Kanjuro took off Merlin's hooded robe, and his silver-white hair turned black.
Kanjuro's hand stopped in mid-air, and the darkness shrouding the battlefield seemed to pause slightly with his movement. The ferocious grin on his face grew wider, carrying a nearly blissful cruelty.
"Oh? It seems another spectator is eager to take the stage." He didn't turn around, but his voice clearly reached the ears of Morgan as she stepped out from the shadows.
Morgan held her magic wand, her silver hair dancing wildly in the rising night wind. She stared intently at Kanjuro's back, her eyes filled with hatred accumulated over countless years and a hint of resolute pleasure. She barked at the frozen Mordred:
"Mordred! What are you still hesitating for?! Look at him! Look at this man who has manipulated all our fates! What did you think your birth was? The fruit of love? No! It was another step he meticulously designed to more thoroughly destroy Artoria! Me, you, and your poor 'mother' Artoria lying there—the three of us are all continuations of this demon's bloodline, all works he used to satisfy his twisted desires and enjoy the deepest pain in the world!"
Her words were like poisoned daggers, stabbing fiercely into Mordred's already chaotic mind.
"He doesn't care about you at all, nor me, and certainly not Artoria! All he cares about is whether this play he wrote, directed, and starred in is 'exciting' enough! Now, take up the god-slaying sword in your hand! This weapon, forged by the Fairy of the Lake with all her divine power and capable of severing karma, is the only thing that might harm him! Bring him to an end, and for all of us... take revenge!"
Mordred's body trembled violently. She looked at Kanjuro, then at the fallen and semi-conscious Artoria, and finally, her gaze fell on the shimmering demonic sword in her hand. Morgan's words resonated with the immense pain of being deceived and toyed with in her heart. Yes, he had never loved her, never... all her infatuation, all her struggles, were nothing more than a farce in his eyes.
A surge of mad power, mixed with despair, anger, and betrayal, began to churn within her.
Kanjuro seemed completely indifferent to Morgan's accusations and Mordred's struggle. He even let out a light chuckle, slowly and with a ritualistic elegance, raising his hand to take off the large hood that symbolized his identity as 'Merlin'.
The hood slid off, no longer revealing the aged or mysterious face of the prophet Merlin that everyone was familiar with. A head of short hair as black as night was revealed, forming a strange yet harmonious contrast with his still young and handsome face. This simple change in hair color seemed to tear away the last layer of disguise, exposing the cold, dark essence beneath.
At that very instant—
"Ugh... ah—!!!"
Artoria, who had been semi-conscious from her heavy injuries, felt as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning and let out a groan of extreme pain. Her body convulsed violently, her emerald eyes snapped open, but her pupils were dilated and unfocused, as if she were enduring a tearing pain from the depths of her soul.
(Black... black hair...)
Fragmented images, like a bursting flood, crushed the barriers of her altered memories and forced their way into her mind.
(The ruins of the Holy Grail War... endless darkness... that man standing atop a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, with a cruel smile... a demon!!!)
Yes! It was him! Kanjuro! He wasn't Merlin at all! He was a monster from another time and space, another battlefield, who took pleasure in toying with people's hearts and creating despair!
He had invaded her memories, twisted her past, and turned her entire life into a tragedy in the palm of his hand!
"Ye... Xiao...!" She squeezed the name out from between her teeth, every syllable carrying the weight of blood and tears. Her head felt like it was splitting, as if her entire skull were about to explode, but that forcibly buried true awareness belonging to 'Artoria Pendragon' rather than 'King Arthur' was struggling to resurface. "Everything... is fake... it was all you..."
Kanjuro finally turned around slowly, meeting Artoria's gaze filled with pain and disbelief. He also looked at Mordred and Morgan, who had temporarily stopped in their tracks due to this sudden change. His face no longer held its feigned gentleness, nor the ferocity of a moment ago, but a pure, condescending calm, as if a creator were examining his own work.
"Have you finally remembered a little? My dear... 'daughters'." He spoke softly, his gaze sweeping over Artoria and Mordred before finally landing on Morgan. "Unfortunately, you've woken up too late."
He ignored Artoria's broken cries and Morgan's hate-filled stare, refocusing his attention on Mordred, who held the god-slaying sword and was experiencing intense emotional fluctuations. He walked toward her, step by step, unhurriedly.
"Come, kill me?" He repeated his previous words, but his tone carried a fatal temptation and provocation, as if encouraging her to complete this final ritual of patricide.
Mordred watched him approach, seeing the unfamiliar short black hair after he removed his hood. Hearing Artoria's painful groans and Morgan's heart-wrenching screams, her mind was in total chaos. Kill him? Revenge for everyone? But she... she couldn't do it! That attachment and awe rooted deep in her heart, twisted yet real, were like the toughest chains binding her arms.
"No... Father... I can't... I can't kill you..." She shook her head, tears mixing with blood and grime as they fell. Her steps faltered as she retreated, the god-slaying sword in her hand feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Kanjuro stopped in front of her, so close they could almost feel each other's breath. He reached out, not to attack, but as if he wanted to touch her cheek just like when he used to teach her, yet his fingertips were wreathed in cold dark magic.
"Why can't you?" His voice was low and magnetic, like a demon's whisper. "Show the same courage you had when you betrayed your mother and started the civil war. Let me see, my dear daughter, just how far you can go for 'love'... or 'hate'."
His eyes were full of anticipation, as if he were admiring a moth trapped in a spider web, struggling to sting the spider.
Mordred's hand holding the sword trembled to the extreme, the tip of the blade wobbling slightly in front of Kanjuro's chest, yet she could never thrust it forward. Reason and emotion tore at her heart frantically, nearly driving her insane.
As for Kanjuro, he satisfiedly admired this final and most brilliant internal struggle he had brewed with his own hands. The fruit of despair was already ripe.
The struggle in Mordred's eyes was eventually replaced by a hysterical, desperate madness. Morgan's words, Artoria's pain, and Kanjuro's blatant toy-like treatment boiled in her heart like poison. She let out a roar that didn't sound human, gripping the god-slaying sword with both hands, pouring all her strength, all her resentment, and her twisted love into the blade! The dark sword-light suddenly surged, as if it truly intended to tear fate apart, and with an unstoppable determination, she lunged toward Kanjuro's heart!
"Is that all? My dear daughter."
Kanjuro didn't even assume a defensive posture, simply watching calmly as the blade containing all her strength struck. Just as the god-slaying sword was about to touch his black robe—
"gospel of luke, Decree: Time Coffin Seal."
An invisible but absolute power suddenly expanded with Kanjuro at the center! In an instant, everything around them seemed to be cast into amber. Flying dust froze in mid-air, the light from distant swaying torches went still, the anxious expression on Morgan's face hardened, and even the scent of blood permeating the air seemed frozen. Mordred's all-out thrust, along with the crazed expression on her face, was also completely fixed just a finger's width away from Kanjuro's chest, unable to move. Only the sudden burst of horror in her eyes proved that her consciousness was still active.
Time had been forcibly stopped.
Kanjuro leisurely turned his body slightly, bypassing the static blade, and walked in front of Mordred as if admiring a statue. He reached out a finger and lightly stroked the cold blade of the god-slaying sword, which emitted a faint hum.
"A god-made armament containing the concepts of 'negation' and 'reshaping'? It is indeed a nice toy," he whispered. Then, his fingertips turned toward Mordred's immobile cheek, the movement gentle yet carrying a hair-raising chill. "But with only anger and despair, you cannot unleash its true power."
In the next moment, time resumed its flow.
Mordred only felt a massive inertia carrying her forward, but her target had already vanished. She stumbled a few steps and turned back in horror, only to see Kanjuro standing where she had originally been, watching her with composure.
"It's not over!" Mordred hissed unwillingly, swinging her sword again. The sword-light turned into countless lethal shadows, covering Kanjuro from all directions.
"Gospel of Matthew, Manifestation: Ten Thousand Weapons Convergence."
Kanjuro didn't even move his feet, simply raising his right hand casually. Boundless dark magic instantly condensed and took shape in his hand! In an instant, he seemed to be the incarnation of one holding ten thousand weapons—at times turning into a massive tower shield to easily block a slash, at times into a nimble flail to lock a blade, and at times into a ferocious katar to clash head-on with the god-slaying sword! Sabers, spears, swords, halberds, axes, battle-axes, hooks, forks... the characteristics of countless weapons flowed and changed in his hands, used with ease to perfectly counter every one of Mordred's attacks, as if he himself were a walking armory. The sound of clashing metal was continuous, sparks flying everywhere. All of Mordred's offensives were easily neutralized; she felt as if she were not fighting a single person, but an ever-changing army!
"Why?! Why can't I hurt you!!" Mordred's mental state gradually collapsed, her attacks becoming more frantic, and openings appeared accordingly.
A flash of boredom crossed Kanjuro's eyes.
"Gospel of John, Whisper: Mental Image Erosion."
With no incantation and no light, an invisible and intangible power directly penetrated all of Mordred's defenses and invaded her spiritual world. Countless chaotic noises, tampered memory images, and Kanjuro's tempting and mocking whispers echoed and multiplied frantically in her mind like a virus!
("You will never have my love...")
("You are just a tool I use to hurt Artoria...")
("Look at you now, how pathetic, how ugly...")
("Give up, submit to me, that is your only destination...")
"No... No! Get out of my head!!" Mordred clutched her head and let out a painful scream. Her offensive completely disintegrated, and she curled up, her spirit on the verge of collapse.
Kanjuro slowly walked up to her, looking at the struggling Mordred on the ground as if looking at an ant being toyed with in the palm of his hand.
"It seems the game ends here." He raised his hand, and deep dark magic gathered once again.
"Gospel of Mark, Analysis and Reconstruction: Abyss Shackles."
Using the source of dark knowledge, he instantly analyzed the magic power dissipating around Mordred and the energy fluctuations of the god-slaying sword. Based on this, he created new magic out of thin air! Several chains made of pure dark energy, with dark red runes flowing on their surfaces, shot out from the void like living venomous snakes, instantly wrapping around Mordred's limbs and neck! These chains not only bound her movements but were also continuously draining her strength, even interfering with her connection to the god-slaying sword.
Mordred struggled with all her might, but the chains only tightened. The cold touch and the weakness from the loss of power made her feel complete despair. The god-slaying sword in her hand fell into the dust with a 'clatter', its dim light fading.
Kanjuro looked down at the completely subdued Mordred, whose eyes had lost their light, and a satisfied expression appeared on his face. He had easily dismantled her fighting spirit, broken her weapon, and gained complete control over her.
"Now, do you understand?" Kanjuro's voice was calm and without ripples. "In the face of true power, your resistance and your obsession are nothing but a clumsy performance."
He stopped looking at her and turned his gaze toward the distance, as if waiting for something. On the wilderness, only Mordred's weak panting remained, along with those dark chains symbolizing absolute power and despair, making faint clinking sounds in the night.
The tragedy of Britain seemed to have reached its irreversible end at this moment. And Kanjuro remained the mastermind behind the scenes, controlling everything and looking forward to the arrival of the next 'performance'.
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