I Don’t Want to Be a Heroic Spirit

Artoria had not expected to encounter Mordred here.

Initially, after leaving the Black Faction's base, her plan had been to head straight for the Red Faction's headquarters.

However, she suddenly sensed the presence of a Red Servant.

As the Ruler of this Holy Grail War, Artoria had the ability to detect the presence of Servants.

While all Servants had similar capabilities, Artoria's range was far greater due to her Ruler-class attributes.

Even before meeting them, she already suspected who this Red Servant was.

It had to be Mordred.

At this stage of the war, most of the Red Faction's Servants were under Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's control. Only Kairi Shishigou and Mordred, who preferred to act independently, had rejected Amakusa's leadership and wandered freely.

To be honest, Artoria hadn't yet decided how to approach Mordred—or whether she even should.

After all, she was well aware that she wasn't the real King Arthur, nor was she the version of Arthur that Mordred knew.

Even the spirit origin she inhabited conveyed emotions like worry and hesitation, uncertain of how to face her sole child.

Should she hold resentment? After all, Mordred had destroyed her kingdom.

Should she apologize? After all, Mordred had become who she was because of her neglect.

Perhaps it was the emotions carried within the spirit origin that ultimately swayed her to meet with Mordred.

"You wish to mend your relationship with her, don't you? To convey your true thoughts to her… to free her from the torment of her anger."

Artoria appeared to be speaking to herself, but she knew the true King Arthur within the spirit origin could hear her.

Although she didn't sense a clear agreement, there wasn't rejection either. It was likely confusion.

Mordred's presence was emanating from a graveyard, not a difficult place to locate.

From afar, Artoria spotted Mordred, dressed in her usual casual and revealing attire, alongside a man whose appearance practically screamed "trouble." That must be her Master, Kairi Shishigou.

At that moment, Mordred was facing away from her. Her Master, however, noticed Artoria's approach immediately, his jaw dropping in shock.

It was no wonder—Artoria and Mordred bore an uncanny resemblance, as if they had been carved from the same mold.

Even Artoria herself couldn't help but feel surprised.

She clearly remembered that Mordred possessed the skill Instinct, which wasn't like Lancelot's polished martial prowess. Mordred's instincts were more akin to a beast's sharp intuition, combined with her aggressive, all-or-nothing combat style. She fought less like a knight and more like a bloodthirsty predator.

While Artoria had taken care to conceal her presence and suppress any hostile intent, it still shouldn't have been possible for her to get this close without Mordred noticing.

Unless…

Mordred trusted her.

It was like how vigilant creatures might react to all potential threats but feel at ease when their parents approached. This instinctive trust stemmed from the subconscious.

Artoria's expression turned complicated as she called out softly:

"Mordred."

"Who are you?! How dare you impersonate my father—!"

Mordred's face turned crimson with rage as she raised her sword, ready to strike down the impostor.

"Saber! Wait—"

Kairi snapped out of his shock and tried to stop her, but an enraged Mordred wouldn't listen.

Red lightning exploded around her as she stomped on the ground, shattering it beneath her feet. In an instant, she closed the distance to Artoria, swinging her cursed blade with all her fury.

Even Artoria was caught off guard by Mordred's decisiveness, though she wasn't so stunned as to take the hit head-on.

Rather than dodging, Artoria clenched her fist, a faint golden glow enveloping it, and struck toward the incoming blade.

—Bajiquan!

The clash of red lightning and Artoria's slender fist produced an overwhelming force. Mordred nearly lost her grip on her sword as the impact sent a powerful shockwave through her body, reaching her very core.

The crimson lightning shattered like glass, and Mordred was sent flying.

She crashed into the ground, creating several craters before skidding dozens of meters further, finally coming to a stop.

"You… you bastard!"

Mordred staggered to her feet, her sword hand trembling uncontrollably. Her red jacket was now tattered, and her snarling face resembled that of a demon crawling out of hell.

"Saber! Don't be reckless!"

Kairi tried once more to reason with her, but Mordred's focus had narrowed to a single target—Artoria.

"Impostor! I'll kill you—"

"Mordred!"

Artoria's sharp voice cut through Mordred's fury, stern and commanding.

That one word froze Mordred in place, her expression shifting from rage to stunned disbelief.

This feeling…

Her body reacted instinctively, as if it wanted to drop to one knee, lower her head, and swear fealty to the King before her.

But… how could that be?

An impostor… just an impostor…

"Mordred, how much longer do you intend to disgrace the name of the Knights of the Round Table?"

The familiar reprimand made her lower her head in fear, unable to meet those striking emerald eyes.

Artoria approached her slowly, the soft clink of her silver boots echoing in Mordred's ears, each step a hammer on her heart.

"Even as the lowest-ranked knight, you are still a member of the Round Table. Your actions represent the honor of all its members."

Stopping before her, Artoria's voice carried a stern rebuke.

Just like in the past.

Mordred stared blankly at the figure before her—so familiar, yet so foreign.

She finally managed to stammer, "Fa… Father?"

Artoria hesitated, uncertain of how to respond to Mordred's doubtful expression.

"Yes… and no."

If Mordred truly believed her opponent to be King Arthur, she should have attacked without hesitation.

After all, she was the Rebel Knight, and opposing Arthur was her raison d'être.

But the Artoria before her felt so different from the King she remembered.

Doubts about reality swirled in Mordred's mind, momentarily causing her to forget the enmity she held for her King.

---

Ahem! Gather close, esteemed audience! Do you comprehend the privilege of basking in my radiance? Truly, you're witnessing history in the making—a performance unparalleled in the annals of Fontaine!

Ah, but don't get distracted! Let me be clear: this brilliance isn't conjured from thin air. No, no, no! It requires effort, dedication, and… well, a touch of your generosity. If you fancy being part of something truly extraordinary, do step forward here: [patreon.com/WiseTL].

Oh, but wait! You're probably wondering, "Furina, how can someone as magnificent as you need assistance?" To that, I say: why deny mortals the honor of contributing to such greatness? Supporting me is supporting art, and who doesn't want to say they were instrumental in a legend's rise?

Now, off you go. Make your offerings, and perhaps, perhaps, I'll acknowledge you in my next soliloquy!

— Furina ✨