Father

Releasing Mordred had been easier than Zhang Wen had expected.

And more chaotic than he had expected.

Third week of December. Saturday. Malfoy Manor basement.

Present: Zhang Wen, Artoria.

Lucius Malfoy remained upstairs. He had been strictly forbidden from entering the basement; the magical backlash from releasing a soul fragment that had been sealed for fifteen hundred years could harm an ordinary wizard.

The cabinet hummed quietly beneath the lights.

Cracks in the three layers of seals had spread across roughly eighty percent of the cabinet's surface. If Lucius Malfoy had not restored the blood-sacrifice supply, the seals would probably have collapsed on their own two weeks ago.

Artoria stood before the cabinet.

Excalibur rested in her right hand. Invisible Air had been dispelled, and the full blade gave off a pale golden gleam in the basement's dim light.

This was Zhang Wen's first time seeing Excalibur's true form.

A golden blade. Patterns so exquisite they seemed beyond anything of this world. Its edge possessed a sharpness that transcended physics; without even touching it, you knew it could cut through anything.

"Fine sword," Zhang Wen murmured.

"Focus," Artoria said.

Zhang Wen shut his mouth.

"The release procedure."

Artoria's voice shifted into command mode.

"First, I touch the cabinet's surface and trigger the release condition, 'King's Confrontation.' Second, I declare the release of my own free will and trigger 'King's Choice.' Third, the seal automatically dissolves, and the soul fragment materializes."

"What form will it take after materializing?"

Zhang Wen asked.

"According to Merlin's protocol, once the soul fragment leaves the seal, it automatically gathers into a physical body. Not a spirit—a true body of flesh. But it only has one-third of a soul, so the reconstructed body will possess only around one-third of her strength at her peak. She can speak, move, and touch the material world, but she will be far from the complete Mordred."

"How strong is one-third of Mordred?"

"Stronger than an ordinary wizard. Much weaker than she was in the age of Camelot. Daily movement will not be affected, but intense combat may cause backlash to her body."

Artoria paused.

"Simply put, she can run and jump, but she cannot wear full armor and slaughter her way through a battlefield for three days and nights straight as she did back then."

"Understood. Let her out first."

Artoria took a deep breath.

She walked toward the cabinet.

Raised her left hand.

Her fingertips touched its surface.

The hum abruptly changed pitch, rising from low to piercing. The three layers of runes across the cabinet's surface lit up at once. The outermost Runes glowed blue, the middle Anglo-Saxon runes glowed silver, and the innermost Ancient Celtic Runes glowed gold.

The three colors intertwined.

The temperature in the basement dropped by five degrees.

"Condition one, King's Return, fulfilled," Artoria said, her voice steady and clear. "Condition two, King's Confrontation, fulfilled."

She paused for a second.

"Condition three. King's Choice."

Her emerald-green eyes stared directly at the cabinet.

"I, Artoria Pendragon, of my own free will, choose to release the sealed one, Mordred."

The cabinet exploded.

Not in the physical sense. No debris flew out. It was the seal's energy being released all at once. The three-colored light spread outward, and a shockwave swept through every corner of the basement. Zhang Wen's hair was lifted by the blast.

The runes on the black metal shell went dark one by one.

From the outside inward. Blue. Silver. Gold.

When the final golden rune vanished, a crack split open across the cabinet's top.

A mass of light poured from the gap.

Dark red light.

The ball of light spun in the air for about three seconds, then began to coalesce.

Not into a phantom. It was truly constructing flesh and blood.

The dark red light expanded outward from its core—first the outline of a skeleton, then the texture of muscle, and finally the feel of skin. The entire process was like someone sculpting a living person out of light.

A humanoid figure.

Female.

Around one hundred sixty centimeters tall. A few centimeters shorter than Artoria.

Short hair. Golden, but paler in tone than Artoria's blonde hair.

A youthful face. She looked around sixteen or seventeen, much younger than her actual age.

The reconstructed body retained the appearance she had possessed at the height of her life.

Her features.

Zhang Wen glanced at Artoria, then at the body still taking shape.

Their features bore similarities. The angle of their jawlines. The height of their nose bridges. The shape of their lips.

"The bloodline of Arthur," the seal's description had said.

The final wisp of dark red light sank into her skin.

The physical body was complete.

Mordred stood barefoot atop the shattered remains of the cabinet. She was truly standing there, her feet pressing against the metal fragments, her skin tightening slightly from contact with the cold floor.

The clothes on her body had been generated automatically by the seal: a simple white tunic, like a medieval undergarment.

Her eyes opened.

Emerald-green irises, exactly like Artoria's.

But the look in them was entirely different. Artoria's gaze was steady and reserved, like a bottomless lake.

Mordred's gaze was sharp, blazing, filled with a beastlike vitality.

Even supported by only one-third of a soul, that untamed presence was still strong enough to make the air tighten.

Mordred stood atop the cabinet's wreckage. She lowered her head and looked at her palm—real, flushed with blood.

She clenched her fist, and her knuckles gave a faint crack.

Then she raised her head and looked at Artoria.

The two faced each other.

A reunion after fifteen hundred years.

Zhang Wen held his breath.

The silence lasted about five seconds.

Then Mordred spoke.

"You haven't changed at all."

Her voice had a rough quality to it, like someone who had not spoken for fifteen hundred years and had only just relearned how to use her vocal cords.

"Still the same as ever."

"You too," Artoria said.

"I spent fifteen hundred years in a cabinet. Did you think I'd grow old?"

"Your tongue is sharper than before."

"After being locked up for fifteen hundred years, I had to improve somehow."

Mordred jumped down from the cabinet's wreckage and staggered slightly when she landed.

One-third of a soul was driving a brand-new body, and her muscles clearly had not yet learned to work together smoothly. She steadied herself and looked around the basement.

"Where is this?"

"Malfoy Manor. Wiltshire."

"Whose manor?"

"A pure-blood wizarding family's. Your cabinet was kept in their basement for around seventy years."

"Seventy years?" Mordred frowned. "What about before that?"

"I don't know. There's a long gap in the historical record."

Mordred reached out and touched the cabinet's remains. Her fingertips met the cold metal surface, and her fingers drew back slightly.

Then she lowered her head and looked at her hand. Turned it over. Clenched it again.

"A physical body," she said softly, as though confirming it. "It really is a physical body."

"A physical body reconstructed from one-third of a soul."

Artoria said.

"Your strength is approximately one-third of what it was at your peak."

Mordred rolled her shoulders and twisted her neck. A string of small cracks came from her joints.

"One-third?" The corner of her mouth lifted. "Enough."

Then her attention shifted to Zhang Wen.

Her emerald-green eyes swept over him from head to toe.

"So you're the 'Master' she mentioned?"

"Zhang Wen. Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts."

Zhang Wen tried to keep his tone normal.

"Hello."

Mordred tilted her head.

"You look pretty good," she said, in the same tone one might use to appraise a horse. "But you don't look like much of a fighter."

"He doesn't need to be able to fight," Artoria said.

"You're speaking up for him?" Mordred raised an eyebrow.

"I am stating a fact. His duty is command and analysis. Fighting is my responsibility."

Mordred's emerald-green eyes moved back and forth between Zhang Wen and Artoria twice.

Then she suddenly smiled.

That smile was completely unlike Artoria's.

When Artoria smiled, it was restrained and subtle, measured in millimeters.

Mordred's smile was bold and uninhibited, stretching nearly to her ears.

"You two." She pointed between Zhang Wen and Artoria. "There's something going on between you two."

Zhang Wen kept his facial muscles under control. Nothing changed.

Artoria kept her facial muscles under control as well.

But Mordred had been a knight of Camelot. Her ability to read people was on the same level as Artoria's.

"Don't pretend."

Mordred walked between them, her bare feet striking the stone floor with light, crisp steps.

"I sensed it during our last consciousness link. You." She pointed at Artoria. "Whenever you mentioned him, your entire soul was trembling. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Artoria's expression remained completely still.

But the tip of her right ear turned red.

Zhang Wen saw it.

So did Mordred.

"Ha!"

Mordred let out a triumphant laugh.

"Her ears are red! King Arthur's ears are red! After fifteen hundred years, I finally get to see you embarrassed!"

"I am not embarrassed."

Artoria's voice became calm enough to freeze the air.

"The basement temperature is low. Concentrated blood circulation has dilated the peripheral blood vessels. A physiological reaction."

"Your excuses are worse than they were back then."

"Mordred."

"What?"

"Shut up."

Mordred raised an eyebrow, but she did shut up for one second.

Then she spoke again.

"So what exactly is your relationship? Don't tell me 'partners.' During that last consciousness link, you called him 'Master.' You never used that tone on anyone in Camelot."

Zhang Wen could not help glancing at Artoria.

Artoria did not turn around. But the back of her neck, where the amulet had just been removed, flushed faintly red.

"Our relationship," Artoria said, her voice extraordinarily steady, "is currently... developing."

"'Developing'?" Mordred's smile grew even brighter. "What is that, diplomatic language?"

"It is an accurate description."

"An accurate description... Hmm..."

Mordred plopped down on an old wooden crate beside her. It creaked beneath her weight.

She rested her chin on her palm and watched the two of them with an expression of intense interest in gossip.

"Then let me ask a more specific question."

"There is no need," Artoria said, a hint of warning entering her tone.

"You two." Mordred ignored the warning completely. "If you two get together in the future, should I call him 'Father' or 'Father Lord'?"

The basement fell silent.

Completely silent.

Even the residual hum from the wreckage of the cabinet had stopped.

Zhang Wen's brain crashed for about three seconds.

Artoria's brain, given her processing speed, probably crashed for one second. But in terms of outward behavior, that one second was equivalent to ten seconds for an ordinary person.

"And—"

Mordred had no intention of letting them off. She stood from the wooden crate and walked up to Artoria, wearing an exceptionally punchable grin.

"If I call him Father, should I call you 'Mother' or 'Mother dearest'? Hmm?"

Artoria's face.

After three months of behavioral observation, Zhang Wen had built a complete "Artoria Facial Microexpression Database."

It contained the muscular changes corresponding to every known emotion she had displayed.

The expression on her face right now was not in the database.

This was a completely new expression.

If he had to define it, it was probably the result of "shock," "embarrassment," and "wanting to draw her sword but being unable to actually cut down her own child, who had only just regained a body and possessed one-third of her strength," all surging up at once and canceling one another out.

The final result was:

Red.

From the tips of her ears to her cheeks. Her entire face turned pale pink at a speed and intensity Zhang Wen had never seen before.

Artoria Pendragon.

Was blushing.

Not just the tips of her ears. Her entire face was red.

Zhang Wen's own face was probably not doing much better. He could feel the temperature from his neck upward rapidly rising.

"M-Mordred."

For the first time in history, Artoria's voice stuttered.

"Y-you... what nonsense are you talking about...?"

"Nonsense?"

Mordred folded her arms and leaned back against the wall.

"You two stand less than twenty centimeters apart. He has Chocolate Frogs prepared for you in his pocket. The scarf around your neck carries his scent—don't ask how I know; even the senses of a body reconstructed from one-third of a soul are far sharper than an ordinary person's. And you say you're merely 'developing'?"

"The scarf is... shared..."

"Would a shared scarf carry the same person's body heat?"

Artoria shut her mouth.

Zhang Wen decided to step in and save the situation.

"Mordred," he said.

Mordred turned toward him. Her emerald-green eyes were the same color as Artoria's, yet their expression was entirely different, filled with provocation and curiosity.

"What did you call me?"

She asked with a grin.

"My 'Father'?"

"I called you Mordred."

Zhang Wen kept his voice as steady as possible.

"As for what you should call me, I think we can discuss that after you adapt to the outside world first. You were imprisoned for fifteen hundred years. A lot has changed outside. And this body of yours only has one-third of your strength. Getting used to having a physical body is more important."

"You're changing the subject."

"I'm reasonably prioritizing the discussion."

Mordred stared at him for two seconds.

Then she smiled again.

"I like you," she told Zhang Wen. "You're completely different from her. She's as dull as a rock. At least you can speak like a human being."

"Thanks."

"But..."

Mordred walked back over to Artoria. Her expression suddenly grew a little more serious. The smile remained, but something beneath it had changed.

"You don't need to be too nervous about me calling you Father."

She looked at Artoria.

"I was just... confirming something."

"Confirming what?" Some color returned to Artoria's face.

"Confirming that you have someone by your side."

Mordred's voice softened slightly.

"During our last consciousness connection, you said he was your Master. The way you spoke was different from how you spoke about anyone before. Including Lancelot. Including Merlin."

Artoria said nothing.

"In Camelot, you never let anyone get close to you. You locked yourself behind the throne. Everyone looked up at you, but no one could stand beside you."

"Mordred..."

"I wanted to stand beside you back then. You refused me."

There was no resentment in Mordred's voice. There truly wasn't anymore. There was only a faint, relieved sense of reflection.

"But he did."

Her gaze shifted to Zhang Wen.

"He stood beside you."

Zhang Wen looked at the girl who had just regained a physical body.

A face of sixteen or seventeen.

A soul that had endured fifteen hundred years. In those emerald-green eyes was a softness that the rebellious knight of Camelot should never have possessed.

"So," Mordred put that flamboyant smile back on, "do you mind if I call you Father?"

Zhang Wen thought for three seconds.

"Suit yourself," he said. "But I think there's another title you want to use more."

Mordred's smile paused for a moment.

"What title?"

Zhang Wen did not look at her. He looked toward Artoria.

Artoria was looking at him too.

Her complexion had returned to normal. But there was something in her eyes that he rarely saw. A request.

A silent request the King of Knights would never say aloud.

Zhang Wen gave a slight nod.

Artoria turned to Mordred.

She was silent for about five seconds.

Then she said one sentence.

"You can call me that, if you want to."

Mordred's body froze.

Barefoot on the cold stone floor. Her emerald-green eyes widened.

"You said..."

"You heard me."

"You're letting me call you..."

"I said it. If you want to."

Mordred's lips moved.

The thing she had wanted most fifteen hundred years ago. The thing Artoria had never given her.

That title.

"Mother..."

Mordred's voice broke slightly on those two words. Her shoulders trembled faintly, her newly regained body faithfully conveying the tremor in her soul.

Then she recovered.

"Tch." She turned her head away. That chuunibyou gesture, paired with bare feet, a white shirt, and slightly reddened eyes, looked more honest than anything else. "Who wants to call you Mother? I was just asking. Just asking casually."

But Zhang Wen saw it.

The instant she turned away, there was a glimmer of moisture at the corner of her eye.

She quickly raised a hand and rubbed it with the back of her hand, moving so fast that it was as though she were wiping away nonexistent dust.

Artoria saw it too.

The corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly.

It was not a bitter smile.

It was relief.

A regret that had lasted fifteen hundred years.

In this cold, damp basement, at this absurd moment, amid this ridiculous conversation about "what to call someone"...

Part of it dissipated.

Zhang Wen quietly watched them from the corner.

Mother and daughter. A distance of fifteen hundred years had shrunk to less than a meter in this damp basement.

He said nothing.

Some things needed no narration.

After they came up from the basement, Lucius Malfoy saw a barefoot blond girl following behind them, and his cane nearly fell from his hand.

"This is..."

"Mordred," Zhang Wen said. "A knight from the legends of King Arthur. The one your grandfather spoke with for thirty-five years."

Lucius looked at Mordred with an expression of discomposure exceedingly rare among pure-bloods.

Mordred glanced back at him.

"Who are you?"

"L-Lucius Malfoy. The master of this manor..."

"Oh. You're the one whose house the box was kept in."

Mordred tipped her chin toward the basement.

"Your basement is too cold. One-star review. Also..." She lowered her head to look at her bare feet. "Do you have any shoes? The floor is freezing."

Lucius's face twitched.

Having a fifteen-hundred-year-old girl who had just emerged from a seal give his home's indoor temperature a bad review and demand slippers was probably a new experience in his life.

"What will happen to her from now on?"

Lucius looked at Zhang Wen.

"She'll return to Hogwarts and remain under Miss Pendragon's supervision. The headmaster has already agreed."

Lucius opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Discussion over.

When they returned to Hogwarts through the Floo, Mordred followed them through the fireplace. On her feet was a pair of Narcissa's old boots that Lucius had hastily found. They were half a size too big, wobbling slightly as she walked.

Third-floor corridor.

Zhang Wen walked in front. Artoria was beside him. Mordred walked about a meter behind them. After changing from bare feet into boots, her steps had become much steadier, though she occasionally still paused slightly because her body's coordination was insufficient with only one-third of her soul.

"You two walk way too close together," Mordred said from behind them. "Your shoulders are practically touching."

"The corridor is narrow," Artoria said.

"The corridor is at least two meters wide. The distance between you is less than ten centimeters."

"Your observational skills have deteriorated. It's fifteen centimeters."

"Is there a difference between fifteen centimeters and ten? Either way, that's lovers' distance."

"Mordred."

"What?"

"If you say one more word, I'll ask Professor Filius Flitwick to make a soundproof barrier and trap you inside it."

"You're threatening me. I was just released, and you're already threatening me."

"I'm educating you."

"Educating?" Mordred snorted. "You finally admit you're a mother? Only mothers educate their children."

Artoria's steps halted for 0.3 seconds.

Then they resumed.

Beside her, Zhang Wen was having a very difficult time holding back his laughter.

His shoulders trembled faintly.

"You're laughing." Artoria's voice came from beside him, lowered and carrying a trace of gritted teeth.

"I'm not."

"Your shoulders are shaking."

"I'm cold."

"It's twenty degrees in this corridor. You're wearing three layers. You are not cold."

"Muscle spasm."

"Your excuse was even worse than mine."

Mordred burst out laughing behind him.

It was brazen and uninhibited, carrying the exhilaration of fifteen hundred years of pent-up frustration finally being released.

His eyes curved into crescents as he laughed.

Zhang Wen glanced at the blond boy behind him, then at the King of Knights beside him, whose face was slightly flushed.

He felt that the days ahead

would be very lively.