After a few pleasantries and returning the gear and the venue, Mordred and I left the school early.
Although the act of shutting out two captains of sword-related clubs would attract heated discussion, I didn’t particularly care at this moment.
After all, it was just a trivial matter between high school clubs; the scope of its spread would be limited to this circle and wouldn’t cause any special trouble.
Mordred and I walked on the way back with our longswords on our backs.
Considering Japan’s strict weapon control laws, to avoid trouble, even longswords made of plastic were wrapped in cloth.
Mordred probably didn’t care either.
Because while walking, she asked a question in a different direction: “Father, when you said those things to that Yoshikawa Aonari, were you planning to recruit him as a new knight?”
“I am no longer a King, Mordred.
This is just a club recruiting new members.”
“Then why say those things?
I think being more ambiguous would have been better, right?
Since it’s just high school students, just a club, and it’s under the name of enthusiasts, leaving some room in your words would have been a better choice, wouldn’t it?”
“Mordred, to play a role, you must perform with your heart.
Do you think someone like me is suited to speak ambiguously at a time like that?
Would it be consistent with my personality and previous actions?
Obviously not.
Thus, for these unimportant trifles, handling them according to my own habits actually saves a lot of trouble and keeps people from feeling that I am gloomy or hypocritical.”
Any truly excellent deception only proceeds to its final stage at the very last moment.
Roleplaying is the same; an actor shackled by the script and director cannot become a good actor because the performance is too fake, making the play itself feel artificial.
If a good stage play turns into a clumsy performance by a third-rate troupe, it’s not worth the effort.
“But…
didn’t Father say that you are no longer a King?
Why do you still hold the other person to the standards of a knight?”
“It’s just an attempt to play the role of a knight, not actually becoming one.
It’s similar to children playing house, isn’t it?
Wielding wooden sticks or toys, saying things adults find hard to understand, pretending to be the hero who defeated the evil dragon in legends to cultivate their courage and hone their will.
Perhaps one day, the child of the past can truly grow into a great hero.”
“I see…”
In fact, Mordred was just like that; I kept all those naive childhood words of hers in my heart.
I just didn’t expect that after only a few years of education, she would grow from the child riding on my shoulders saying she wanted to become the world’s greatest knight into a knight capable of standing on her own, excelling in internal affairs, diplomacy, military, and strategy.
The act of roleplaying itself is a form of learning.
Just as beasts mimic their mother’s posture when hunting.
Following the route, Mordred and I went to the supermarket to buy ingredients for dinner, breakfast, and lunch bento.
However, as dusk settled over the streets and the number of pedestrians gradually increased, I brushed past a special girl.
At that moment, I stopped.
I turned around and looked for the girl’s back in the crowded throng.
She was a girl who looked like ash.
The girl’s height was similar to mine, yet she appeared taller.
The sky was already at dusk, but her short hair reflected a moonlight-like silver.
Her slender and long hands were deathly pale, devoid of color, as if she had never lived under the sun.
Though it was summer, she wore a skirt on her lower body but was wrapped in a thick black coat on top.
People came and went, everyone hurrying toward their goals, yet she was hesitant and lost, like a ghost wandering the human world, not knowing where to go or where she was.
“What’s wrong, Father?”
“Mordred, follow.”
In the crowd, I followed that girl, passing through people and streets until the sun sank and night fell.
Finally, in a dilapidated and desolate alley, the girl stopped.
She turned slightly, the light illuminating her profile, making her golden eyes reflect a starlight-like glow.
“You’ve been following for so long, how much longer do you plan to follow?
Until dawn?”
Such skin, such eyes, such hair color—it was truly too abnormal.
Being an abnormality myself, I was attracted by this cluster of abnormality and had unknowingly walked for too long and too far.
Mordred was still behind me.
Throughout this following process, she had made almost no sound.
This gave me a slight sense of relief.
Although I was confident in my own strength, having an extra helper is always a good thing.
I narrowed my eyes, observing her under the streetlamp, fully prepared for battle.
“…Who are you?” I asked.
“I should be the one asking you that, right?” The girl smiled softly, as hazy as moonlight.
But her next words broke that tranquility, adding a strange touch of coarseness.
“Besides, you don’t even know who I am and yet you’re following me?
Is there something wrong with you?
Are your heads messed up?”
“You are not an ordinary human.”
“Tch…”
The girl narrowed her eyes, and her aura seemed to become dangerous.
…Even so, my intuition told me that she wasn’t actually that powerful.
It was indeed intuition.
Dragons are existences that stand at the very peak of all life.
This ultimate status gives dragons extraordinary senses.
And the sixth sense—intuition—as the sensory organ of the soul and consciousness, naturally far exceeds human standards.
I trusted this intuition.
Since becoming Artoria, this intuition had never been wrong.
“Looking at you, you’re a Dead Apostle, aren’t you?” I instinctively made a judgment.
“Commonly known as a vampire.
Walking openly on the streets at dusk instead of dodging surveillance cameras at night and living a secluded life like a sewer rat…
You shouldn’t be an ordinary Dead Apostle…
A magus who became a Dead Apostle?
Or do you have special abilities?”
“What does it matter to you whether I’m a Dead Apostle or not?
And do you really think I have to answer your questions?”
“You don’t want to answer…
Unfortunately, I can’t let you leave; I must at least restrain you.”
Saying so, I took a step forward.
The dragon’s majesty instinctively unfolded, and my narrowed vertical pupils stared fixedly at the girl.
Following the fear established by past slaughter and conquest, I walked slowly, step by step, toward the girl.
Sure enough, the girl panicked.
She took two steps back and then said flusteredly, “…Hey, hey, don’t.
I’m really not a Dead Apostle.
Those things are dead objects without heartbeats, right?
I am undeniably a living person; my heart beats.
How could I be a Dead Apostle?”
“Um…
Sister, she really doesn’t seem to be a Dead Apostle.” Mordred provided evidence at the right time.
“Setting aside other things, Dead Apostles have a certain bloody scent, don’t they?
She definitely doesn’t have that; there’s only a burnt smell.”
“But she is indeed not an ordinary human.”
I stopped, narrowed my eyes, and watched the girl.
Then, I took out the plastic longsword used for this club activity from behind me.
Because it was plastic, it had no metallic texture under the streetlamp, nor the unique sharpness of a bladed weapon.
Anyone who had ever fought could recognize the fragility of this plastic longsword; it seemed as if it would break with just a casual swing.
Seeing that sword, the girl’s tension instantly vanished, turning instead into mockery.
She also narrowed her eyes and met my gaze.
“What is that?
A toy?
Ha?
Do you look down on me that much?
I’m saying, there’s a limit to contempt, isn’t there?
Even if I’m not really that strong, there’s no need to insult me with something like that.
Do you…
want to die that much?”
“For me, a plastic longsword is enough.”
The Red Dragon’s Mana Reactor immediately started, and surging mana expanded from my heart to my entire body.
Viscous darkness immediately enveloped the plastic longsword, and crimson mana leaped and burned on the blade.
The opponent wasn’t very strong; I didn’t need to summon my armor.
With just this toy, I was sufficient to defeat the girl before me.
I advanced slowly, the longsword held casually in my hand.
Darkness dripped onto the ground like grease, causing corrosion and toxicity, while the dark red mana, fueled by darkness, continued to burn like hellfire from the abyss, seemingly never to be extinguished.
Seeing me use “Mana Burst,” the girl’s expression changed instantly, her face returning to its previous panic.
“…Wait!
What the hell!
You…
you’re not human either, are you?
You have the nerve to talk about me?
If I’m really a Dead Apostle, what are you?
A demon?
Are you kidding me!”
“Um…
Sister, why don’t you calm down first?
She doesn’t seem to have done anything.”
I stopped.
I hadn’t expected Mordred to try to persuade me as well.
She probably thought I was really going to cut the girl’s head off?
After all, when I fought in the past, I always cut people down first and then questioned the survivors.
But I had said from the beginning that I only wanted to restrain her.
I wouldn’t do anything to her until I had gathered enough information.
Seeing me stop, the girl hurriedly started shouting—
“Exactly!
I haven’t done anything!
I was just walking normally on the street and didn’t hurt anyone!
Why should I be treated like this?
Please be reasonable!”
“I said, I’m going to restrain you.”
“What does ‘restrain’ mean!
Do you want to tie me up?
I don’t even know you, how could I just agree to that!”
It seemed that was indeed the case.
I hadn’t made myself clear, which led to the other party’s misunderstanding.
After thinking about it, I stopped the Mana Burst.
Along with it, the flames dripping on the ground stopped burning.
However, the plastic longsword was truly not durable; it had been corroded beyond recognition, as if it had been soaked in sulfuric acid for a few seconds, losing its value for use.
“Then, tell me your name.”
“…Jeanne.” Perhaps thinking I didn’t know who the name referred to, the girl deliberately slowed down and said her full name: “Jeanne dArc!
That Jeanne dArc!
That’s my name!
I’ve said my name, so can I go now?”
“Saint Joan of Arc?” I guessed.
The girl immediately reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, saying loudly, “I am no saint!
I am a witch, a witch!
Do I look like a saint to you?
Shouldn’t a saint be all golden and shiny?
Where do I look like one!”
Indeed.
Considering my relationship with that King of Knights, I find no reason to question it.
Then, I asked another question: “…You, are you not a Servant?”
“Servant?
A Servant?
Huh?
So, you want me to be your maid?”
The word ‘Servant’ was pronounced in the japanese Katakana style.
It was originally a term used by magi to refer to familiars.
But this is not a Holy Grail War, and that entity manipulating everything did not plant information about the Holy Grail War in our consciousness.
The expression on the face of this reverse-Jeanne before me didn’t seem fake, which meant I had indeed overthought things.
So, I followed Witch Joan of Arc’s train of thought, nodded, and said to her—
“…It’s not out of the question.
If you really want to become a maid, that is.”
“Stop joking!
I’ve been annoyed with you for a while!
Believe it or not, I’ll summon stakes and skewer you right through!”
Alright, that was a bit much.
She is, after all, a famous historical figure; taking her as a maid was indeed a bit excessive.
After a pause, considering that her identity was similar to mine, I decided to give my name.
“…Artoria Pendragon.
That is my name.”
“Pendragon?
What relation do you have to that King Arthur?” Witch Joan of Arc pondered for a moment, then widened her eyes and asked incredulously, “Are you…
could you be Mordred?
No, Mordred was a man, right?
Is it Morgan?
But isn’t Morgan a witch?
Your aura doesn’t seem like a witch’s at all…”
“Ahem…
I am Mordred.
She is my Father King,” Mordred introduced with a smile.
Hearing Mordred’s words, Witch Joan of Arc’s eyes widened even further, as if she had taken a heavy blow to the gut: “…Do you take me for an idiot!
King Arthur couldn’t possibly be a girl!
I know how she died!
It was because her wife’s infidelity was discovered, which triggered a rebellion, and she finally died at Camlann!
If King Arthur were a girl, why would she marry a wife?
Even if her orientation was the issue, how could Mordred be born?
And at the end, King Arthur was at least over fifty, right?
How do you look fifty!
You look fifteen at most!”
The corners of my mouth twitched.
Some things—
Like saying, “If even a Jeanne like you is like this, is it so strange that King Arthur is a girl?” felt completely unnecessary to voice.
It would make me look stupid—to have to explain such problems to a woman like this would be the height of stupidity.
To avoid looking stupid, I had no choice but to say something rather hurtful—
“To be honest, your current performance fits that term you used perfectly.
It seems you have some self-awareness.”