Artoria stood behind the thin curtain, gazing at Mordred.
The sheath of the holy sword hung at her waist—the legendary Avalon.
King Arthur now knew exactly what mistake she had made in life. How could she make the same mistake again?
Now, she valued both the holy sword and its sheath.
Under the protection of the fairy realm, even the Father-Slaying Sword, which possessed the concept of certain death against Artoria, could no longer kill her.
"You..."
Mordred's face was filled with shock. She could not believe this outcome.
"Sir Mordred... No, you are not the Mordred under my command. You must be the Knight of the King of Lions."
"...You knew that a small force could never break through my army by means of a surprise attack."
"So you chose to create chaos, then used Mordred's identity to approach me amid the confusion and suddenly unleash your Noble Phantasm to kill me."
"...Once I died, the Knights of the Round Table summoned by me would disappear as well. Even with an army of more than two hundred thousand here, they would be like candles in the wind, reduced to ashes beneath the King of Lions' judgment."
Artoria's holy-blue eyes seemed to have seen through everything long ago. As a legendary and eternal king, how could she fail to see through such petty schemes?
"Hahahaha! As expected of King Arthur, as expected of my father!"
Mordred laughed heartily, her voice filled with exhilaration.
This was the King Arthur she had yearned for, worshipped, and wished to win recognition from!
"Damn it!"
A furious roar rang out. Another Mordred rode a warhorse toward them. Seeing her other self, she wore an expression of anger and shame.
"I'm sorry, my king! I frightened you. I'll deal with this other me personally!"
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