Inside the Silent Cave, the air seemed to congeal. Artoria's long eyelashes fluttered a few times, and she slowly opened her eyes. Those emerald eyes, once as clear as lake water, were now covered with a layer of ice that would never melt. She didn't get up immediately, but just lay quietly on the cold ground, her gaze fixed directly on Kanjuro, who was watching her with a smile, and the calm-faced Jeanne beside him.
Memories flowed back like a tide—both the life of "King Arthur" filled with betrayal and despair after being tampered with, and the original truth belonging to "Artoria Pendragon." The two memories intertwined and collided, bringing not confusion, but a cold clarity after being completely toyed with. She wanted to cry—for the self that struggled in pain within the false memories, and for the emotions that were distorted and trampled upon—but her eyes were dry, and not a single tear could fall. She knew that in front of this man, tears were worthless and would only please him.
"Kanjuro," her voice was hoarse and calm, carrying a nearly deathly indifference, "you did it." She sighed softly, no emotion detectable in that sigh, only a bone-deep exhaustion. However, in the next second, her gaze suddenly sharpened, like the unsheathed sword of promised victory, coldly piercing toward Kanjuro. "Do you think that by using such despicable means to tamper with my memories and distort my life, you can make me sink into pain forever?"
The smile on Kanjuro's face remained gentle, as if admiring a masterpiece. "You will remember, Lia." His voice carried a certain assured enchantment. "You will remember every minute and every second we spent together—whether they were 'warm' or 'painful.' You are the most perfect work I personally cultivated and watched grow; your soul is already engraved with my mark. To deny them is to deny yourself~."
"You bastard!!" Artoria could finally no longer maintain her cold facade. Her pent-up anger and humiliation erupted instantly as she bolted upright, letting out a long-suppressed roar at Kanjuro.
Kanjuro seemed to be waiting for this moment; he leisurely snapped his fingers.
"Gospel of Matthew, Manifestation: Mental Image Afterimage."
Surging dark magical energy moved, and before Artoria, three familiar figures were outlined by pure shadows and magic—they were Morgan, Igraine (the consort of King Uther), and Mordred. Their figures were blurry and distorted, emitting an ominous black mist, their eyes hollow and fanatical, clearly phantoms controlled by Kanjuro's power.
"Submit to our Master, Artoria/Sister/Mother," the three dark shadows said in unison, their voices overlapping with a strange echo, filled with the paranoia of being blackened.
Artoria looked at these three phantoms materialized from her deepest pain, but the corners of her mouth curled into a cold, mocking sneer.
"Kanjuro, you tampered with my memories and distorted history; do you now intend to use these pathetic illusions to try and shake me?" Her gaze swept over the three dark shadows as if looking at dust. "They are nothing more than puppets of your wishful thinking, projections of your mad obsession—disgusting."
However, the leading shadow of "Igraine" slowly shook her head. Although her voice still carried the hollowness of being blackened, it seemed to have an extra hint of eerie "reality":
"You are wrong, my daughter. In 'this' reality corrected by Master, Morgan and I truly exist and are willing Servants to Master. We understand his greatness, his power, his... love."
The shadow of "Morgan" also chimed in, her tone carrying a hint of mockery: "Yes, my dear sister. Only that daughter of yours and Kanjuro, Mordred—that fool who is so obsessed she refuses to see reality... she rejected Master's grace. Because of her extreme resentment and unwillingness, her soul is currently trapped in some corner of the Throne of Heroes, waiting for a slim chance, hoping to one day take revenge on Master." She let out a sneer. "She really is... just as stubbornly incorrigible as you."
These words were like the sharpest icicles, accurately piercing the softest part of Artoria's heart. Mordred... that daughter to whom she owed so much, whose relationship was complex and distorted, an existence that made her heart ache even in false memories—had she actually ended up like this in the real world? And because she refused to submit to Kanjuro?
Artoria's body swayed imperceptibly. The cold defense she had just built was violently shaken by Mordred's true plight. She looked at Kanjuro, the coldness in her eyes replaced by a deeper, complex emotion mixed with pain, anger, and a hint of disbelief.
Kanjuro watched every flicker of change on her face with satisfaction. He knew that the name "Mordred," no matter which version of the story it was in, was a hurdle Artoria could not easily overcome. He smiled, like a fisherman sitting steadily on his boat, watching the fish struggle in the net.
"See, Lia," he said softly, like a devil's whisper, "reality and illusion sometimes aren't that important. What is important is... everything you are feeling right now—whether it's hate, pain, or worry for that disobedient daughter—is so real and intense. This is the meaning of 'existence' that I have bestowed upon you."
Artoria forcibly suppressed the turmoil in her heart caused by the news of Mordred. She knew well that any loss of emotional control right now was a performance Kanjuro would enjoy. She took a deep breath, and that cold mask of a king covered her face once more. Her emerald eyes locked onto Kanjuro as she asked the core question:
"Kanjuro, after going through all this trouble, what exactly do you want? You didn't appear here just to show off your 'masterpiece' and sow more seeds of suspicion, did you?"
Kanjuro seemed to be waiting for this question. The smile on his face deepened, carrying a playful sense of knowing everything.
"What do I want?" He walked forward slowly, an invisible pressure spreading with him. "I simply learned an interesting piece of news from a rather restless 'undercover agent.' My dear Lia, you and those allies of yours who might still remain seem to have formulated a quite... bold plan."
He paused, his gaze dissecting the slightest changes in Artoria's expression like a scalpel.
"Do you plan to use this Cave of Silence, this special node where magical energy converges, to forcibly fuse yourself with my avalon scabbard that has been tainted by Black Magic? Are you trying to use your own holy essence to contain, or even harness, that dark power originating from me? Truly... a most imaginative attempt." His tone was ambiguous, neither clearly admiring nor mocking. "Holiness and darkness are like fire and water; the risk of a forced fusion is enough to scatter your soul. So, you've set your sights on the vast and chaotic leylines of Fuyuki City, hoping to use its power as a buffer and catalyst, haven't you?"
Artoria's pupils constricted, and her heart sank abruptly. This plan was a top-secret she had devised with only a few of her most trusted companions; how did Kanjuro find out? Could it be... Kanjuro did not miss her momentary shock, and he continued with satisfaction:
"This is the main reason I came to 'visit' you today. How could I stand by and watch my most perfect 'work' conduct such a... dangerous experiment that might slip out of my control?"
Artoria gave a cold laugh and clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white from the force. "So, are you here to stop me now? Or simply to kill me here and eliminate the future threat?"
"Kill you?" Kanjuro shook his head gently, as if he had heard a ridiculous joke. He walked up to Artoria, so close that they could almost feel each other's breath. He reached out, seemingly wanting to touch her cheek, but stopped in mid-air at her look of extreme disgust, merely tracing her silhouette with his fingertips in a gesture of hair-raising intimacy.
"No, no, no. Where would the fun be in killing you? After all..." His voice dropped lower, filled with ambiguous and malicious reminders, "In that long, 'altered' time we spent together, we were so... 'in love,' weren't we? Those moments of intimacy, those times of life-and-death entanglement, those moments when you relied on me, trusted me, even... adored me—were they all fake? At this moment, they are clearly branded into your soul, intertwined with your current hatred for me. What a... beautiful and contradictory pain."
Artoria stared fixedly at Kanjuro's face—one that was beautiful to the extreme, yet now as loathsome as a demon's—as waves of tearing pain shot through her heart. He was right!
If not for those forcibly implanted memories filled with false warmth, her perception of Kanjuro might have been much simpler—just a powerful, cruel enemy who needed to be defeated. But now, that altered, bone-deep love was frantically intertwined with the sky-high hatred she felt after learning the truth. The deeper the love, the fiercer the hate; this emotional tearing almost suffocated her. She didn't even have the strength to ask who the 'mole' was, for this endless sense of betrayal had already left her physically and mentally exhausted.
However, Kanjuro seemed to see through her avoidance. He deliberately said in a casual tone that was nonetheless enough to stir up a storm:
"Oh, right, about that mole... for the sake of our 'old feelings,' there's no harm in telling you. It's Irisviel."
He watched with satisfaction as Artoria's body trembled violently, but he continued to tear at her trust in his most cruel tone. "After all, if you count carefully, it was about eight years ago that she already became mine. After I... 'forced' her a little, she very 'sensibly' learned to obey." He deliberately used vague and suggestive words, aiming to maximize the discord and defile the few remaining pure lands in Artoria's heart.
Artoria snapped her eyes shut and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, although pain remained, it was replaced by a resolute coldness. she refuted him decisively, her voice trembling slightly from suppressed emotion but remaining exceptionally firm:
"Impossible! Iri would never betray me! Much less yield to a demon like you! Kanjuro, your lies are low-class and laughable!"
Kanjuro looked at her forced determination, a smile appearing on his face that seemed helpless but showed everything was within his grasp. He didn't continue to argue; sometimes, once the seed of doubt is planted, it will naturally take root and sprout.
"Believe it or not." He shrugged indifferently, then turned to address Jeanne, who had been standing silently by. "It seems our 'reminiscing' here has come to a temporary end. Let's go, Jeanne."
Jeanne nodded and followed Kanjuro in silence. At the moment she turned, she caught a glimpse of Artoria enduring her pain and anger; that look was not one of sympathy, but a deeper one, mixed with inquiry and an indescribable hint of respect.
As an existence endowed by Kanjuro with the identity of 'Dark Observer,' she had personally witnessed how many vile things, enough to make a saint collapse, Kanjuro had done to force her to 'return to the light.' But she had never wavered, because deep in her heart, she felt more curiosity toward Kanjuro's bottomless schemes and pure 'evil.' She was curious about where he would lead this desperate drama next.
Kanjuro and Jeanne's figures gradually disappeared into the dark depths of the Silent Cave, leaving Artoria standing alone. Her fists were clenched, and her body trembled with complex emotions—anger at being betrayed, worry for Irisviel, bone-deep hatred for Kanjuro, and that damned residual heartbeat stemming from false memories. The cave returned to silence, but a more dangerous storm was already brewing in the shadows.
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