Beneath the blood-colored sunset, the solemn killing intent between the two armies almost solidified. Artoria's words were like ice water thrown into a deep fryer, completely igniting the last fuse of sanity in Mordred's heart.
"He is the only one... I cannot let you touch..."
To Mordred, these words were no different from a final sentence and a mockery. Her golden pupils suddenly contracted, and were then completely submerged by a mad blood-red.
"Aaaaaahhhhh——!!!"
Accompanied by a sky-rending shriek, Mordred, like a cornered beast, suddenly spurred her horse. Holding that god-slaying sword which emitted an ominous, ghostly light, she charged recklessly at Artoria! Her offensive had no order, only the most primitive and violent desire for destruction. Every strike was poured with all her jealousy, resentment, and unrequited love, as if she wanted to tear the mother who occupied everything she craved into pieces!
"Why you?! Why is it always you?!" Mordred roared amidst her frantic hacking, tears and sweat splashing together. "You don't understand him at all! You only know how to make him sacrifice for you, to protect this damn country for you! But I! I am the one who truly loves him! I am willing to betray everything for him! What right do you have to monopolize him?! Give him back to me!!"
Artoria swung the sword of promised victory, steadily parrying her daughter's storm-like attacks. The golden radiance of the holy sword and the dark flow of the god-slaying sword constantly clashed, erupting in ear-piercing metallic clangs and scattered energy shockwaves. Every collision made Artoria's arms feel slightly numb—not just from the physical impact, but from the mental shock brought by Mordred's naked, mad obsession with Mr. Kanjuro (Merlin).
"Fool! You have no idea what you're saying!" Artoria responded sharply, but deep in her eyes, a violent swaying and... a sting she was unwilling to admit were produced by her daughter's twisted 'love' for Merlin.
In the gaps of this life-and-death struggle, images of the past uncontrollably flooded Artoria's mind... It was that familiar forest, her younger self clumsily swinging a wooden sword, while that figure in black robes always stood patiently aside, gently correcting her posture. "Lower your wrists a bit more, Artoria."... It was he who handed her sweet spring water when she was exhausted; it was he who told her the mysteries of the stars and the kings way on countless nights; it was he who guided her to the sword in the stone, telling her that she was born to be king... From an ignorant child to the King of Knights, every step of her life was deeply imprinted with the traces of the man named Merlin. He had given her everything—strength, conviction, and even... this kingdom she now protected.
(Merlin...)
Her heart throbbed with pain from these surging memories. It was a deep emotion, far beyond that of mentor and subordinate, so complex that even she could not fully clarify it. She could not tolerate anyone tainting this bond, not even her own biological daughter!
During the fierce battle, Artoria's gaze involuntarily drifted toward the distance, falling in the direction of the forest where they first met, falling on the horizon where the blood-colored sunset was sinking.
At that moment, her pupils dilated slightly.
On the silhouette of the ridge outlined by the last rays of the sunset, a very blurry black-robed figure, appearing as if merged with the shadows, seemed to be standing there quietly. The distance was too far to see the face, but that familiar silhouette, that posture of seeing through everything and remaining detached... it was Merlin! He was right there, watching all of this!
An indescribable wave of complex emotions instantly seized Artoria. There was no wild joy as she might have imagined, but rather a mixture of relief, bitterness, and... a suddenly rising sense of resignation.
(He is fine... He has been watching all along. Then, everything before my eyes, this tragedy of mother and daughter killing each other, is it... also within his expectations? Or rather...)
She did not think further; that thought was too terrifying, enough to destroy everything she had believed in until now. But a strange peace, like moonlight, spilled over her turbulent heart.
And it was in this moment of emotional upheaval and sudden insight!
Puchi—!
The dull sound of a blade piercing armor interrupted all memories and thoughts! Just as that god-slaying sword, imbued with eerie power, was about to completely tear through Artoria's body and bring this tragedy to a close—
A black shadow appeared before Artoria without any warning, as if by teleportation!
It was Mr. Kanjuro (Merlin)!
He used his own body to block the space between Artoria and that lethal blade! His black robes billowed in the gale; he appeared so abruptly, as if he had been standing there from the very beginning, waiting for this final moment.
Mordred's sword strike, which condensed all her hatred and madness, froze mid-air just an inch from Mr. Kanjuro's chest! Her arms trembled violently from the forced retraction of strength, and the madness on her face receded like a tide, replaced by a panic bordering on terror.
"Fa... Merlin!" she cried out, her voice full of bewilderment. "Why...? Please move! I... I cannot hurt you!"
She could thrust her sword into her mother without hesitation, but she could not bear to let her blade touch even a hair of this man she madly loved and deeply feared.
Mr. Kanjuro paid no heed to Mordred; he didn't even look back at the sword tip so close to him. He simply, with an indescribable tenderness, leaned down and gently took Artoria—who could barely stand and was supporting herself with her scabbard—into his arms.
Artoria's consciousness was already somewhat blurred; intense pain and the ebbing of her life made her vision shake. But when she felt that familiar embrace with its cool scent, she struggled to lift her head, her blood-stained hand trembling as it extremely gently brushed over Mr. Kanjuro's face, which had never aged and remained handsome.
"Merlin..." Her voice was as faint as a whisper, yet it carried a peace as if the dust had finally settled. "You... have you finally come back to see me?"
Mr. Kanjuro looked down at her pale face, a very complex flicker appearing in his deep eyes. He sighed softly, his voice more gentle than ever before, yet seemingly containing an endless chill: "Yes, I've come back to see you. How could I... bear to let you die like this?"
He tenderly pulled her tighter into his embrace, as if protecting a fragile treasure. Artoria leaned into his cold black robes, her golden hair falling, and a nearly illusory, gentle smile actually appeared on her blood-stained face. She seemed to use the last of her strength to ask the question that had been circling in her mind, becoming crystal clear along with the sharp pain:
"From the very beginning... the meeting in the forest, the guidance of the sword in the stone, the inheritance of the throne, and even the birth of Mordred... everything was... arranged by you, right?" Her voice was very soft, without resentment or questioning, only a calmness that saw through everything, filled with infinite compassion and complex emotions.
Kanjuro fell silent for a moment, the shadow of his hood concealing his true expression, but he nodded and admitted frankly, "Yes, from the beginning, it was all manipulation. So... you knew all along."
Artoria looked at him with a complex gaze, her emerald eyes like a tranquil lake after a storm, reflecting his blurry silhouette. "But... I don't understand. Why would you do this? Merlin... no, perhaps I should call you something else? You went to such lengths to weave such a massive lie, placing all of us... me, Mordred, the entirety of Britain on this cruel chessboard. For what, exactly?"
Kanjuro leaned down slightly, bringing his lips to her ear, and whispered in a voice like a devil's murmur that only the two of them could hear:
"Because... you are my dear daughter."
Boom—!!!
These words, like a thunderclap, exploded in Artoria's nearly stagnant mind!
The daughter of King Uther? The legitimate bloodline of Britain? The starting point of all that glory and responsibility... was a lie from the very beginning! Her true father, the man who taught her, supported her, and ultimately pushed her into the abyss, was from the start this existence named Merlin, who was actually... Kanjuro!
All the clues connected at this moment—his extraordinary attention and 'cultivation' of her, his control over Britain as if he were an owner over his property, his cold observation and even instigation of the tragedy between her and Mordred... everything had the most cruel and most logical explanation!
Artoria's eyes widened, her endless shock drowning out the intense pain. She looked at Kanjuro as if seeing the man who had accompanied her all her life and shaped her entire world clearly for the first time.
"Wh... why..." She gasped with difficulty, repeating the question as blood seeped from the corner of her mouth, "Why... do this?"
Kanjuro gently wiped the blood from her lips, his movements as tender as a real father's, but his words were bone-chillingly cold: "When you wake up from this long dream, you will understand."
"I... don't understand..." Artoria's gaze began to wander, her life force fading rapidly, but she still clung to seeking the final answer.
Kanjuro did not answer her again. He slowly laid the gradually fading Artoria flat on the blood-stained ground, as if setting down a masterpiece that had fulfilled its mission.
Then, he stood up and finally turned his gaze toward Mordred, who was still frozen in place, her face pale, as if her worldview had been shattered along with everything else.
The gentle disguise on his face melted away like ice and snow, replaced by a cold smile that was a mix of amusement, anticipation, and absolute control.
"Now then, my dear precious daughter Mordred..." Kanjuro's voice carried a spine-chilling intimacy. He slowly raised his hand, and a magic far deeper and more terrifying than anything he had shown before began to condense at his fingertips, the surrounding air seemingly warping because of it.
"Now that the nuisance has temporarily exited the stage..." He smiled, looking at Mordred with eyes like one watching a long-reared prey finally worth playing with.
"Let your father... personally have a good 'contest' with you!"
The final reversal and the final battle between this twisted 'father and daughter' were about to unfold. And for Artoria, lying on the ground, her last thought before her consciousness sank into darkness was of that blood-red sunset and that lingering whisper—"When you wake up..."
Kanjuro slowly shifted his gaze from the unconscious Artoria to the stiff-bodied Mordred. That gentle smile still hung on his face, but his eyes were churning with a chilling coldness and madness.
"Now, it's just you and me, my dear Mordred." His voice was soft, yet it slithered into Mordred's ears like a snake's hiss.
Mordred looked at the man before her, both familiar and strange, and her hand holding the sword began to tremble uncontrollably. The 'Merlin' in her memory, who had always guided her with a gentle and mysterious smile, was shattering, replaced by an existence radiating absolute malice and indifference that she had never dared to imagine.
"Fa... Merlin?" Her voice trembled, and she instinctively took a step back, her face beneath the lion-headed helmet filled with fear and confusion. "You... you just said... you are my father? But why... why do you look so strange now, so cold..." She couldn't reconcile this man with eyes as dark as an abyss with the 'Merlin' she had loved so twistedly and at all costs.
Seeing Mordred's terrified expression as her worldview collapsed, Kanjuro looked as if he were seeing the most hilarious sight in the world. He suddenly reached out and clutched his stomach, as if unable to suppress the pleasure welling up from the depths of his soul, and then—
"Hahahaha!!!"
He burst into a fit of hysterical, cold laughter that echoed across the corpse-strewn battlefield, piercing and horrifying. He laughed so hard he doubled over, almost unable to catch his breath, tears seemingly on the verge of coming out.
"Haha... hahaha... This is too funny! Truly hilarious!" As he laughed, he wiped away non-existent tears with his fingertips, his gaze toward Mordred filled with ultimate mockery. "My foolish daughter! Even now, you're still agonizing over this? Father? Daughter? Hahahaha!"
His laughter stopped abruptly, and the expression on his face instantly became like ten-thousand-year-old ice, with only pure, naked malice remaining in his deep eyes.
"You lot—" His gaze swept over the fallen Artoria and fixed on the pale-faced Mordred, his voice sounding like it came from the depths of the Nine Netherworld. "—All of you! Artoria, you, Morgan, Lancelot, even the whole of Britain! You are all nothing more than pawns in a meticulously choreographed play in my long life! Playthings I use to pass the boring time, to enjoy seeing how 'emotions' drag the noble into the mire and utterly destroy the resilient!"
Just then, Artoria, who had been unconscious from her heavy injuries and the shock, had her long eyelashes tremble violently. Kanjuro's mad and cold words pierced her blurred consciousness like ice picks, forcibly pulling a sliver of clarity back from the edge of darkness.
(Why...)
Her heavily injured body couldn't move, and even opening her eyes became incredibly difficult, but her heart was screaming silently.
(Why... do this to us...)
Hate? Perhaps there was some, but at this moment, there was more of a boundless daze and tearing pain. The foundation that had supported her faith her entire life had completely shattered before her, leaving only an endless void. She still had so many questions to ask, wanting to grab the corner of his robe and ask about every altered moment, the truth hidden behind every hypocritical bit of tenderness... but she didn't even have the strength to utter a single syllable.
Kanjuro seemed to sense Artoria's weak conscious fluctuations. He glanced down at her, a cruel arc curling at the corner of his mouth, as if enjoying her miserable state where she couldn't even fully express her resentment.
His gaze returned to the nearly broken Mordred.
"Come, my 'dear' daughter." Kanjuro slowly raised his hand, and the surrounding space began to warp, as if countless pitch-black shadows were spreading from behind him. That was a dark power far deeper and more primordial than anything Morgan or the Fairy of the Lake possessed. "Let me show you the true form of the father you have always 'deeply loved'."
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