Holding a plastic longsword bursting with an evil light, Mordred mimicked my pace and slowly walked toward Black Jeanne.
Perhaps in some works, the role of armor is deliberately weakened for the sake of aesthetics, but armor has never been a mere decoration.
To achieve the great feat of dragon slaying, one must possess a suitable divine weapon.
Otherwise, dragon scales, harder than steel, will make mortal heroes understand just what a terrifying existence the strongest life form born on this planet truly is—dragons have never been beasts that ordinary people can hunt.
Ordinary weapons and arrows won’t even leave a scratch.
Furthermore, Mordred’s armor, my armor, is not just armor; it is not as simple as dragon scales.
But that didn’t matter.
Because the empty-handed Witch Joan of Arc couldn’t even penetrate basic plate armor, let alone dragon scales.
“…You’re cheating!
Why is it that my weapons and armor are gone!
Only you guys get to have them!
If I still had my flag, if I still had my sword, how could I possibly be afraid of you!
This is definitely cheating!”
That was the meaning of fear, the admission of being unable to win.
Mordred stopped and looked at me.
She wanted to ask whether the subsequent dialogue would be handled by me or by her.
I nodded.
Usually, this represented my trust in her, meaning either would do.
Mordred moved her shoulders; compared to simple fear and intimidation, it had more of her own personal flair.
Combined with the grinning style of her helmet and the red light flashing all over her body like cheap LEDs, she appeared much more arrogant.
“Hey, Witch, don’t get ahead of yourself.
This armor isn’t some item; it’s a special application of the ‘Mana Burst’ ability.
Only Father and I can use it.
Because we are both human and the humanoid Dragons of Britain.
I think people in this world understand what the name Pendragon means, right?
So, this thing is actually our scales—dragon scales, you get it?
Never mind you being empty-handed now; even if you did find your sword, thinking you could break this armor is just a pipe dream!”
The Witch wanted to retreat, but there was nowhere to go.
Consequently, she could only grit her teeth, sweat pouring from her forehead, nervous and terrified to the extreme.
“Father said to use the armor, so I used it.
But Father’s goal is to keep you under control; one way or another, we have to tie you up and bring you back.
So…” Mordred said, tossing the plastic longsword aside casually, speaking as if through a grin, “Hey, Witch, want to try attacking me?
You definitely won’t win, but at least it’ll make your loss look a bit better.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Mordred’s psychological strategy was quite good, very much in her style.
Rather than pure fear, triggering the opponent’s courage to fight is a more efficient choice.
However, it’s easy to backfire.
Courage makes people perform beyond their limits, but fear doesn’t.
Once you are suppressed by the opponent’s courage, the whole act looks ridiculous.
That feeling of being humiliated is also unpleasant and can make one lose their composure.
“You…”
Letting out an unintelligible roar, the Witch clenched her fists and charged at Mordred.
I frowned, feeling a bit disappointed—this Witch had no idea what combat was.
Not only was she full of openings, but her punches were entirely based on instinct.
Her power delivery was flawed, and her target wasn’t Mordred’s head but the most well-protected part, the chest.
There was no technique to speak of; it was just street-thug level fighting skills.
As a result, Mordred caught the Witch’s fist with ease, lifting her entire arm without effort.
“You’ve got some strength.
As expected of a village girl who often does farm work.
This strength of yours would make you a decent knight even in Albion.
Unfortunately…”
What happened next was a scene I couldn’t bear to watch—this useless Witch actually tried to knee Mordred in the abdomen.
Did she think her knee was made of some future alloy?
To dare use such an attack?
Naturally, Mordred blocked it easily with her other arm.
Then, she casually swept the leg the Witch was standing on.
The Witch instantly lost her balance and fell to the ground.
But one of her hands was still controlled by Mordred, and in the end, Mordred just pinned the Witch’s waist with her shin, and the Witch was completely subdued, losing all ability to resist.
I sighed heavily, stepped forward, crouched down, and took the wallet out of the Witch’s coat pocket.
The Witch was still glaring at me fiercely, not saying a word, as if I were about to do something to her.
I ignored her and began checking what was written on the passport.
“Oh?
It seems you’ve been assigned a French identity.
After all, you are indeed French.” I hadn’t learned modern French, so I flipped through the passport and quickly found the part about entering Japan.
“Amano Jeanne, single parent, mother is a Japanese-French woman.
The purpose of coming to Japan is for school.
The entry date was July 2nd…
Which means you’ve been wandering for half a month?” I continued reading and, sure enough, found an interesting part: “Private Karyo Academy?
I didn’t expect you to be our classmate as well.
And a transfer student too?
It seems the being who wrote this script has very poor skills.
In a good script, the transfer student trope only needs to be used once.”
Mordred looked up at me, her voice filled with curiosity: “Eh?
Father, this person was also set up with this identity?”
“It seems so…
Mordred, let her go.”
“Okay, Father.”
Mordred released Witch Joan of Arc’s arm, and her shin moved away from the Witch’s waist.
The armor on her body turned into a translucent red light, like an illusion, and then vanished as quickly as sublimating ice.
But Witch Joan of Arc still lay on the ground, clenching her fists, as if Mordred and I had done something to her.
“Get up.
Or do you plan on sleeping here tonight?”
“You…
You…!
I’ll kill you!
I’ll definitely kill you both!”
Her muttering was very quiet.
Rather than a threat, it was more like a self-suggestive murmur.
I turned my head away and said in a rather dissatisfied tone: “Based on your performance, I don’t think you should be in the high school division of Private Karyo Academy, but rather the middle school division.
Just claim you’ve been in a coma for many years.
No…
even middle schoolers are better than [.”
Mordred joined in the mockery: “Feeling humiliated?
It’s right that you feel humiliated.
Do you really think your sense of humiliation is worth anything?
No one is going to change their attitude and be nice to you just because you feel wronged.
We aren’t your parents; why should we pamper you?
Seriously, are you really a famous figure from history?
It’s one thing to be this weak, but how is your temperament like a giant infant’s?
People have said everything they could, and you’re still as stubborn as a donkey.
What does that mean?
Do you only know pain when the whip hits you?
Do you only start running when the spurs kick your butt?”
“Alright, Mordred.
It’s getting late; it’s time to eat.” Before leaving, I deliberately said in a slightly louder voice: “You come along too.
Your passport and bank cards are with me; I’ll keep them for you for now, so you don’t lose them or not know how to use them…
Let’s eat first; we’ll talk after dinner, or while we’re eating.”
The Witch stood up and glared at me fiercely.
Because it was a desolate area, her clothes and face were covered in dust.
But, besides hatred, there was a mist of grievance in the Witch’s eyes.
She pursed her lips, looking as if she might cry at any moment, but she endured it with willpower and didn’t let the tears actually flow.
This made my evaluation of her go up quite a bit; at least she was indeed a character, not the kind of giant infant who had been pampered and spoiled since childhood.
But even though my evaluation had risen slightly, my heart was still full of weariness.
This was a much more troublesome person than Mordred.
She knew nothing, understood nothing, and was full of a witch’s pride and Gallic arrogance.
It was like raising another adolescent daughter, and one who didn’t listen at all, more rebellious than rebellious—it seems my future days won’t be easy.
“If you don’t want to eat, that’s fine; you can just watch from the side.
If you want to eat, you can join in anytime.”
“Eh?
Join in anytime?
Father, what are we eating tonight?”
“…Mordred, when speaking Japanese, let’s not use that title.”
Although it was a necessary measure, if it really became a habit, it would be very bad.
Mordred smiled and immediately changed her wording.
“Then…
Sister, what are we eating tonight?”
“It’s already late, let’s go to a nearby Chinese restaurant for hot pot.
As a result, Chinese restaurants only sell non-spicy broth.”
“Oh, I see…”
Mordred had never had hot pot, yet she didn’t ask what it was.
She knew she didn’t need to, because once she got there, anyone would understand the meaning of hot pot.
And this was where Mordred was superior to other children.
Mordred and I began walking toward the urban area of Misaki Town.
But Witch Joan of Arc remained motionless on the spot.
I didn’t have any thoughts about it.
On the other hand, Mordred was extremely dissatisfied: “Why aren’t you leaving yet?
Do we have to tie you up before you’ll move?
Do you really think Father and I can’t do it?
Huh?”
With a twitch of her mouth, Witch Joan of Arc, covered in quite a bit of dirt, asked with a hint of curiosity, though mostly disgust: “…Hey, you two, are you really that King Arthur?
Are you really that Sir Mordred?
It’s one thing that you’re both women…
but are you really this close!?
How is this any different from ordinary father and son…
no…
mother and daughter…
in short, ordinary family members!
Shouldn’t you be hostile and hateful toward each other?
Or are you just pretending to be this way right now?
How is this possible!
I’m not still dreaming, am I?
How can this be real!”
I didn’t need to explain, nor did I want to.
Once explained, it would inevitably touch upon the scars in Mordred’s heart.
Those scars had only just begun to scab over, and if touched, they might fester or become inflamed.
Besides, she had asked this question right from the beginning, and I had even specifically mocked her for having intelligence somewhat below the human average.
However, looking at her like this, if I really didn’t explain, it would be impossible for her to understand and grasp it—
“You are not an ordinary Jeanne dArc, and we can also be not ordinary Artoria and Mordred.
Furthermore, the deeds of King Arthur belong to legend, and since it is legend, it is acceptable for there to be vast differences.
But you are different; you are almost the opposite of the Witch Joan of Arc.
Your appearance, on the contrary, makes it even more unbelievable.”
Witch Joan of Arc gritted her teeth, not knowing what to say, unable to find a reason to refute it.
And just at this moment…
“Gurgle…”
Her stomach began to growl again.
Actually, having stomach gas meant she wasn’t particularly hungry, just very embarrassed.
But, for this Witch Joan of Arc before me, pride was probably more important than her life.
—Although she had no pride left to speak of now.
Thus, yielding to reality, yielding to hunger, Witch Joan of Arc finally followed me and Mordred.
From the beginning, Misaki Town was not a prosperous city, but existed as a satellite city of Sendai.
During the bubble era, there was a construction boom here, but when the bubble burst, construction and real estate companies went bankrupt, leaving behind a mess of unfinished projects.
Tokyo and Osaka cleaned up many unfinished buildings in the new century, but the Sendai metropolitan area never had much economic vitality to begin with, and was further drained by Tokyo on a large scale, resulting in those unfinished projects remaining to this day, twenty years later.
The area where the three of us were was an unfinished street originally intended for tourism development.
Consequently, traveling from this street to the city center was a fairly long journey.
It took an hour and a half, and by the time it was nearly nine o’clock, the three of us finally arrived at the Chinese restaurant mentioned earlier.
During that time, we found a convenient place for Witch Joan of Arc to wash her face and brush the dust off her clothes, so she could be seen by others—this was something she requested herself.
It was very late.
Fortunately, Japan has a workplace tradition of going to izakayas or restaurants for drinks after overtime, so even at nine o’clock, this restaurant had not closed; on the contrary, business was quite booming.
Because Mordred and I have large appetites, to avoid trouble, she and I had to open a private room separately to enjoy this dinner that was two hours late.
Since it was hot pot, all the ingredients were naturally brought out at once.
Witch Joan of Arc looked at the food spread over the entire table, even stacked up, and was completely stunned.
“Uh…
so much?”
“My sister and I are dragons, so what’s wrong with eating a bit more?” Mordred retorted.
“But this is just too much…
how are your stomachs made?” Clearly, the reality before her eyes exceeded Witch Joan of Arc’s understanding.
After thinking for a moment, I decided to explain it to this idiot in simple terms: “We digest it shortly after eating, then convert it into magical energy to store, placing it in the heart and liver.
When needed, we extract it, letting it overflow into the bloodstream, and then transmit it throughout the body via the blood.
This ensures endurance without letting the body go out of shape, and also follows the human body’s energy cycle.”