The familiar face, the piercing gaze, and the unwavering posture...
It was exactly as she remembered.
It was her Father.
Mordred could never mistake that presence, nor could she ever ignore it. She was absolutely certain. Even though she had no idea who had summoned King Arthur to this city, the mere fact that she could see her again felt like a heavy, unexpected "gift."
Her grip on the massive claymore loosened slightly, and for a moment, her wild, arrogant demeanor was replaced by a look of sheer bewilderment. She stood there, completely exposed, a lapse in judgment that would have been fatal against any other opponent.
Emiya, sensing the gravity of the moment, lowered his bow and stepped back, allowing them their space.
"What is the matter? Are you not going to attack?"
"As a knight on a field of battle, you should know exactly what is required of you."
Artoria held her holy sword in her hand, the wind-barrier retracted. The radiant gold of the blade shimmered in the afternoon light, its brilliance matched only by the severity of her tone.
Mordred snapped back to reality. Her father was actually inviting her to a duel!
"Heh... of course I know!"
The tension in the air returned in an instant, and Mordred's face split into its usual, manic grin. Yes, this was her father,was there anything in the world more exciting than this? The years of resentment, the bitterness, and the frustration seemed to vanish the moment she looked into those eyes. Even Sisigou would have been surprised to see her this way; just moments ago she had been complaining about the King, but now she was vibrating with the excitement of a child.
"Hah!!"
The sound of clashing steel rang out once again. This was the first time they had faced each other like this since... that time. But this time, Mordred's emotions weren't fueled by spite or desperation.
CLANG!
Her blade was parried, her defense dismantled with effortless grace. In a series of lightning-fast exchanges, the holy sword's tip touched her armor again and again, each strike a reminder of the gap between them.
'She's strong...'
'Father is truly incredible when she's serious!'
Even as she was being pushed back, Mordred couldn't help but feel a sense of intoxication. She marveled at the beauty and strength of her opponent, a nostalgic warmth spreading through her chest despite the danger.
It was still the same.
She couldn't find a trace of hatred or resentment in Artoria's eyes. There was only a calm, unwavering "indifference" that treated everything with the same steady resolve. Even though Mordred's rebellion had brought about the end of their era, Artoria looked at her as if none of it mattered. It was a realization that cut deeper than any physical blade.
"Father!"
She wanted to know.
She wanted to know what kind of wish had brought the King of Knights to this war.
Mordred strained against the holy sword, throwing her weight into a desperate lunge. She wanted to ask, to understand the current ideals of the King. If they were still the same as they were back then, she wanted to give her the answer she had prepared.
She would be the one to pull the sword from the stone!
She would be the one to inherit the destiny of Britain!
Yes... why had she ever wanted to be King in the first place?
As a knight of the Round Table and the "child" of Artoria, there was no greater joy for Mordred than the possibility of succeeding her. It was only natural for a son to want to surpass his father. But she had never received the recognition she craved. When she had revealed the truth of her birth, she had been met with a deafening "silence."
To the Mordred of that time, that silence had been a "rejection."
That was why she had spiraled into madness.
But now, facing her again, all Mordred could do was pour her stifled emotions into her strikes, like a child having a tantrum.
CLANG!!
Artoria parried the blow using only her scabbard, [Avalon]. Mordred's eyes widened at the sight.
"That's...!!"
She recognized it instantly. As a member of the Round Table, she knew exactly what that golden sheath was. But it had been lost long ago. How could it be in her father's hands now?
SLASH!
In the split-second of her distraction, Artoria pulled her sword back and delivered a single, decisive strike.
SHIIIING!
A jagged line appeared across the chest of Mordred's armor, a visual confirmation of her defeat.
"!"
Mordred staggered back, a look of profound disappointment on her face. She had been "slain" by her father yet again. But strange as it was, she felt no anger. There was no hatred. Only a deep, hollow sense of regret.
"?"
As she regained her balance, she realized that she wasn't actually injured. The holy sword had cut through the heavy steel of her armor, but it hadn't touched the skin beneath.
"Why...?"
"You've grown significantly since we last met, Mordred."
Artoria's voice cut through the air before Mordred could ask her question. Mordred's pupils trembled; she felt as if her entire world was being shaken.
"As enemies with opposing interests, I should have struck you down."
Artoria sheathed her scabbard and held her sword in a relaxed, one-handed grip. What exactly was she feeling as she looked at Mordred? To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure herself. Back then, she had been so consumed by the duties of kingship that she hadn't had the time or the inclination to worry about a "son" who had appeared out of nowhere. Mordred had been a loud, disruptive presence at a time when Britain was already on the verge of collapse.
The ensuing tragedy had been horrific, but Artoria had never truly hated Mordred for it. She knew better than anyone that the fate of Britain had been sealed long before Camlann.
But now, she was no longer a King. She wasn't burdened with the weight of a dying kingdom or the responsibility of ensuring a prosperity that was never meant to last. For the first time, she could stand before Mordred as a person.
Simply put, now that the "work" was done, she could finally pay attention to her "family."
"Ugh..."
Mordred felt a wave of inexplicable nervousness wash over her as Artoria continued to study her. It was the first time she had ever felt her father looking at her with such focused attention. It wasn't the cold, impartial gaze of a sovereign; it was an honest appraisal.
"Aaargh!! What is it you want from me?!"
Unable to handle the scrutiny, Mordred's face turned bright red as she shouted.
'Please! You'd be better off just charging in and striking me down!!!'
'I could accept that! But if you start being kind now, I won't know what to do...'
"Relax. I am not the King right now. I am simply a Servant, Artoria."
"There is no need to bind ourselves to the weight of the past."
Artoria offered a faint, genuine smile, her tone light and easy.
"!"
Mordred was stunned. She had never seen her father look so... free. Every time she had seen her in the past, she had been the picture of perfection, a frozen idol of duty. This woman standing before her was something entirely different.
"Tell me, Father!!"
Mordred swallowed hard and took a deep breath, steeling her resolve.
"Do you... do you still wish to save Britain from its fate?!"
Her voice was loud, echoing through the empty street. Even though Artoria had changed, Mordred still needed to know her heart. A Servant answered the call of the Grail because they held a wish within them. No matter how grand or how small that desire was, it was the anchor for their existence.
Mordred had to know. What was her father's wish now?
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]