always stopping half-way through a trail of thought.
"Y-You, ugh, what- you can't just-"
He closed the door in her fluster, leaving her alone with Arturia.
Escape: Success.
There was no beating a woman in a verbal argument. The best choice was always to flee.
Mordred froze with an arm still outstretched in front of her as her mind caught up with her situation.
You can't leave me in here!
Mordred's expression fell before she turned around to look at Arturia who was already staring at her.
As much as she admired Arturia, talking with her was another thing entirely. To begin with, ever since the events in Gwent, conversation between them had become increasingly awkward. Rather than conversation, it was more accurate to describe the interaction between them as utter silence.
Mordred had always been somewhat of an outspoken individual, and it was precisely because of this that she hated keeping still and doing nothing. She was fidgeting right now, and she had no way of stopping herself.
Call it a past trauma, but she was averse to moments of quiet and silent judgement. It reminded her too much of the way that her mother had often stared her down with ridicule during her childhood years.
"Mordred," Arturia was the first to break the calm. She was sitting on the side of her bed.
Mordred looked up and balked when she saw Arturia patting the spot beside her with a hand.
"Take a seat," Arturia said. Rather than a suggestion, it sounded more like Arturia was robotically giving out orders. It didn't help that her expression was so stiff because of how awkward the air was. In all honestly, it was the only way she could bring herself to talk.
Hearing Arturia's command, it was like Mordred was operating on autopilot. Her body moved and complied before she could even really think about it due to numerous years of treating Arturia's words as absolute. Sitting down, she was close enough to touch shoulders with Arturia.
What the hell was going on?
She really didn't know.
The Queen was acting weird.
"Take off your helmet." Arturia continued ordering. "There's no need to hide your appearance in front of me."
Mordred hesitated after hearing Arturia's words, but in end, she still ended up complying out of loyalty and the secrecy of the room.
A face that looked almost exactly like her own, yet slightly younger and naiver appeared in Arturia's gaze. Looking closely, it was a face full of doubts and uncertainties so different from her own in her teenage years. She sighed, her hands balling into fists over her lap. It was impossible to hold a conversation while sounding like she was bossing someone around.
She forced herself to calm down and to put aside her prejudice.
Seconds passed, then minutes in the terse silence before she finally opened her mouth and found the words to say.
"Sir Ector taught me many things, but he had always stressed not to hate others for things that they never did," she began. Admittedly, Arturia had already failed in this regard, and that was why she wanted to make things right after Mordred herself had inadvertently helped her.
Mordred looked up at Arturia, not knowing the purpose of the conversation. She was more skeptic if anything, but felt her heart jump to her throat when an arm wrapped around her shoulder and drew her close. "We're family, aren't we? Your mother was Morgan which makes you my niece. The resemblance is uncanny."
The voice that entered Mordred's ears was entirely subdued, almost just tired. However, Mordred could hardly believe what she was hearing let alone try to understand.
Family?
The only family that she knew of was an abusive mother that she wanted nothing to do with. She had half-siblings, but her mother had not deigned to inform her of who they even were. After all, she'd never been loved to begin with. She was just a homunculus, a tool.
"Yeah. My mother was Morgan," she reluctantly admitted.
"I see." The grip that Arturia had around Mordred's shoulders pulled Mordred closer if only slightly.
"Then we're family." Arturia concluded sternly before her features softened. She had grudges, doubts, and uncertainties, but maybe they were all just a result of the pettiness that festered within her ever since Morgan took Shirou away from her. Regardless, her mind felt clearer than it had ever been in the past few years.
She could think from a more objective standpoint now. It was time to stop putting it off.
"Before anything else, I have one thing that I've wanted to say to you for a while now."
Arturia sucked in a breath and quelled the nervousness within her. She looked as if someone had just punched her in the gut.
Eventually, she bowed her head low to Mordred, taking Mordred completely by surprise.
If not for Mordred, then perhaps she never would have had been able to realize that there was more to being a just ruler than shouldering everything on her own. Just like Mordred had said, why shouldn't a King be allowed to be selfish or show emotion? Even a King was Human.
"Thank you." She said sincerely.
The room once again fell into silence.
The Mages Association was divided into numerous departments based on specific fields of research, not that he knew what or where those specific fields of research were in the first place though since the Clock Tower wasn't founded yet. After all, he'd never explored the various departments in-depth before because he'd never needed to.
His magic was not suited for research purposes anyway.
What mattered to him right now was acquiring a bit of background knowledge. In regards to his own Reality Marble, he understood its contents just as well as he understood himself. However, recent developments had altered his understanding of inner reality primarily the impact of having an Anchor to the Reverse Side within it.
His lack of knowledge regarding the mysteries of his supposed Ashton heritage was concerning.
Fortunately, the Mages Association wasn't just the location of the future Clock Tower, but a place of learning for all Magi. It was the closest thing that the world would ever have to a magic school, and as such, it stored an advanced array of books and scrolls pertaining to various mysteries.
Fortunately, the library archive was still located in the same place in the Mages Association that he remembered from his memory. Therefore, after taking exactly a minute to pass off a few trump cards to Emily, he'd quickly made his way over.
Unlike normal libraries, the library archive of the Mages Association was heavily guarded and only a select few were allowed entry. A majority of the knowledge kept within was not privy to the eyes of the common magi and as such, strict regulation was imposed. The only ones allowed entry into the library were the trusted magi stationed to act as librarians at the front gate.
One would ask for a certain a book, and the librarian would then enter the library to obtain said book given enough clearance.
In his case, he carried the token of house Barthomeloi gifted from Emily so he had easily been able to enter the Mages Association and make his way to the library archives.
"Looking for something?" The magi stationed at the front of the library loosened his expression upon seeing him flash the crest of House Barthomeloi. The magi himself was old looking, but possessed a burly figure.
"Do you happen to have anything regarding Boundary Theory?" He didn't waste a second of time and got straight to the point.
The Ashton family had done what no other Magus family had done before, they had broken the boundary between the mortal world and the Reverse Side in order to create a pseudo Anchor.
Boundary Theory was the best chance that he would have in order to understand how the Ashton Anchor would operate within his Reality Marble. Of course, the library archive wouldn't have anything too in-depth due to the secretive nature of magi, but a basic comprehension was all that he wanted. Of course, he could have had tried asking Merlin or Agatha, but asking them to dumb down their explanation was the same as asking an English teacher for help with Japanese.
It would honestly take even longer especially since both Merlin and Agatha weren't exactly human. Their understanding would be more inherent rather than factual and helpful.
"Boundary Theory?" The magus furrowed his brows, a hand placing itself beneath his chin in thought before sighing. "Well, I suppose that you aren't the first to ask."
Hmm?
Boundary theory wasn't exactly a great subject of research for magi. Most of the knowledge that magi studied from it was primarily for the establishment of bounded fields or world related theories.
"Really?" He shrugged in disinterest. It didn't really matter what studies other magus busied themselves with. It wasn't his business anyway.
The magus blinked up at him and grimaced as if recalling an unpleasant memory. Even if Shirou didn't really care for the subject, the magus in question seemed to have had developed a keen dislike for his last guest.
"Sorry. A bit of personal grudge I have." The magus admitted with a tight jaw. "The first person to inquire about Boundary Theory was an odd sort of woman many years back who irked me in all the wrong ways."
"Sounds rough," he replied courteously.
The magus nodded while rubbing the stubble of his chin with a finger.
"Sorry again for the outburst," The older magus waved him off before composing himself. "That Morgan fellow was a conceited bitch."
He stiffened.
It was a name that he had not been expecting.
His expression fell into quiet contemplation. He thought to the matter with Mordred and couldn't help but suddenly speculate just why she would be so secretive with him.
Anger nearly turned his vision red at the thought of someone daring to make life even more difficult for Mordred who'd already had a hard life. Was it not enough to hope and do his best in order to make her smile? When was it enough?
Morgan. Was it her again?
Why didn't he think of it sooner?
Bitch indeed.
He felt his jaw clench tight, and suddenly, his expression was mirroring the magus in front of him.
They stared at each other in surprise, but soon nodded in quiet understanding.
Bitch.
SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO 
Parcasious
Parcasious P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious
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