"Damn it, is he ignoring me on purpose?"
Mordred clenched her fists and grit her teeth, annoyed with a situation even she could read as she rode alone through the desert, after the man who had been her teacher in terms of both combat and strategy and the man who she'd stabbed in the back in declaring rebellion against Camelot.
She had no retainers, her Father hadn't deemed her worthy of any, which made sense, and she'd been left to do what she did best, wreak havoc on the enemy, but her inner turmoil was one she couldn't possibly ignore, so, the optimal course then was to join up with her teacher's forces.
Two heads were better than one after all.
And she agreed, headbutting her enemies twice did seem to complete the job most of the time.
*Ehem*
"Teach, come on!" She called for the Knight of Atrocity riding a few metres ahead, as she'd done a number of times before only to be met once more with silence.
It was strange for her you see, for someone who was usually overly responsive and attentive to ignore her like this, someone she'd grown to like pestering if only for the fact that he did NOT ignore her or scold her for it, even if she'd never admit it.
They'd been riding through the night, the sun was on the horizon, peeking from behind the sand dunes that littered the landscape, and Aston's 'soldiers', the so-called 'idiots' who followed a monster, acknowledged Mordred, inner resentments aside, and moved to make way for her as she passed them by so the unruly saber knew it wasn't some weird bullshit like being invisible.
"I already said I'm so-"
"I can't seem to make any sense of it."
The first response since their summoning was one that left Mordred utterly confused.
Her rebellion?
Her claim?
Was Aston saying he couldn't understand the reasons for her actions?
That... well, that hurt a little.
...
"Not even you..." Mordred's loud, maybe even obnoxious, voice was somehow lowered to a barely audible whisper. The Knight of Betrayal clenched her fists, firm in the belief that her Father was in the wrong but also hesitantly grateful about how this second chance meant her Father saw something in her, "At least you..."
"I find it difficult to believe that this is our King." Aston continued, a hand on his chin as he thoughtfully peered into the vast expanse of barren land beyond them, "The method proposed is too drastic."
"What?" Mordred was dumbfounded for the second time, though this time her confusion quickly morphed into annoyance, "At least pay attention!"
"What a bizarre way to go about whoring for attention."
The Knight of Atrocity quickly covered his own mouth, maybe realising just exactly whom he was dealing with and how his words could possibly be a lot more hurtful than he attended.
SO,
He took the best course of action thinkable when dealing with a sensitive loose canon.
Aston put a hand over a shaking Mordred's head, and gently patted her helmet, washing away what may have been rage or sorrow with that one simple action, "I also find it difficult to believe you think one as amazing as I would fail to see your reasoning, did you get knocked over the head in the rebellion?" Of course there was no way for him to completely stop the snide that was almost involuntary at this point.
"It was for you too... you know." The staunch and rowdy Mordred showed a rare moment of vulnerability, allowing her shoulders to droop as she whispered what she thought was an excuse, "It wasn't right."
Indeed, King Arthur, the Perfect Ruler who had no emotions, had a flawed way of ruling, flawed only because it lacked human flaw, thus alienating the King from the masses.
Aston sighed, "I for one, think you may have made a better ruler."
While that certainly wasn't the case initially, stepping down later down the line may as well have been the best course of action to maintain the nation's stability. Artoria rejected Mordred because the latter was emotional (so Aston believed) but because she was emotional, she would have made a good ruler.
"If only yours didn't clash with the King's."
Their ideologies were the antithesis of one another when it came to ruling.
With proper guidance, an empathetic king would do a stable Britain good.
It would also save them from their inevitable destruction.
So Aston believed.
"Alas..." The Knight of Atrocity let out a prolonged sigh, seemingly expecting Mordred to react in the way she did and blocking her fist with his right palm before pulling her close and hugging her tight with his left hand.
The knights and soldiers who witnessed the sight would later describe the sight not as one that appeared romantic but as reminiscent of a parent sincerely apologising to a brash child, something that rarely ever occurred.
"Why the hell did you side with Father then?!"
Mordred's annoyance, anger, and desperation was understandable.
It was like finding out a person you could always count on and trust had decided to alienate themselves for no particular reason.
"Your teacher is a fool, I apologise."
It was also rare to see the Knight of Atrocity apologise, mostly because he acted in a way that he believed was right.
"So if I do it... now? What would you do?" Mordred asked, her emotions in conflict.
On one hand, it made her inexplicably angry that he had believed her right and yet still chosen her father over her. On the other hand, the revelation that he understood and supported her reasoning gladdened her too, it was heartwarming to see someone genuinely believe in her and not show support for ulterior motives.
Sure the Knight of Betrayal was driven mad, blinded by rage but there was no way for someone like her to not see that many of her 'supporters' had their own agendas, she just wilfully ignored them.
If the King couldn't understand the hearts of men, the Knight of Betrayal possibly could.
It was for this very reason that when her teacher answered her question with complete silence, she just sighed in disappointment.
However,
In doing so, she displayed the immaturity for which her 'Father' had rejected her.
Her brashness was what left Mordred entirely dumbfounded for the third time when she felt her teacher nod his head just barely, a gesture that most missed.
"...Fucking traitor."
That was about all she could manage before the emotions she'd held back overflowed and she conveyed them the only way she could.
By repeatedly punching Aston in the gut, releasing gusts of wind that kicked up dust and smoke as Aston gulped, silently accepting his disciple's frustration.
Betraying her own actions, her damned lips refused to obey her and curved into a massive smile.
Also,
She definitely didn't cry!
Definitely not!
Anyone who claimed otherwise would be a traitor!
"The fuck are you snickering at?!"
She snarled at Aston's followers, prompting many of them to react even more openly while some just kept their amusement to themselves.
"Get moving! Father's given us orders!"
Aston slightly tilted his head, "I'm afraid you're going to need a lot more than your father's name to move my men." There was no way she was earning respect by declaring her birthright like some pompous ass.
"I know that!"
The Knight of Betrayal grinned at her teacher, her actions betraying her own words.
-
You can find up to 7 chapters ahead at patre0n.com/bleap
(Bit behind but I've started writing again so should be filled soon enough.)
Under the scorching Sun, in a desolate land devoid of even the most basic of man's needs, forces the scope of which possibly undermined most in current times engaged in a bloody conflict all for the sanctified nature of what was seemingly, an expanse of nothing but sand and death.
The Holy City that the Crusaders sought to both conquer and defend from a people that might just have had the same right to it as them had been desecrated, burnt and all but razed to the ground.
Though, at this point, it could be argued that none of the original warring factions even remained to contest their right to said city.
The Holy Grail, a wish-granting relic, had given rise to an entity that had routed both the desert dwellers and the crusaders and established a land of it's own upon the still burning corpse of what had once stood tall and proud amongst a sea of sand.
An ent- man that historians, nay, the world knew as perhaps the greatest Defier.
The Sun King, Meryamen, the self-declared King of Kings and Godking, Ramsses the Great, King Ozymandias of Egypt.
At the same time however, the same Grail had given rise to a man whose bravery was seldom matched even across the vast annals of man's undoubtedly great and intricate history.
The Great King of England, the man acknowledged as the Coeur de Lion, Richard the Lionheart.
Or so he claimed to be at least.
Supported by a massive contingent of warriors that had appeared alongside him, he had fought Ozymandias to a standstill and driven the original parties involved even further along the brink of total annihilation.
And as if this weren't enough catastrophe, as if this conundrum had managed to upset Gods that had long left humanity's plane of existence, a new calamity made itself known.
*
A tardy, crude assortment of ragtag tents was what they'd set up for the night, so that their mounts could get some of the much needed rest after constant journeying under the blazing Sun that seemed to keep a resentful eye trained on them from above, so that they too could rest and recuperate after being forced away from their camp by heretics and man-faced lions the size of giants spoken of in fairytales.
How could they even have expected what the darkness of the night brought with it?
No one knew who'd been the first to call and point out something shifting just outside the short area illuminated by their cackling torches, maybe they'd been mocking them for setting out on what was now looking to be a lost cause when it should have been a glorious conquest sanctioned by their God.
They all knew when a jagged spear tore through the caller's neck and out his groin, parting his very flesh as a pathetic flicker of scream escaped his lips.
They all saw the monster disguised as a human tread out into the light.
They all saw the glistening cracks that were it's four eyes, it's hide of dark lined metal and the thin fluttering fabric that concealed only God knew what to it's right.
As they watched in shocked horror, metal grinded and shifted as one of it's hands seemed to move and point to the sky, maybe it had been mocking them, telling them to call upon their God and see if he could bring them salvation.
Some listened, others readied themselves for what could only be called a desperate struggle against the inevitable, readying swords and spears as those wise few tried to run.
Run they did, right into the darkness that didn't give them a moment's respite before claiming their lives in silence.
Yet, none bore witness to that brutal spectacle.
Their gazes transfixed on the monster that had made itself known.
Only then did it shift again, pointing at them, all of them, just as the moon playfully peeked from behind the clouds to reveal scores upon scores of fiends that had surrounded them.
Eyes of fire, flesh made of iron and steel, decorated by blood.
Was it any surprise then that most of them lost the will to fight?
They tried however.
All for naught.
And now, a nameless man watched paralysed as men, nay, undead fiends ran amok in what had once been a peaceful reminder of home, their tools slicing and tearing apart those unfortunate enough to be caught in their path.
They chased down those that fled, cut down those that resisted.
Set alight the tents that were to guard them against nature, burnt their food and trampled upon their belongings.
Ah.
A realisation dawned on him as a rugged blade reached for his neck.
This must have been their punishment for allowing the desecration of the Holy City.
Yet, the blade stopped an inch from his skin, held in place by a hand with pointed fingers.
"This one lives, we do require information do we not? Or will you be the one to run around all day to make me a map?"
"No, my lord."
He didn't understand their words but he did understand one thing.
He hadn't been saved.
The gentle and kind voice that had almost eased his heart had come from the monster that had unleashed this hell upon his brethren.
He understood now.
The one cast out from the heavens had come for him.
* * *
On account of my wholly unreliable ass, I present to you a choice.
Chapters for this, I know interest's diminished but sometimes life's weird. I was free a while before I started writing but after I started, one thing started happening after the other and I wasn't able to post, killing this book's momentum.
OR a new work, you can suggest the topic if you want.
I bring you a few new webnovel fate fic recommendations to placate your wrath.
Fate/Roulette, a bit on the comedic side, Fate/Extella centric so I guess some people will be dissuaded, pretty good. It's from J_Titan, he's got some pretty awesome works under his belts so I've no doubt this one is gonna be amazing too. It's got the umu queen herself.
As A Mangaka At Type Moon, set around the time of Fate/Zero. Mc has Rohan Kishibe's powers, it's interesting enough.
Fate/Resistance, the mc is an actual magus in this one, set in Fate Grand Order. He's participated in the Grail War Marisbury was part of and lost, but got something hella interesting in exchange. This one is detail oriented, a bit serious and has smaller chapter amount at the moment but greater than chapter average length. Also, Scathach.
Fate: Please let me go to the throne of heroes, this one is a translation. It was pretty nice at the start but then I stopped reading at chapter 20 something and now my heart refuses to let me read it any further for some reason. Set in the time of King Gilgamesh for now, though the synopsis differs.
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