Type-Moon: Star Redemption of Arthur Pendragon

"Protect?"

Morgan looked up at him, her icy blue eyes meeting his gaze.

"You think I only study magic tricks to kill?" Her tone carried a hint of sarcasm.

"Britain's magical defense system has been neglected for decades and is riddled with vulnerabilities."

If the Saxons were to bring in a priest skilled in magic, the walls of Camelot wouldn't last three days.

Arthur remained silent for a moment.

"Thank you."

Morgan turned his face away.

"You're welcome. I just don't want to live in a drafty castle."

Arthur walked to the window and stood next to Morgan.

The sky outside the window is transitioning from deep blue to inky black, and the stars are lighting up one by one.

Morgan.

"What?"

Why did you choose to stay?

Morgan's finger stopped on the page.

She remained silent for a long time, so long that Arthur thought she wouldn't answer.

"Because you asked me a question," she finally said, her voice very soft. "You asked me 'would you like to?' Nobody has ever asked me that before."

Arthur turned his head to look at her.

The candlelight illuminated her profile, and something flickered slightly in her icy blue eyes.

"Then I'll ask you one more time," Arthur said, "Do you want to stay?"

Morgan turned her head and met his gaze.

"I'm already here," she said. "Isn't that enough?"

"That's enough." Arthur smiled slightly.

That's enough.

Morgan turned his face away and continued reading.

But the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

The candlelight in the tower flickered gently in the night breeze, casting the shadows of two people onto the stone wall, where they overlapped.

"By the way," Morgan suddenly spoke up, "what do you plan to do with that princess of Camellid?"

Arthur leaned against the window frame and thought for a moment.

"Wait for her."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Wait until she learns to 'choose'."

Morgan gave a soft hum.

"You're naive. She's a princess who's been taught to 'obey' since she was little. If you ask her to 'choose,' she'll just be confused."

"Then you'll be confused," Arthur said. "Only after you're confused can you see clearly what you want."

Morgan stared at him for a few seconds, then shook his head.

"You're really a weirdo."

"You said that before."

"Then say it again."

Arthur smiled.

He turned and walked towards the door.

Goodnight, Morgan.

"Good night."

Morgan sat by the window, listening to Arthur's footsteps gradually fade into the distance.

She looked down at the book in her hands, but couldn't concentrate on reading a single word.

"Choice..." she repeated the word softly, a self-deprecating smile playing on her lips.

And wasn't she the same way?

She chose to stay in Camelot, chose to sit to Arthur's right, and chose the title of "Magic Archon" that he gave her.

But she never asked herself... was she "willing"?

She looked up at the starry sky outside the window.

There were many stars, densely covering the entire night sky.

There was a particularly bright star that twinkled directly above the castle.

"Perhaps," she said softly, "I would."

The candlelight in the tower continued to burn, its pale blue glow blooming quietly in the darkness, like a star that refused to fall.

In the garden, Mary sat by the pond, watching the frog.

"You know what," she said to the frog, "that king is a fool."

The frog croaked.

"You think so too?" Mary nodded. "Great minds think alike."

She stood up, brushed the grass clippings off her skirt, and walked towards her little wooden house.

After walking a few steps, she stopped and looked back at the tower window.

The pale blue light was still shining.

"Two idiots," she whispered.

Then, she disappeared into the night.

……

Morgan stayed in the tower for a full month.

During that month, her tower became the most mysterious place in the castle.

During the day, the windows are tightly closed, with only a faint blue light seeping out from between the cracks in the stone.

At night, the candlelight was bright, and occasionally one could hear low chanting.

The knights took a detour, the servants whispered among themselves, and only Arthur would go to the tower regularly, sometimes to bring food, sometimes just to sit there and read.

Kay privately asked Bedivere, "Has the king been cursed by that witch?"

Bedivere replied, "Perhaps the one cursed is the witch."

One month later, late one night, the tower door suddenly opened and Morgan walked out.

Instead of wearing the gothic gown, she changed into a dark blue cloak with a hood that covered most of her face.

She was carrying a swaddled baby in her arms, walking hurriedly, as if she didn't want anyone to see her.

But she couldn't hide it from Arthur.

Arthur was in his study working on an urgent military report: the Picts in the north had begun harassing the border again.

Hearing footsteps in the corridor, he put down his quill and pushed open the door.

Morgan stood in the shadows of the corridor, holding a swaddled baby in his arms.

"Morgan?" Arthur frowned. "What's this?"

Morgan looked up, revealing a pale face and icy blue eyes beneath his hood.

Her face was paler than usual, her lips were almost bloodless, and there were faint bluish-black marks under her eyelids, as if she had exhausted a great deal of magic power.

"Your child," she said.

Arthur was stunned.

"What?"

"Your child," Morgan repeated, his tone as flat as if he were talking about the weather.

"I used your cells and my magic to create an artificial human. He inherited your bloodline and my magic. He is your son."

She lifted a corner of the swaddling clothes.

A small face appeared.

The child looked to be less than a year old, with soft golden downy hair lying on his scalp, and a faint emerald green color visible beneath his tightly closed eyelids.

It's the same turquoise color as Arthur.

Arthur's throat tightened.

"Why...why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you agree if I told you?" Morgan's voice carried a hint of coldness.

"You'll say things like 'life is not a tool,' 'you can't use androids as weapons,' and other such nonsense."

Arthur remained silent for a moment.

"Is it a weapon?" he asked.

Morgan did not answer.

"Morgan," Arthur walked up to her, looking down at the baby in his arms, "is he a weapon?"

"...No," Morgan finally said, her voice very soft.

He is not.

Her hands, holding the swaddled baby, trembled slightly.

"When I created him, I intended him to be my pawn, but the moment I saw his eyes open..."

She stopped.

"He glanced at me," Morgan said.

"Then he laughed, not like an unconscious baby laugh, but a real laugh... He saw me and then he laughed."

Her eyes reddened.

"I can't use him as a weapon."

Arthur reached out and gently took the swaddling clothes.

The baby was very light, as light as a feather.

He looked down at the small face, and the child seemed to sense something, slowly opening his eyes.

Her eyes were emerald green, exactly like his.

The child looked at him... and smiled.

Arthur felt something hit his chest.

It was a soft, warm urge that made you want to cry.

"What's his name?" Arthur asked.

"Mordred," Morgan said. "I'll call him Mordred."

Arthur nodded.

"Mordred," he murmured the name, as if confirming something, "From this day forward, you are my son."

Morgan looked up, her icy blue eyes filled with surprise.

"You...you don't hate me?" she asked. "I created this child with your blood without your consent. You should hate me."

"I won't hate you," Arthur said, her reflection shimmering in his emerald eyes, "because you are his mother, and I am his father."

Morgan's tears finally fell.

She rarely cried; she was the witch of Britain, the fairy queen, and a ruthless avenger. She shouldn't cry.

But she cried.

Arthur held Mordred in one arm and gently put his other arm around Morgan's shoulder.

"Don't cry," he said. "You're his mother; you can't let him see you cry."

Morgan leaned on his shoulder, silently weeping.

Mordred, nestled in his arms, opened her large, bright green eyes and looked at her father and mother. Then she reached out her little hand and grasped a strand of Morgan's long, silvery-white hair.

Morgan looked down at the tiny hand, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Idiot," she whispered, "just like your father."

Arthur smiled.

That night, Mordred was placed in a small room next to the tower.

Morgan personally arranged the crib, bedding, and toys. She had actually prepared everything long ago, but she hadn't told Arthur.

Arthur sat by the crib, watching Mordred fall into a deep sleep.

That little face still wore the innocent smile unique to babies, completely unaware of the hatred and conspiracies that had accompanied its birth.

"You'll be a good father," Morgan said, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"I haven't even learned how to be a king, how can I be a father?"

"Take your time," Morgan said. "Aren't you very good at 'taking your time'?"

Arthur turned his head and looked at her.

"Morgan, thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for not using him as a weapon."

Morgan turned his face away.

"I told you, you're welcome." She turned and walked towards her tower. "Starting tomorrow, you'll need to learn how to take care of the child. I won't be shouldering everything alone."

Arthur watched her figure disappear at the end of the corridor, then looked down at Mordred.

"Mordred," he whispered, "I will protect you and never let you become what I saw before."

The baby rolled over in his sleep, his little hands clenched into fists.

It's like some kind of silent promise.

The next morning, Kai saw Arthur carrying a baby walking towards him on the training field, and he froze.

"Your Majesty... what is this?"

"My son, Mordred," Arthur said. "Morgan is his mother."

Kai's mouth was wide enough to fit an egg.

"You...you and Morgan...when...?"

"It's not what you think," Arthur said calmly. "He is a homunculus, created using my blood and Morgan's magic."

Kai took a deep breath, then took a second deep breath.

"I...I need to sit down."

"You're already seated."

Kai looked down and realized he didn't know when he had sat on the ground.

"Your Majesty, you are truly... an incomprehensible person."

Arthur smiled and carried Mordred toward the tower.

You'll understand it gradually.

Kai sat on the training field, watching Arthur's retreating figure, and shook his head.

"This world is crazy."

Up in the tower, Morgan stood by the window, watching Arthur carry Mordred across the courtyard.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

"Mordred," she whispered, "your father is a fool, but he's the best fool."

The morning light shone on the walls of Camelot, turning the entire castle golden.

A new life was born, not as a weapon, not as a pawn, but as a "son".

The story of Britain has gained another name.