How do ordinary people spend their weekends?
Making plans to go out with friends?
Staying home to play video games for two days?
Or just simply going shopping?
But these leisurely things have nothing to do with me.
I was busy for the entire day on Saturday.
Because Mordred and the witch are different from me.
The memories of my previous life’s previous life have already blurred, but it is still easy to adapt to the 21st century.
All the objects have a feeling of familiarity; as long as I analyze them a little, I can recall their names and uses.
Walking on the street, I kept buying various things while my mouth didn’t stop, explaining them in a way they could understand.
And as for them, finally free of various inhibitions, they began to ask about everything.
As long as it was something they didn’t recognize, they would start asking me.
Many times, while walking on the street, I stopped for no reason.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to keep going, but I was enveloped by a strong sense of exhaustion.
I felt as if I had returned to the lonely journey to Rome, as if I had returned to the battlefield of Camlann, as if I had returned to the very beginning, hiding behind a big tree, hiding from the knights who killed my mother and grandmother, until the darkness dispersed, until the drizzling rain fell.
At five in the afternoon, I really felt too tired, so I suggested going home.
Back at home, the clock stayed at 5:33, and I collapsed on the sofa, unable to move a muscle.
This thorough, all-consuming exhaustion made me feel as if I had returned to the very beginning of the Holy Grail War, when I was summoned and became King Arthur, forcing myself to act like that King and continue the King’s life.
I began to miss Morgan and Merlin.
Although Merlin is a woman who likes to boast, at least she could share my pressure.
Morgan has good taste, and she wouldn’t fall into decision paralysis when buying things.
However, neither of them came; I don’t know if they couldn’t come or if there was some other reason.
And there is still one more day of such days, which is tomorrow.
Tomorrow I still have to contact the landlord, keep wandering around, and investigate whether there are any anomalies in this city.
The ingredients have been bought, but I don’t want to cook at all.
However, there are two more mouths to feed, so I have to do it no matter what.
After walking for a day, explaining for a day, and being exhausted for a day, I don’t want to move at all, but there are important people by my side, so I must act no matter what.
I have indeed been reborn, and indeed I am no longer the King of Britain, but life seems to have remained unchanged.
So much so that I even have some regrets now…
“Sister, what’s wrong?”
Mordred’s questioning voice pulled me back from these messy thoughts.
I carefully took a breath, managed to burn up some strength, and said to her softly— “It’s nothing…
I’m just feeling a bit unwell.”
“Unwell?” Mordred suddenly became flustered.
In her memory, I should have never been unwell before.
“Sister, this…
should we go see a doctor?”
“My body is fine, I’m just a bit tired, I’ll be fine after resting for a while.”
“Sister…”
“I’m fine…
Matori, I’m really fine…”
I waved my hand, signaling that I was really fine, signaling that I was really…
Mordred was still by my side, at a loss, breathing rapidly, her eyes drifting around constantly.
She opened her mouth again, wanting to say something.
But before she could speak, that witch stopped her: “Hey, you, stop talking.
She already said it, didn’t you hear?
Just let her rest for a while…
at least let her stay alone for a while.”
Mordred bit her lip, her eyes turning red.
But in the end, she said nothing, left the living room, and went to her own room.
The witch glanced at me, her gaze very complex, so complex that I couldn’t understand it at all, and eventually she also went to her own room and closed the door.
I slumped on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, my brain unconsciously starting to recall.
When, exactly, did I start having this feeling of exhaustion?
Thinking about it now, it must have been last night, right?
From the moment I released my darkness, I had signs of exhaustion.
Later, while eating, I had a feeling of fatigue.
By today, this feeling of exhaustion began to worsen continuously, until later it naturally produced a kind of exhaustion so intense that even breathing became difficult.
Having confirmed this, my thoughts couldn’t help but return to the past.
But I don’t know what happened; perhaps Mordred’s sword strike really caused a problem, and my brain really suffered damage, so I can’t remember many things.
Even important things, like the scene where I played Artoria pulling out the sword of selection, have become blurred; I no longer remember whether it was noon or sunset at that time.
This feeling is not pleasant; according to what I’ve read online, it should be similar to Alzheimer’s disease.
But, at my age, Alzheimer’s disease?
I feel it’s not quite right, but I can’t say where it’s wrong.
My thoughts wandered uncontrollably, and somehow, they returned to a very, very long time ago, so long ago that memories that should have been forgotten suddenly flashed in my mind, letting me capture a fragment of memory from my previous life’s previous life.
It was an ordinary night, and I returned home very, very late.
Because there was a little life waiting for me, welcoming me.
I played with it for a long time, from late night until the early morning, and then because it was really too late, I had to sleep, waiting to be woken up by the alarm clock the next day.
That little life, it must have been a pet I raised, right?
Working alone abroad, apart from a pet, I can’t think of anything else that could occupy a large amount of time.
That little life, was it a cat or a dog?
It should be a cat, right?
If it were a dog, I would have to take it out for walks every day, and I probably wouldn’t have the time, right?
If it were a pet like a hamster or a turtle, it probably wouldn’t require that much time; I would just need to change the water and food every day, and it wouldn’t be able to wait for me at the door and welcome me.
Then, what kind of cat was it?
Since I returned so late, I probably wasn’t a rich person back then, right?
Just like that, my mind began to wander uncontrollably.
I started to picture that cat in my mind; I began to wonder if it was fat or thin, what color it was, and I began to see its eyes as if in a dream—a pair of emerald eyes, sparkling and moving.
In the dim light of the night, its pupils dilated into circles, looking quite cute.
It felt as if just by gazing into those eyes, I would become very happy.
I seemed to suddenly become happy.
Unconsciously, a smile spread across my face.
But instinctively, I felt something wasn’t quite right, though I couldn’t say what…
I thought for a long time, yet I still couldn’t tell if it was fat or thin, still didn’t know its color, and couldn’t even imagine a rough outline.
It was like a dream, a dream I had a long, long time ago.
Upon waking, the dream was quickly forgotten.
Now it suddenly came back to me, and I fantasized about the appearance of that dream, the appearance of the things within it—but in the end, it was just a dream, containing only hazy feelings with no real form to speak of.
And so, the memory came to an abrupt halt here.
What my brain perceived was no longer that shattered fragment, but what my eyes saw now—the pure white, almost blank ceiling.
Taking a deep breath, I turned on my phone; the numbers on it read 18:21.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, I looked at the wall clock; the hands also pointed to 18:21.
Forcing my body up, I stood and walked with somewhat staggering steps toward the kitchen.
I turned on the range hood and sliced the ingredients in mid-air, just like in a manga.
Then, following the measurements in the recipe, I put them into the wok and prepared them into edible food.
They were all stir-fried dishes that could be made quickly, saving both worry and effort.
By the time the rice was steamed and the seaweed egg drop soup was boiled, twelve stir-fried dishes were just finished.
Then, carefully holding the tray, I carried the food and soup to the dining table with somewhat lurching steps.
Once the rice, dishes, and soup were all set, I sat in a chair and stared blankly at my handiwork.
At this time, I should go call Mordred and Jeanne, telling them that dinner is ready and they can come out to eat.
But because of that feeling of exhaustion, my mind thought of nothing, simply letting time slowly slip away.
This period of dazing was very short; instinctively checking my phone and then the wall clock, only four minutes had passed.
So, I took a deep breath, stood up with all my might, and first knocked on the Witch’s door.
She didn’t like me, so I didn’t say anything.
She should understand what my knocking meant.
Then, I walked to the door of Mordred’s room and knocked.
At this time, I should have said something like, “Matori, dinner is ready, come out and eat.” But the words were right at the tip of my tongue, and I simply couldn’t say them.
Even when I woke up in Avalon, even while lying in Morgan’s arms, I could still give her a fake smile and say some comforting words.
Now that everything had stabilized, I found myself unable to say anything, as if I had suddenly developed aphasia.
The ability to speak had been taken away, and I couldn’t even organize decent sentences in my head; I was even struggling over whether to call her Matori or Mordred.
After a moment’s hesitation, I retreated to the dining table and sat back down in the chair.
Then, like a machine, like a sleepwalker, I began to swallow the food.
I have a talent for cooking; today’s stir-fries were all quite good, especially the sour and spicy cabbage, which really suited my appetite.
The seaweed egg drop soup was also excellent, neither too salty nor too bland.
The texture and aroma of the stir-fried meat were outstanding, not inferior at all to what you’d get in a restaurant.
However, just as I couldn’t speak to Mordred, I couldn’t eat—after only a few bites, I felt I couldn’t go on.
It wasn’t that I lacked an appetite, or that it didn’t taste good, or that I felt full.
It was just that my consciousness decided it didn’t want to eat anymore, and my body stopped the motion of eating; there seemed to be no other reason, it was simply a matter of course.
Soon, Jeanne came out of her room.
She glanced at me, pursed her lips, and wanted to speak, but said nothing.
Then came Mordred.
Her eyes were red and her eyelids swollen, as if she had just had a long cry.
I sat in the chair, looking at them, and for some reason, I felt as if I were looking at strangers.
Yes, that feeling of looking at strangers.
The sense of familiarity was peeling away bit by bit, past memories were gradually receding, and my brain felt like it was rusted and unable to think.
Even though they were sitting right in front of me, I always felt they were very, very far away.
I wanted to fake a smile, but my facial muscles wouldn’t obey; I could only twitch my lips slightly, unable to make the corners of my mouth turn up.
I wanted to say some comforting words, but my mouth felt as if it were sealed shut, completely unable to open.
What should I do now?
How can I stop this state?
Thinking this, my rusted brain began to slowly move again, and I gradually returned from the past to the present.
—Since I can’t do it, then I’ll try to play her.
Then, as if a miracle had occurred, I regained control over my body.
My brain finally became active; my appetite, my ability to speak, and my recognition of the two people before me all returned.
Even though this process was exhausting, as if my soul were being forced into a narrow space, this result was indeed what I wanted—I had become myself again.
Taking an imperceptible breath, I was finally able to say to the two of them—
“…Mordred, and the Witch, it’s time to eat.
If you don’t eat soon, the food will get cold.”
However, neither of them moved their chopsticks; they just sat before me, staring into my eyes.
One was scowling, the other was pursing her lips.
One was angry, the other was sad.
“Why?” Finally, it was the angry Witch who first broke the silence.
“Why what?” I was very confused.
“Why close off your heart?” The Witch seemed even more furious.
“…What are you talking about?
What closing off my heart?” I seemed…
even more bewildered.
“You can’t fool me.
You actively closed off your own heart.
It’s been like this since you returned.”
That feeling…
was closing off my heart?
Hearing the Witch say this, I frowned slightly and began to think about her specific question.
But as soon as I began to think, the Witch impatiently changed the question.
“I want the answer to yesterday’s question.”
“Some questions, even I don’t know the answer to.”
I could only answer like this—it seemed I was evading the question.
Yes, evading.
I didn’t want to face it; I didn’t dare to face it.
And this evasion had permeated King Arthur’s entire life.
The Witch’s expression immediately turned fierce: “Don’t know?
It’s simply that you don’t want to face that question!
You’ve never dared to face it!
And you also know that continuing to drag it out won’t do any good!
Maybe one day, you won’t be able to stand it anymore and you’ll find a sword, or just use a kitchen knife from the kitchen, to chop yourself up!” Mordred immediately became anxious, but the Witch fiercely glared her back with her presence.
“Mordred, I wanted to ask this yesterday, and you even got mad at me!
Don’t you know how serious this problem is yourself?
Do even you want to keep dragging this out, letting this woman jump off a high building one day without knowing when!”
Mordred opened her mouth.
The Witch’s words triggered that memory of Camlann.
Even though Mordred had been incredibly arrogant last night and had maintained a proud, haughty demeanor all day today, in the end, she still shrank back—both she and I were evading that question, neither wanting to face it, neither daring to face it.
Then, the Witch fixed her gaze on me.
The situation suddenly reversed, and a sense of dread spread through my heart.
“Answer me!
Artoria Pendragon!
Answer that question for me!
You know what I want to ask!”
“I…”
What was the question?
What was the question that made me keep evading?
What exactly was it that neither Mordred nor I dared to face, letting it pass like this?
“I…”
It’s just that those words didn’t mention a major premise at all, and that major premise is the root of the problem.
What was that major premise?
What exactly was the root of that problem?
I, in fact, have known from the very beginning, haven’t I?
I already understood it back during the Holy Grail War, didn’t I?
That was not at all the’sacrifice’ I spoke of to Kiritsugu Emiya.
That was not at all the ‘paving the way’ I spoke of to Mordred.
Using my own Spirit Origin to blow up the Holy Grail was not my goal; completely destroying my own Spirit Origin was.
‘Sacrifice’ and the like were just wordplay; Kiritsugu Emiya was my Master, and I forced him to use a Command Spell to end my journey.
At Camlann, it was I who told Mordred to strike at my neck; it was I who requested her, before the expedition to Rome, to end my life on some future day.
Those things I said to her the other day—about bloodlines, fate, and the like—were just excuses, excuses I used to brush her off.
Kiritsugu Emiya was my sword, and I used that sword to end my own life.
Mordred was my sword, and I used that sword to end my own life.
And, most importantly, why did I say those words in Avalon, when the power of the prophecy took effect?
That’s right…
There can be no mistake…
‘The one who killed me, was myself…’