Type-Moon: My Destiny Guide

The once lively atmosphere fell silent, and Mordred's expression cooled down at a visible speed, turning into cold iron or indifferent reef.

“There’s nothing to say, Master. My sword is entrusted to you. As a knight, I don’t consider myself disloyal enough to serve two kings at the same time.”

Mordred's words jolted Artoria from her emotional reverie, like a sudden awakening.

Yes, no matter how much she misses the old round table, it has all vanished with the passage of time.

Only Mordred, the knight who destroyed Britain, was forever etched on the pillar of history as a rebellious knight and a cursed son.

Mordred the Rebellious Knight—who ended the legend of King Arthur—killed King Arthur—a disloyal and unfilial villain.

For future generations, remembering just this one sentence is enough.

Who cares about her lonely past? Who cares about the reasons for her rebellion?

Beyond the mask, Lion's Robbery sighed silently, while Mordred remained indifferent.

Beneath the mask, Artoria's expression was somber, and she closed her eyes.

All that has happened in the past will never be spoken of again.

However, as the street came to an end, this tranquility was ruthlessly shattered—

Looking at the scene in the house before him, Mordred's breathing suddenly became heavy, and his eyes became bloodshot.

Following her gaze, Lion's Deception frowned and saw the female magician smiling gently by the piano, and the back of her hand with Command Seals drawn on it.

"The Master of the Black Faction?"

Upon hearing this, Artoria's heart skipped a beat, a chill ran down her spine, and she looked out the window—

The silver-haired little girl cheered and rushed towards the blonde girl in front of her, who had a stunningly beautiful face exactly like King Arthur's, and an equally dignified air.

The dim lighting inside blurred the girl's pupils. If she didn't know where she was, Artoria would have thought that the person kneeling on the ground, holding Little Jack, was herself.

With a Servant-level hearing, the girl's cheerful voice was crystal clear:

"mom!"

Mom? Mom!

She called out to 'King Arthur' in a tender voice, and 'King Arthur' responded with a gentle expression to his lovely daughter.

—And Mordred stood outside on the deserted street.

Realizing what was about to happen, Artoria painfully closed her eyes, wanting to unleash her weapons to stop it, but her body was suddenly lightened and gently pushed away, and where she had been standing, the Crimson Lightning exploded!

The vast sky suddenly resounded like a drum.

As if the iron curtain had shattered, countless cracks appeared in the night sky, proof that the fragile air had nowhere to hold that excessively violent power and was on the verge of collapse.

The crimson thunderous drums roared and vibrated, their branches piercing the ground and spreading across the night sky of Sighishwara. As they reached their highest point, they swirled back and crashed down on the earth like iron hammers.

Just the sound.

Countless windows shattered instantly!

Unreserved crimson lightning transformed into a hellish landscape, tearing apart the night and igniting it. In the prison filled with blood and hatred, red and white demons raged, raged, raged!

I have nowhere to vent, it's unbelievable.

Dragging crimson lightning, it roared and howled.

Like a cry of blood, a mournful roar resounded throughout Sighishwara:

! ! ! "

I wonder if anyone has noticed that in FGO, Saber doesn't have any voice lines related to the Knights of the Round Table. If she does, it's only when she speaks to the entire Round Table (like with the White Saber)... Hmm, I don't quite understand, considering that the Knights of the Round Table all have their own unique voice lines for Saber.

Chapter 447 Sigishwara, a Place Where Storms Meet: The Saintess

Chapter 448 Sigishwara, a Hub of Intrigue: The Banner of the Saintess

Where the red lightning shone, the land was scorched.

It was as if a bomb had exploded from Mordred's body. The energetic brat, the glutton, the servant of Lion's Claw... all these illusions were burned away by the tempered rage, replaced by a cold and hard full-body armor and a red and white helmet that concealed infidelity.

Rebel, king slayer.

The cursed child, the knight of vengeance.

This is Mordred in history, this is her true face!

Even if the seeds sown are of beauty and hope, the soil of malice is too deep, and the rain of sorrow is too heavy. The seeds of light have been buried, and what sprouts from them are only twisted and filthy withered branches. Even the shriveled fruit is destined to be filled with blood and hatred!

And the source of this hatred is only one—

! ! ! "

The scream was almost hoarse, and the demonic blood lightning spread instantly, climbing up Mordred's body along her fingers, drilling into her lungs, burning fiercely as if it were attached to her skeleton.

Mother? They actually call King Arthur "mother"?

That's it...that's it!

Is it because you have other children that you're rejecting me, Arthur?

Then let me tear all of this apart, let me rebel against you, until you are willing to look at me with hatred—until you see my image reflected in your eyes!

Let me rebel against all of this!

Every thought was burned away by the flames. The red and white knight roared, burning himself recklessly, becoming flames of hatred and thunderstorms, sweeping forward.

Kill the Master of the Black faction!

Kill that child!

King Arthur—Kill! Kill! Kill!

Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!

Overwhelmed by such intense emotion, Mordred disregarded her Master's orders for the first time and unleashed the true name of her Noble Phantasm:

"This is the evil sword that destroyed my father, a betrayal of my magnificent father!"

The crimson sea of ​​lightning that tore through the night sky enveloped the town like the end of the world. It was as if time had reversed, and the blood-red setting sun rose from the horizon, so intense and so reckless, just like the last battle between the father and son on the hill of Camlann.

No one cared about the cries of ordinary people, nor did anyone care how troublesome the church's cleanup work would be. The rebellious knight had already drawn his sword. Faced with the sudden attack, the blond 'King Arthur' shielded those around him behind him and raised the banner of protection.

This was an absolutely unbearable blow, a torrent of magic unleashed by Red, mixed with a lifetime of hatred and rage. But—the one who bore the brunt of this blow was not King Arthur, but Joan of Arc, the absolute arbiter of the Holy Grail War.

"My lord—"

Clutching the sacred banner with her slender hands, Joan of Arc, her face radiant with holiness, activated her true name.

The banner that Joan of Arc held in her hand as a substitute for a sword. This sacred banner, which brought countless encouragement and inspiration to the soldiers who followed her in battle, is said to have always protected the saint who was always fighting on the front lines.

"Here it appears!"

This is the embodiment of the legend of waving a flag on the battlefield and winning the final victory almost without taking any damage. If this flag is activated as a Noble Phantasm, it will convert Jeanne d'Arc's extraordinary magical resistance into a protective force against all physical or supernatural attacks.

Faced with the attack unleashed by Red, a strike imbued with both hatred and joy, the Holy Banner completely severed it—

Whether it's Joan of Arc, or the six guides behind her, including Lingxia and Little Jack, they have now completely entrusted their lives to the holy flag in their hands, and can only gaze ahead at the girl's slender yet resilient figure.

Faced with that violent vortex of magic, they simply endured it silently.

Her figure—resembles someone who fights against all evil in the world.

It also resembles someone who is fighting against a dying planet.

It's very similar to everyone who, as a tiny, insignificant human being, confronts "that" before them.

Holding onto dignity, will, love, anger, or some other belief, even in the face of overwhelming violence capable of easily slaughtering tens of thousands, people still possess the courage to rise up and fight against it, overcoming fear.

As Shuoyue gazed at her small figure, he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity. Although he knew it was an arrogant thought, the memory of her tragic life story made it impossible for him to let go of this feeling.

It's normal to have resentment, and it's understandable to have hatred. But to have neither hatred nor resentment, not even lingering attachment—that's a thought that even he, as an assassin, couldn't comprehend, not even in his true form.

Meanwhile, Artoria, who was being held back by Shuoyue to prevent her from moving, inadvertently recalled the myth Merlin had told her about the old man parting the sea. The completely blocked torrent of magic looked just like the parted seawater.

Her scabbard, 'Avalon,' could also withstand such an attack, but it couldn't remain as unshaken as Joan of Arc's, because, after all, it was her who launched the attack...

Just as life has an end, so too does a desperate, all-out attack have an ending. Red's attack, imbued with all her strength, was ultimately blocked by Joan of Arc's unfurled holy banner. Even the terrifying energy that leaked out was deliberately channeled into the sky by the saint, transforming into countless shooting stars that hurtled into the universe.

After the light of destruction disappeared, Joan of Arc finally breathed a sigh of relief, turned around to look behind her, and then revealed a bright and dazzling smile.

"You're all alright, that's great. Please hurry and leave."

The moment she turned away, the saint's compassion vanished, replaced by the majesty of a judge. Even as she faced those who came with the fury of vengeance, her exquisite face remained unmoved.

"red!"

Her cries only elicited a murderous slash from Mordred.

"Die, King Arthur!"

The lightning stung Joan of Arc's eyes. She frowned slightly, raised the Holy Banner to steadily block the attack, and then used the momentum to retreat to an empty street. Red, more like a berserker than a swordsman, roared incessantly, pouring all her hatred into her sword.

"Arthur! I'm going to kill you, let me kill you!"

Arthur? King Arthur?

The holy banner creaked, and the royal sword, stained red with magic and hatred, possessed unimaginable power. Even though Joan of Arc completely blocked it, the frenzied emotions still assaulted her mind. But even so, Joan of Arc remained calm and thoughtful.

Red's real name is Mordred, the rebellious knight who ended the legend of King Arthur—meaning she mistook me for King Arthur.

Do I really look like King Arthur? He was a man, after all! Besides, I'm from France, while she's from Britain—they're very different, okay?

Jeanne's astonishment was destined to remain unanswered, but perhaps she could find some solace in knowing that during the Fourth Holy Grail War, Marshal Gilles de Rais had also mistaken Artoria for her.

—Although there is a fundamental difference in breast size, it is clear that you cannot expect a half-mad marshal and a furious Mordred to see the details.

Unless... there is external interference.

Suddenly, Mordred felt a chill run down her spine. She didn't know where the attack would come from, but she was definitely being targeted.

It was a long-range throw, or perhaps a shot—it's unclear whether it was a javelin or an arrow. But whoever it was, if this continued, they would be killed…!

Before theoretical thought could reach a conclusion, intuition compelled Mordred to move, applying slight braking during his violent advance and forcing his body to rotate.

The body crackled from the sudden overload, and as Mordred turned, he looked toward one of the city's tourist attractions—the clock tower.

Eyes widened. Two figures appeared atop the clock tower spire, bathed in the soft moonlight. One was a muscular hero, like a figure from ancient Greek sculpture, drawing his bow in their direction and releasing the string!

Instantly, a storm and a deafening roar assaulted his entire body.