My Mother is King Arthur

"..."

Arthur remained silent, his eyes saying everything: 'You, a scumbag, have the right to say these things to me?'

"Ah, ah, I've been mocked." Even so, Merlin, who was petting a beast-like Merlin, showed no disappointment at all.

On the contrary, Merlin was full of anticipation.

He anticipated Arthur's next performance.

That night, Mordred tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. She suffered from insomnia all night, and her performance in the next day's assault on the Vile King Vortigern's castle was similarly poor. Arthur, however, once again distinguished himself. Alongside Gareth and Galahad, the trio easily infiltrated the White Dragon King's army, carving out a breach in their lines.

The White Dragon King's army consisted of Saxons who were already terrified, or British Celts who were disillusioned by Vortigern's actions.

The battle saw only minor resistance before these forces collapsed and fled like startled rabbits. The path to the White Dragon King's throne was cleared.

"My King, we can advance now."

At this moment, following King Arthur was his cousin, Gawain.

He looked excited, holding the Sword of the Sun.

Yes, it was only natural. If they defeated the Vile King, the war between Britannia and the Saxons would have achieved a significant victory.

It was just as King Arthur had always preached: "If we win the war, everything will get better."

"Britannia's current harsh climate is all because of the Vile King's machinations."

"Defeat him, and a happy life will follow."

Though that was hardly the case.

Following this, a troop of elite soldiers, accompanied by Artoria and Gawain, entered Vortigern Pendragon's castle.

"..."

"Hey."

Beside Arthur, Gareth tugged at him as she saw the prince begin to move forward.

The brave wolf-girl looked surprised. "Your Highness...?"

"I'm a little curious."

Arthur said to her, "What kind of person is that Vile King?"

"He's a despicable king who has invited savage barbarians as his allies and wants to rule all of Britannia," Gareth replied, using Camelot's official propaganda without missing a beat.

"Perhaps."

Arthur continued, "But more than that, I want to see for myself."

"But..."

As Gareth hesitated, Arthur walked straight into the castle. Galahad followed calmly behind him.

"Huh? Huh? Huh?"

"If you want to follow, hurry up."

Arthur called back to her without turning his head.

After a few seconds of internal debate, Gareth also followed.

Author's Notes:

Updated! La la la!

Chapter 12: The Detour to Save Britannia - Vortigern

Walking through the cold, empty, and deserted corridors, Arthur's mind was racing.

In fact, he had wanted to meet his grand-uncle for a long time.

But because they were enemies, and the White Dragon had always been the embodiment of the brutal side of the British Isles, meeting him was too dangerous. Thus, Arthur had to suppress this desire.

As for the reason for wanting to meet him? Naturally, it was for "cooperation."

Compared to his mother, who was full of justice and deeply cared for Britannia and the Celts, Arthur was more pragmatic and colder.

He knew the future course of history.

King Arthur would be defeated, followed by a large-scale invasion by the Angles and Saxons, who would eventually occupy large parts of England.

Then came the Viking invasions.

And after that, the invasion by William, the illegitimate son of Normandy, a Normanized Viking.

The Vikings, the Normans, and the Angles and Saxons warred, killed, and eventually merged on the islands, forming a new people.

The Anglo-Saxons. This formidable race, the first to achieve the Industrial Revolution, dominate the seven seas, and maintain world hegemony for centuries, would later establish an upgraded version of Britannia, the United States of America.

Britannia's history was far from over. In fact, its most spectacular chapter was still a thousand years away.

What truly perished, what truly ended, was merely the Celts of Britannia.

This is because the mystery of the surface world was destined to fade.

The world's Aether was bound to vanish.

Creatures of fantasy that could hide, all retreated into the Inner Sea of Stars, the world's interior. Those that couldn't hide were, as a matter of course, annihilated.

And because of this, the "Old Humans," the Celts, who coexisted with mystery and benefited from Aether, were also on Gaia's list of extermination.

This was destiny.

Even with the existence of the massive, wicked organization known as "Chaldea," should Artoria have succeeded in saving Britannia, this world would have become a singularity or a Lostbelt. Ultimately, it would have been judged and destroyed.

This was the will of "Gaia." The will of the planet's Counter Force. An almost insurmountable despair.

—At least, it was like that before some bastard showed up in a Star Destroyer and expanded the conflict from the Earth-Moon system to the galaxy. But unfortunately, there were probably too many evil gods in the Servant universe, so they didn't have time to bother with Earth.

And thus.

"Fusing with the Saxons might not be a bad solution."

Arthur, who knew the "future," had actually always thought this.

Unless, in the future, he possessed planet-level, or even beyond-planet-level combat power. For example, if he truly inherited his mother's Star Destroyer, otherwise, he could only comply with the Counter Force and try his best to save as many people and things as possible.

"There are two ways to fuse. One is active, and the other is passive."

"The passive is like the Jurchen and the Five Barbarians during China's chaotic times. The active is like Qi conquering Donglai, Qin expelling the Western Rong, and Chu dominating the Southern Jiang."

"The key lies in initiative."

"It's still about fusing with the Saxons. After the Battle of Camlann, the entire Celtic population of Britannia was weakened to the point of insignificance, allowing them to be completely absorbed.

Or, like the Vile King Vortigern, manipulating and controlling them, becoming the commander of the Saxons, actively controlling the fusion with the Saxons.

The circumstances and outcomes of both will undoubtedly be different."

"If I recall correctly."

Yes, if Arthur recalled correctly, according to the "historical records" of the Type-Moon world he read before transmigrating. When Merlin told Artoria that "Britannia's Celts were doomed to perish," she was also shaken to a certain extent and actively proposed a method of "fusion."

But in the end, Artoria hesitated, wavered. One could even say she ran away.

"So the key now is my great-aunt's heart."

Arthur thought, "Is she leading the Saxon invasion of the islands out of desire and ambition, or is she preparing for a 'strategic retreat to save the nation'?"

If it's the former, then forget it.

But if it's the latter, then...

Well, even if it's the latter, she must die.

After all, for propaganda purposes, this great-aunt's reputation among the Celts of Britannia was already on par with Tohsaka Tokiomi's.

For everyone's peace of mind, she had to die. Even if what she was doing was correct, and for the sake of saving Britannia.

Thinking this, Arthur stopped in his tracks.

"Arthur?!"

The one who noticed Arthur's arrival was his cousin Gawain.

In the war between dragons, he, as a mortal, had no way to intervene.

So Gawain, are you just going to stand there and watch?

Arthur shot him a glare. Then he ignored Gawain's words, "Why are you here? This place is dangerous!"

He raised his head.

In mid-air, a beautiful girl was fighting a giant White Dragon. The moment Arthur gripped the hilt of Clarent, the outcome was decided. The light released by the Holy Lance Rhongomyniad instantly pierced the White Dragon.

The war between the Red Dragon and the White Dragon thus came to an end.

The White Dragon, a colossal being at the pinnacle of fantasy species, cried out and plummeted from the sky. Its body gradually shrank as it fell, and finally, when it hit the ground, it had returned to its original form: a spiritless, haggard old man, seemingly tormented.

"So foolish."

Even with such a large spear lodged in his chest, the old man did not die in the shortest possible time.

"Son of my brother Uther."

The old man, like the other people of Britannia, was blind and mistook Artoria for Artorius:

"You cannot save this country. You cannot make humanity win."

As if a dying curse, a flush suddenly appeared on the old man's face, likely a final surge of vitality before death.

"Because the Age of Gods has ended, and Aether is about to vanish. That's what you're going to say, right?"

Behind King Arthur, a childish voice emerged from the young boy, cutting off the old man.

"..."

Artoria turned her head in surprise, looking at her son, who was calmly advancing surrounded by two equally young next-generation Knights of the Round Table.

Arthur ignored her, walked past her position, and approached the old man. He lowered his voice and said the following into his ear:

"Intermarry with the Saxons, assimilate. Cooperate with the Romans and turn the Kingdom of Britannia into the Roman-Britannian province. After that, advance to the continent, contend for the imperial throne, and rebuild the Western Roman Empire. What do you think of that, Uncle?"

After saying this, Arthur stood up straight again, took a step back, and looked at Vortigern.

This plan was a step further than Vortigern Pendragon's. It was grander and crazier. So much so that the old man looked at him with disbelief.

"Your name is..."

"Artorius Pendragon. Son of King Arthur." Arthur said in a low voice.

"What do you want to do?"

"Just as I told you," Arthur said. "As for why I'm telling you, I figured you're dying anyway, so why not give me everything you can?"

Hearing Arthur say this, Artoria behind him opened her mouth, wanting to say something. The old man in front of him did the same.

Vortigern, seeing Arthur for the first time, was stunned for two seconds before saying to Arthur:

"You're so despicable and shameless, why aren't you my son?"

Author's Notes:

New author, new book, please support!

Chapter 13: The Successor

Sisters making out.jpg

Hearing Vortigern say this, King Arthur almost fired another Holy Lance at him. Of course, he didn't in the end.

After losing to King Arthur, Vortigern, no matter how ambitious, was powerless.