The footsteps of the pursuit entered a deep, dense bamboo forest.
Cold moonlight struggled to penetrate the layers of bamboo leaves, casting countless mottled and distorted patches of light on the ground, as if the earth itself were shattered.
In the air, the fresh scent of bamboo leaves was cruelly intertwined with a thick, cloying stench of blood.
The rebel elites led by Mordred had just finished a tragic and fierce battle here against the rearguard Kanjuro had deliberately arranged to show weakness. Now, the battle was nearing its end. The last few soldiers of the guard who had sworn loyalty to King Arthur had fallen, their warm blood silently soaking the cold earth.
Mordred waved her hand, signaling with unquestionable authority for all the soldiers under her command to wait outside the bamboo forest.
Alone, she carried a longsword that was still slowly dripping thick blood, stepping one pace at a time into the deeper darkness of the bamboo forest. Her specialized, dark lion-head armor, designed to hide her gender, was covered in scratches and stains from the battle. Her helmet had been removed and hung loosely at her waist, revealing a young face that combined a maiden's softness with a warrior's fortitude—
A face that was now slightly distorted by extremely complex emotions.
Brilliant golden hair was stuck to her smooth forehead by sweat and the blood of her enemies. Those emerald eyes inherited from her mother were no longer a clear lake-green under the dim, hazy light, but were burning with a flame almost insane enough to incinerate everything.
Bamboo shadows swayed silently around her, making a soft rustling sound like countless spirits whispering in the dark. In the center of the bamboo forest, in a small clearing slightly graced by moonlight, the figure that had sustained her until today—and was the source of all her pain and desire—finally appeared before her eyes, just as she had expected.
Kanjuro stood with his back to her, his mysterious black robe, which seemed to absorb all light, fluttering slightly in the night wind passing through the bamboo, making him look almost as if he were one with this place of shadows.
He showed no panic from being cornered. He simply stood there silently, tilting his head slightly to gaze at the meager, pale moonlight leaking through the gaps in the bamboo leaves. His entire silhouette was deliberately posed as a tragic hero—solitary, aloof, and heart-wrenching.
"Father... Merlin!" Mordred's voice trembled uncontrollably as she stopped, standing several paces away from him.
This distance was as if she feared being too eager would scare away the prey that controlled everything, yet also as if she were gathering the final courage for the world-shaking confession she was about to make.
Kanjuro—or rather, the Merlin who would always be her great mentor in Mordred's perception—slowly turned around at the sound. The cold moonlight barely illuminated the lower half of his face hidden in the deep shadows of his hood—his elegantly lined jaw and those thin lips that always bore a mysterious curve.
His gaze pierced the shadows and fell upon Mordred. The look in his eyes was so complex, skillfully mixing an "elder's" "heartache," an "incomprehension" of "fate's cruel tricks," and a trace of deep "disappointment" at her having "gone astray."
"Mordred..." he spoke, his voice still that deep and magnetic tone, yet now it seemed to carry the weight of the entire kingdom's collapse, possessing a sorrowful texture.
"In the end... you still brought the Rebel Army and pursued me here. To destroy the country your mother swore to protect, to point your blade at the one who taught and sheltered you... is this truly the answer you ultimately wanted?"
"It's not what I wanted!!" Kanjuro's (Merlin's) words were like a fuse being lit, causing Mordred's suppressed emotions to explode instantly. She interrupted with a hoarse, agitated cry, her voice clearly carrying a sob. Tears fell like broken pearls, mixing with the undried blood on her face to trace paths of humiliation and resolve.
"You all forced me! All of you! The world forced me!"
She lunged forward a few steps, almost crashing into his arms, but stopped herself abruptly at the last moment. She only used those emerald eyes, filled with tears and madness, to lock onto him deathly tight.
"I did all this... all the rebellious things I've done, the betrayal that turned into rivers of blood, the war that burned everything... it was all for you! It was all for you, Merlin!"
She was practically screaming with all her strength, pouring out those emotions that had been suppressed deep in her heart and had long since fermented into poison, like a destructive flood breaking a dam. "I envy her! I hate her! Artoria! Why her?! Why does she get to naturally monopolize all your attention, all your tenderness, all your... 'love'?! She's away at war all year round; what has she ever given you?! Even her company is a luxury! She doesn't understand at all, and she doesn't see how much you've sacrificed behind the scenes for this country, for that crumbling throne of hers!"
She waved her blood-stained longsword uncontrollably, the sharp tip cutting through the stagnant air as she pointed at the eerie bamboo forest, toward Camelot, and toward everything she believed had hindered her or failed him.
"This country?! What is there worth protecting in this kingdom that is rotten to the core and filled with hypocrisy and injustice?! What value is there in those weak, ignorant, easily incited commoners?! Only me! Merlin, look at me, only I truly understand you! Only I am worthy of standing by your side and sharing everything in this world with you!"
With a piercing metallic clang, she threw her longsword—which she had valued as much as her life—onto the ground like a piece of scrap metal. Immediately after, as if drained of all strength yet driven by one final impulse, she stumbled toward Kanjuro (Merlin). Heedless of everything, she used her hands stained with blood and dirt to grip the cold lapels of his black robe tightly, as if it were the only salvation she could grasp in an endless abyss. She forced her head up, letting the moonlight illuminate her face covered in tear tracks and madness, and used those emerald eyes—filled with humble supplication, desperate love, and reckless possessiveness—to stare at him as if trying to look into the depths of his soul.
"Look at me! Merlin! I beg you, look at me! I am stronger than her! I understand you better than she does!
For you, I can betray my bloodline, I can trample my oaths, I can destroy all of Britain! I attacked the Royal City, I pursued you here... all of this was just to prove to you that I! Mordred! am the one most qualified and the only one worthy of possessing all of you!"
Her voice broke from extreme sobbing, carrying a heart-wrenching despair and obsession as she uttered her most taboo feelings: "I don't want to be your daughter anymore! I don't want any of this damn thing that binds me! I love you! I love you like a woman loves a man to the point of madness! Why... why can your eyes only ever see her figure?! Why can't you... can't you let your gaze, even just a sliver of it, truly rest on me?!"
The bamboo forest returned to a deathly silence, with only Mordred's uncontrollable crying—like that of a wounded cub—and her heavy, rasping breaths echoing in the clearing. She clung to Kanjuro's black robe with all her life, laying out all her distorted obsession, bone-deep pain, humble struggle, and that deformed yet incredibly blazing and sincere emotion nakedly before this man she both loved to the core and hated intensely.
Kanjuro lowered his head. The shadow of his hood perfectly masked all his true expressions, leaving only his cold gaze to fall upon the girl trembling violently in his arms from her intense emotions.
He could clearly feel the heat of her emotions, which were almost enough to burn this avatar of his. It was a power that had partially escaped his control but was unexpectedly more "perfect" and destructive—exactly the final catalyst he had dreamed of.
He did not push her away immediately, nor did he offer any response in word or action. He was like a silent abyss, allowing her to grip him and vent, his entire being exuding an eternal, absolute calm capable of swallowing all frenzied emotion.
(That's it... my dear, perfect creation. Just like that... let this desperate hatred born of extreme love burn even more vigorously, even more thoroughly.) He let out a sigh of pleasure in his heart. (This 'deep affection' of yours is precisely the sharpest and most cruel dagger that will pierce your mother Artoria's final conviction and heart in the future.)
He could even feel his hand suspended in mid-air, which originally intended to offer comfort as before, now condensing all of Mordred's hope. Yet, he simply kept that hand hovering, forming a silent rejection more cruel than any blade.
Watching his consistently unresponsive posture and feeling that absolute coldness that seemed to transcend all living beings and disregard all emotion, the last humble spark of hope in Mordred's heart was completely extinguished and shattered as if blown by a polar wind. A massive despair, enough to freeze the soul, along with an unprecedented sense of shame, flooded over her like a cold tide surging from a ten-thousand-foot icy abyss.
She abruptly released her grip on his robe as if the fabric had become scalding, and she staggered backward, barely able to stand.
She finally understood. No matter how she struggled, no matter how strong she became, no matter how much she destroyed or sacrificed... in the heart of this man named Merlin, there had never... been even the slightest place reserved for her.
Tears surged and fell silently again, but this time, there was no longer any supplication or warmth in her eyes. Only a desolate, cold aura of death remained, along with a destructive resolve to perish together with the entire world.
Silently and stiffly, she bent down and picked up the longsword she had discarded. The sensation of her fingers tightening around the hilt again was cold and unfamiliar. She took one last deep look—
As if to carve his figure into her soul's brand, she looked at Kanjuro (Merlin) one last time. That gaze was complex and chaotic to the extreme, containing a love that all the waters of the five lakes and four seas could hardly wash away, a bone-deep resentment, a heart-shattering despair, and... a final trace of realization and farewell.
Then, she turned abruptly, no longer hesitating. Without looking back, she walked firmly out of the bamboo forest that held her last pure (though twisted) emotions, toward the eternal darkness of the Rebel Army, war, blood, and utter madness—a path from which there was no return.
Kanjuro stood alone on the spot like an eternal ghost, quietly sensing the salty scent of the girl's tears and the lingering aura of her heartbroken despair in the air.
Not until the sound of footsteps completely vanished at the end of the bamboo forest did that smile—carefully planned and awaited for a long time, a mixture of extreme pleasure and cruel satisfaction—finally no longer need to be hidden beneath his hood. It slowly curled at the corners of his handsome mouth like a blooming flower of hell.
(The exquisite flavor of emotion is indeed the most wonderful catalyst... All the pieces are in place, and every emotion is at its peak.) His thoughts shifted. (Now, only the final step remains. I only need to wait for the King's return to witness this... desperate finale carefully prepared for her.) Her heart as cold as ash, Mordred did not return to the rebel camp. Her completely crushed self-esteem and unrequited love transformed into a deeper obsession, gnawing at her soul like a venomous snake. She could not accept this outcome; only one frantic thought remained in her mind—since she could not make him truly love her, then even if she had to use magic or drugs, she would forcibly alter his heart, even if only for a single moment!
Like a phantom, she found Morgan hiding in a secret workshop. Inside the workshop, eerie magical instruments flickered with faint light, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of various herbs and magical ores. Mordred had lost all her former pride and edge. Like a child lost in a storm, she grabbed Morgan's cold hands and pleaded through her tears:
"Aunt Morgan... I know you are proficient in the world's oldest secret arts... I beg of you, tell me, is there... is there any magic potion or incantation that can change the love in a person's heart? To make him... make him look at me, even if it's just a brief illusion!"
Morgan looked at her niece, who was so tormented by emotion that she had almost lost her human form. A flicker of extremely complex emotion passed through those violet eyes so similar to her own. There was mockery for Mordred's foolish persistence and a hint of pity for her tragic plight, but more than that, there was a cold calculation that saw through everything. She knew clearly who the "he" Mordred spoke of was, and she understood that this was nothing more than a moth flying into a flame. But this was exactly what she wanted.
"A love that changes the heart? That is a realm that touches upon the taboos of the soul, my dear niece." Morgan's voice carried a bewitching rasp as she gently stroked Mordred's sweat-drenched golden hair. "The price... might be beyond your imagination."
"I don't care!" Mordred snapped her head up, her eyes filled with the determination of someone burning their bridges. "I am willing to pay any price! As long as... as long as I can make him..."
A faint, imperceptible cold smile played at the corners of Morgan's mouth. "Very well, for the sake of your 'devotion'... perhaps there is an existence that can provide the 'help' you need."
She took Mordred back to the shores of the Lake of the Fairies, which was shrouded in shadow. Unlike its former sacred tranquility, the lake water now appeared stagnant and oppressive, as if even the spirits within the lake were holding their breath.
Morgan stood by the lake, chanting softly in ancient Elvish, her voice sending ripples of ill omen across the water's surface. After a long time, a faint light flickered in the center of the lake, and the figure of Vivian, the Lady of the Lake, slowly emerged. However, she appeared dimmer and more illusory than ever before, as if she might dissipate at any moment. Her face bore an unmistakable exhaustion and... a deeply hidden fear. Especially when her gaze swept over Morgan and she realized who this was related to, that fear almost overflowed.
She had once been crushed by Kanjuro's absolute power, her soul wounded. She knew well the terror and irresistibility of that existence. She did not dare, nor did she have the strength, to directly oppose him again, nor did she even dare to give a clear warning.
After Morgan subtly conveyed Mordred's "request," Vivian fell into a long silence. She looked at the frantic, despair-filled girl on the shore, and it was as if she saw through her to the demonic figure behind the scenes who was enjoying all of this. She understood that this was likely another part of that being's script, and any intervention might invite even more terrible consequences.
Finally, in the suffocating silence, Vivian let out a deep sigh, one filled with powerlessness and compromise. She reached out her hand, and from her palm condensed the last bit of pure magic from the lake and some ancient law involving telepathy. A small, exquisite crystal bottle with a dreamlike pink-purple luster slowly emerged. The contents of the bottle were like liquid moonlight, yet they faintly flowed with unstable energy ripples.
"Take it, child..." Vivian's voice was ethereal and distant, carrying the sorrow of fate. "The liquid in this bottle is not a divine medicine that truly changes the heart; that is not something any being can easily do. It is... more like a key that can forcibly open the deepest desires and emotional projections of the soul for a very short time, focusing them on the person the one administering the medicine desires."
She pushed the crystal bottle toward Mordred, her eyes full of complex warnings and pity, yet she dared not speak too clearly: "After he consumes it... within one hour, in his eyes, you will become the incarnation of his 'beloved' deep within his heart. He will pour all his tenderness and love upon you... But remember, only for one hour!"
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