Dialogue

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Wednesday.

The morning before departure.

Zhang Wen checked the "emergency cutoff device" he had prepared in his office three times—a copper talisman engraved with the Consciousness Severing Rune Filius Flitwick had helped design. The principle was simple: the talisman would be placed against Artoria's nape, and if anything went wrong with her consciousness link, Zhang Wen could crush it to forcibly sever the connection.

Response time—one and a half seconds.

Twice as fast as the three seconds Artoria had requested.

"You added another layer of insurance." Artoria looked at the talisman.

"Flitwick helped. He got the response time down to one and a half seconds."

"One and a half seconds. That's enough."

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

Zhang Wen looked at her.

"You only ate one sandwich this morning. You usually eat three."

Artoria was silent for a second.

"A little nervous."

Zhang Wen took the other two sandwiches from the desk—ones he had grabbed from the kitchen in advance—and placed them before her.

"Finish them. You need to eat well before a battle. Your rule."

Artoria glanced at him. Then she picked up the sandwiches and finished them at a normal pace.

"And this." Zhang Wen pushed over a Chocolate Frog.

"Since when do you carry Chocolate Frogs around with you?"

"Since you forgot to eat lunch last time. I keep two in my pockets now, in case you forget again."

Artoria unwrapped the Chocolate Frog. It hopped once before she pinned it down in a single motion—her reaction time was 0.3 seconds faster than Zhang Wen's.

"Who's on the card?" Zhang Wen asked casually.

Artoria flipped it over and took a look.

"Dumbledore."

"Keeping it or throwing it away?"

"Keeping it. He looks better than he does in the photograph."

Zhang Wen was not sure whether Artoria was joking or seriously judging Dumbledore's looks. But there was the faintest curve at the corner of her lips—she was joking.

The King of Knights was joking before a mission.

That meant her nervousness had fallen to a manageable level.

Good.

Nine in the morning. Floo Powder. Malfoy Manor.

This was their third visit.

Lucius Malfoy was waiting in the drawing room. His expression was more serious than during the previous two visits—Zhang Wen had told him in a letter that the cabinet contained "a legendary existence" under seal. He had not given a specific name. But the words "legendary existence" alone were enough to make any wizard take matters seriously.

"The passages to the basement and greenhouse have both been opened," Lucius Malfoy said. "Just tell me if you need anything."

"Quiet," Artoria said. "There can't be any outside interference during the consciousness link. I need you to remain upstairs and not come down."

Lucius Malfoy looked at her.

Then he nodded. Without any objection.

Artoria's authority in Lucius Malfoy's eyes was probably second only to Dumbledore's. It might even have been equal to his.

The two crossed the garden, entered the greenhouse, and descended the iron ladder into the underground cavern.

The cavern was the same as last time—cold, damp, with a faint stale, cloying sweetness in the air.

The stone altar stood silently at the center. The bowl-shaped depression held the blood Lucius Malfoy had poured in according to Zhang Wen's instructions during their last visit—dark red, kept liquid by a Preservation Charm.

Pipes extended upward from beneath the altar—through rock, earth, and foundation—connecting to the black cabinet fifteen meters overhead.

"Before we begin." Zhang Wen handed the copper talisman to Artoria. "Put it on the back of your neck."

Artoria took the talisman, lifted her hair, and pressed it against her cervical spine.

The motion of lifting her hair—her long golden locks swept to one side over her shoulder by her fingers, revealing a small patch of skin at the back of her neck—

Zhang Wen pressed the talisman firmly into place.

His fingertips touched the skin at her nape. It was cool. The cavern was cold.

"It's attached," he said. His voice was slightly hoarser than he had expected.

"Mhm."

Artoria let her hair fall. Golden strands once again covered the talisman and the spot he had touched.

Zhang Wen stepped back.

"Let's confirm the procedure," he said, returning to work mode. "You pour your blood into the altar's depression. The blood will establish a consciousness link with the cabinet's interior through the pipes. Once the connection is established, you'll enter a semi-conscious state—your body will remain here while your consciousness speaks with Mordred inside the seal."

"Correct."

"I'll monitor your physical condition from beside you. If any of the following occurs—your pupils dilate beyond normal limits, your breathing rate falls below eight breaths per minute, or your body begins convulsing involuntarily—I'll crush the talisman and sever the link immediately."

"Understood."

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Artoria stood beside the altar. Her hand rested on Excalibur's hilt—an unconscious habit. Whenever she faced the unknown, she always made sure her sword was close at hand first.

"Yes," she said.

"What?"

"If something goes wrong during the consciousness link—if Mordred tries to do anything through my body—don't hesitate. Sever it immediately. No matter what I say at the time."

"You're afraid she'll use your mouth to say something like 'don't sever it' and trick me."

"She would. She's very good at manipulating people."

"I can tell you apart from her."

Artoria looked at him.

"How?"

"When you speak, you look me in the eyes. If she speaks through you—her gaze will be different. There's something in your eyes that she could never imitate."

"What is it?"

Zhang Wen thought for a second.

"Trust."

Artoria's fingers loosened from the sword hilt.

She said nothing. But there was an incredibly faint curve at the corner of her lips.

"Let's begin," she said.

Artoria drew a small knife from her waist—her utility knife.

She rolled up the left sleeve cuff, exposing the inside of her wrist.

The blade lightly cut across her skin.

Beads of blood seeped out. Dark red.

She held her wrist over the altar's depression and let the blood drip down.

One drop. Two drops. Three drops. After around ten drops, she withdrew her wrist and cast a Bleeding-Sealing Charm with her wand. The wound healed instantly.

The fresh blood mixed with the stored blood already in the depression.

Then—the change began.

The blood in the depression began to glow.

A dark red radiance. Faint but distinct. The light flowed along the grooves of the depression and gathered at the pipe connection beneath the altar.

The pipes were transmitting it.

Zhang Wen could feel it—a faint magical fluctuation traveled through the rock beneath his feet, flowing upward through the pipes toward the cabinet fifteen meters away.

Three seconds later, Artoria's body swayed slightly.

Her eyes closed.

The consciousness link had been established.

Zhang Wen immediately entered monitoring mode.

He stood one step in front of Artoria. His right hand gripped his wand. His left was ready to reach for the talisman at her nape at any moment.

Her body stood straight. Her breathing was steady—fourteen breaths per minute. Her pupils—he could not see them with her eyes closed. Her facial muscles were relaxed. Her arms hung naturally at her sides.

Everything was normal.

Thirty seconds passed.

One minute.

Artoria's expression began to change.

Her brows drew together slightly. Her lips tightened.

As though she were hearing something she did not particularly like.

Zhang Wen's left hand moved closer to the talisman.

One minute and thirty seconds.

The corner of Artoria's mouth suddenly twitched.

Not in pain. It was—a bitter smile.

A very complicated bitter smile.

Zhang Wen had never seen that expression on her before.

Two minutes.

Her breathing rate did not change. Her body did not convulse. Though her facial muscles had shifted, everything remained within controllable limits.

The consciousness link was stable. Mordred had not launched an attack.

Two and a half minutes.

Artoria's expression changed again.

The bitter smile vanished. In its place was—

Zhang Wen was not sure how to describe that expression. If he had to use one word—

Sorrow.

Profound sorrow.

The sorrow of the King of Knights.

Three minutes.

Artoria's lips moved. She was speaking. Her voice was very soft—almost inaudible.

Zhang Wen leaned closer.

"...I understand," she said, her voice seeming to come from somewhere far away. "I understand."

Three and a half minutes.

Her fingers moved. The fingers of her left hand—lifting slightly as they made a reaching gesture.

As though she were trying to touch someone.

Four minutes.

Artoria's lips moved again.

This time, Zhang Wen clearly heard what she said.

"...I'm sorry."

Two words.

"I'm sorry," spoken by Artoria Pendragon.

She was apologizing to Mordred.

After fifteen hundred years.

Four and a half minutes.

Artoria's expression gradually calmed. Her breathing remained steady. Her body showed no abnormalities.

She was communicating normally.

Zhang Wen stepped back half a pace. His left hand lowered from the talisman.

There was no need to sever the link.

Everything was normal.

Five minutes.

Six minutes.

Seven minutes—

Artoria opened her eyes.

Her pupils were regaining focus. Her emerald irises slowly recovered their clarity in the cavern's dim light.

She looked at Zhang Wen.

Zhang Wen saw many things in her eyes.

Too many. Too complicated to describe with words.

But her gaze was clear. It was her own.

"Is it over?" Zhang Wen asked.

"It's over."

"Are you okay?"

Artoria was silent for three seconds.

"I need to sit down."

Zhang Wen immediately took off his outer robe and spread it on the ground beside the altar—the cave floor was too cold to sit on directly.

Artoria sat down.

Zhang Wen sat beside her.

The two of them sat on the cave floor. Above them was a low rock ceiling. Beneath them were icy stone slabs. The light came from Zhang Wen's Lumos—a soft white glow hovering in the air.

"What did she say?" Zhang Wen asked.

Artoria closed her eyes and leaned against the rock wall.

"A lot."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"I do. But—I need to sort through it first."

"No rush."

The two of them sat in the cave for about five minutes.

Silence. Only the occasional sound of dripping water from deep within the cave.

Then Artoria began to speak.

"Mordred's consciousness is very clear. Fifteen hundred years of imprisonment didn't drive him mad—partly because Merlin's agreement gave him limited freedom of thought. He was able to think within the seal."

"Is he hostile toward you?"

"No." Artoria's voice dropped slightly. "He was very calm. Fifteen hundred years—enough to wear away most anger. He said—he stopped hating me a long time ago. Probably within the first two hundred years after he was sealed."

"The first two hundred years."

"After that, he began to—reflect. On Camlann. On his own choices. On mine. He said he understood why I refused to acknowledge him—though he still thinks I was wrong. But he understood."

Zhang Wen said nothing. He listened.

"He told me some things about Camelot—how Merlin sealed him. After the Battle of Camlann ended, I—King Arthur—had already fallen. Merlin found Mordred's body on the battlefield. His soul had not yet fully dispersed. Merlin split his soul into three parts. One-third was sealed in this cabinet. The rest—"

"And the rest?"

"One part was given to the Lady of the Lake. One was taken away by Merlin himself—its whereabouts are unknown."

"So Mordred's soul was split into three parts, kept by three different guardians."

"Merlin's way. He never put everything in one place."

"What else did he say?"

Artoria opened her eyes. She looked at the rock wall opposite her.

"He asked me—who you were."

"What?"

"Through the mental connection, he sensed your presence. He said—there was someone outside the seal whose magical fluctuations were unusual. Not like an ordinary wizard. He asked who that person was."

"How did you answer?"

"I said—he is my Master."

Zhang Wen's heartbeat skipped.

Master.

Outside the context of Camelot—at Hogwarts—she had never used that title. She called him "Zhang Wen." Occasionally, "Professor Zhang." In formal settings, "Professor."

But before Mordred—before someone she had known fifteen hundred years ago—she had called him her "Master."

"What did he say?" Zhang Wen asked.

"He said, 'You finally have a Master. Back then, you needed nothing. You relied on no one. Now, you have someone.'"

Artoria's voice was very soft.

"Then he said, 'That's good.'"

Zhang Wen fell silent.

After fifteen hundred years of imprisonment, Mordred's assessment of Artoria was simply: "That's good."

Because Artoria was finally no longer alone.

"And then?"

"Then he asked me the most crucial question." Artoria turned to look at Zhang Wen. "He asked, 'Will you release me?'"

"How did you answer?"

"I said—I hadn't decided yet."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'No hurry. I've waited fifteen hundred years. A few more days won't matter.'"

Zhang Wen thought for a moment.

"He's very cooperative."

"He has changed a great deal. Fifteen hundred years—enough to change anyone. Even Mordred."

"Do you think he can be trusted?"

Artoria thought for a long time.

"In Camelot—I didn't trust him. His rebellion, his ambition, his unpredictability—those were all facts. But now—"

She paused.

"Fifteen hundred years is a very long time. Long enough for someone to think many things through. He said he no longer hated me. I—I choose to believe him."

"You want to release him?"

"I'm inclined to. But under conditions."

"What conditions?"

"After release, Mordred will only have one-third of the power of his complete soul. His soul fragment will need a vessel—a body or a magical container—to exist stably in the outside world. I need to make sure he will not harm anyone. And he must be supervised."

"Who will supervise him?"

"I will."

Zhang Wen looked at her.

"You're going to take Mordred with you."

"He is my—" Artoria paused again. "He is a relic of Camelot. He is my responsibility."

Zhang Wen noticed that pause. What she had originally wanted to say was probably not "a relic of Camelot."

But he did not press her.

"Alright," Zhang Wen said. "It's your decision. I support it."

"You don't think it's risky?"

"Of course it's risky. But when you make a decision, you've never lacked courage. What you lack is—someone to tell you, after you've made it, 'I support you.'"

Artoria looked at him.

The cave was dim. The white glow of Lumos cast soft shadows across her face.

Her eyes reddened slightly.

Only for an instant. Then they returned to normal.

The Knight King would not cry.

But her eyes could redden.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

Zhang Wen stood and held out his hand.

Artoria took his hand. He pulled her to her feet.

After she stood—he did not let go. Neither did she.

The two of them stood in the cave, hand in hand.

The rocks above them were low. The light was dim. The air was cold.

Yet Zhang Wen felt that this place—a bleak, frigid cave, beneath a blood-sacrifice altar, directly beneath a seal from fifteen hundred years ago—was one of the warmest places he had ever been.

Because she was there.

"Let's go," Artoria said. "Back up. Explain the situation to Lucius Malfoy, then return to Hogwarts."

"Alright."

"After we get back—"

"After we get back, what?"

"Make me a cup of tea. Two and a half spoonfuls."

"Alright."

The two of them climbed back up to the greenhouse along the iron ladder.

Sunlight streamed through the dust-covered windows.

Zhang Wen released her hand in the greenhouse—because they were about to see Lucius Malfoy.

As he let go, his fingertips brushed across her palm.

Artoria's fingers curled slightly—as though she wanted to catch that lingering touch.

Then they relaxed.

The two of them left the greenhouse, crossed the garden, and returned to the manor's main building.

Lucius Malfoy was waiting in the study.

"Mr. Malfoy," Zhang Wen said, "the mental connection is complete. The being in the cabinet—I can tell you its identity now."

Lucius Malfoy's fingers tightened around his cane.

"His name is Mordred. A knight from the legends of King Arthur. A fragment of a soul personally sealed by Merlin—one-third of a complete soul. Your grandfather used thirty-five years of blood to communicate with him and obtain ancient knowledge from the era of Camelot."

Lucius Malfoy's expression shifted between "shock," "awe," and "what else did my grandfather do that I don't know about?"

"Mordred..." he repeated the name.

"We intend to release him once the conditions are right," Zhang Wen said. "Afterward, he will be supervised by Miss Pendragon. Until then—maintain the status quo. Continue the monthly blood offerings. Do not approach the cabinet without authorization."

"Release him—you're sure?"

"Miss Pendragon spoke with him directly and judged that he no longer poses an immediate threat. We'll formulate the specific release plan after we return—expect it to be carried out within two weeks. We will need your cooperation then."

Lucius Malfoy glanced at Artoria.

Artoria looked back at him.

Her gaze was calm. But within that calm was something Lucius Malfoy had probably never seen before—the weight of fifteen hundred years.

"I will cooperate," Lucius Malfoy said.

They returned to Hogwarts by Floo Powder.

It was already afternoon.

Zhang Wen and Artoria returned to their office on the third floor.

Zhang Wen made tea. Two and a half spoonfuls.

Artoria sat in the armchair by the window. She untied the copper amulet from the back of her neck and placed it on the table.

"The amulet wasn't needed," she said.

"The best equipment is the equipment you never need to use."

"You prepared well."

"You performed well. Seven minutes. No abnormalities throughout."

"He didn't attack me."

"You said he changed."

"He really has changed."

The two of them were silent for a while.

Zhang Wen brought over the tea. Artoria accepted it and took a sip.

"Zhang Wen."

"Hmm?"

"What he said—about you—"

"'You finally have a Master'?"

"Mm."

"What about it?"

Artoria lowered her eyes to the surface of the tea.

"He was right. Back in Camelot—I needed nothing. I was king. A king could not have weaknesses. Could not have someone to rely on. Could not have—"

She did not finish.

"Someone they wanted to protect," Zhang Wen finished for her.

Artoria's fingers tightened slightly around the teacup.

"But now it's different." Zhang Wen sat opposite her. "Now you can."

"Have what?"

"Someone you want to protect."

Artoria looked up at him.

"You too," she said.

"What am I too?"

"You are someone I want to protect too."

Zhang Wen lifted his teacup.

The tea was exactly the right temperature. Two and a half spoonfuls of sugar.

The sweetness of the tea she made and the tea he made was now completely the same.

"Then we'll protect each other," he said.

The corner of Artoria's mouth lifted slightly.

"Okay."

One word.

The fireplace burned. Snow fell. Tea steamed.

About two weeks remained until Mordred's release.

But Hogwarts was peaceful at the moment.

Zhang Wen took a sip of tea.

It was delicious.

Every cup was delicious.

Because every cup had two and a half spoonfuls.

They were all at her preferred sweetness.