"Where's your wyvern?"
After racing across the wilderness for some time without encountering any enemies, Mordred grew irritable and couldn't help but voice her frustration.
Mordred recalled that Alaric had once captured a wyvern—decently fast—so why wasn't he using it?
"I'd like to know where it went too," Alaric replied without even turning his head.
After leaving the desert, Alaric had lost track of the wyvern. He understood that his control over the creature had always relied on its fear of dragon's blood. Losing contact after being away for so long was, unfortunately, expected.
"Tch—"
Imagining Mordred's annoyed expression, Alaric couldn't help but chuckle. Just as he was about to say something—
Whoosh—!
The sudden sound of something slicing through the air hurtled toward Alarice's face.
"A dagger?"
With his enhanced perception, Alaric quickly identified the projectile—a pitch-black dagger he was all too familiar with. He had even used similar daggers multiple times in the past.
"An unfamiliar Hassan nearby—"
Alaric instantly realized this. The two Hassans he'd previously encountered, Serenity and Cursed Arm, shouldn't have any reason to attack him on sight. Especially Serenity—after witnessing Lancelot's efforts to protect refugees, she wouldn't turn on Alaric so easily.
Ending his brief analysis, Alaric drew the Sword of End from his waist before the dagger could strike.
A streak of dark light cut through the air, striking down a flurry of poisoned daggers that followed, sending them clattering to the ground.
"Lurking in the shadows, huh? I will drag you out!"
Mordred, who had also noticed the incoming daggers, dismissed such tricks as too petty to harm a Knight of the Round Table. Instead, her attention shifted to the hidden attacker in the shadows.
Just as Mordred prepared to leap off her steed and follow the direction of the attack—
"Mordred, leave this to me—"
Alaric raised his hand, stopping her before dismounting.
"Huh? Why not both of us together?"
Mordred dismounted as well, brushing off Alaric's hand with a slap.
"Or are you underestimating me? Looking down on me?"
To Mordred, Alaric's refusal to team up was nothing short of an insult. Even she was willing to cooperate with him—who would've thought Alaric would reject her instead?
"That's not what I meant, Mordred. Please don't misunderstand," Alaric explained, seeing the storm of emotions practically written on her face. "It's just that your help isn't necessary for now."
Alaric continued, "I believe this attack wasn't from Lionheart's remaining Crusaders but from the local Mountain Folk in this region. You understand what I mean, right? Shouldn't we avoid unnecessary conflicts while we're hunting Lionheart?"
"Oh, I'm not an idiot—I get it. So all that talk was just to tell me to stay out of it, huh?"
Mordred nodded with mock understanding, condensing Alaric's explanation into a single sentence.
Seeing this, Alaric didn't bother elaborating further. Instead, he scanned the surroundings, activating his Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.
A gem-like gleam spread across his slit pupils, giving his gaze an otherworldly sharpness. His vision transformed—endless lines of death crisscrossed the land and sky.
"What kind of Mystic Eyes are those?"
Mordred, closest to Alaric, immediately noticed the change and asked reflexively.
The moment Alaric activated his Mystic Eyes, Mordred felt a chilling sense of death wash over her—a terrifying sensation, as though invisible blades were piercing her body and heart, unstoppable even by a Servant's resilience.
"Curious, Mordred? Even the King praised these Mystic Eyes highly. When I first pledged my loyalty—"
"What is it? What did Father say?"
Mordred's curiosity flared, momentarily distracting her from the hidden Hassan. She pressed Alaric like an eager kitten.
Alaric smirked, leaving her in suspense, before dashing off!
In those brief moments of banter with Mordred, Alaric had already identified the peculiar death lines in the surroundings—the hiding spot of the unknown Hassan.
"You!"
Realizing Alaric had left mid-explanation, Mordred bristled, stamping the ground with force. With a heavy thud, she shot forward like a cannonball, quickly catching up to Alaric.
"Mordred, you take the left; I'll go right—"
Alaric calmly directed Mordred to flank the enemy.
Szzzz—!
As red lightning flashed, the air around them boiled, the heat waves stinging Mordred's face.
"Tch—"
Gritting her teeth, Mordred pushed forward, targeting the left-side boulder. Together, they formed a pincer attack!
But what happened next surprised even Alaric.
From behind the small boulder, six or seven figures burst out in mere seconds, scattering in different directions!
"All real bodies?"
Alaric's sharp eyes quickly scanned each figure, noting their nearly identical death lines. Yet, his intuition told him they were all distinct beings. Moreover, the faint Servant signals they emitted—
"Seven or eight Servants, splitting apart?!"
In an instant, Alaric identified them as individual Servants. But their unusually weak energy signatures confused him.
Not ordinary duplicates—these seemed like fully independent entities.
"The Hundred Faces?!"
Alaric's mind raced, recalling the peculiar Hassan known as the Hundred-Faced Hassan, whose Noble Phantasm Delusional Illusion allowed them to operate as multiple separate individuals.
"Mordred! Don't kill them!"
Despite his realization, Alaric refrained from attacking immediately and instead shouted, "Just restrain them! Leave the rest to me!"
"Hah? What?"
Shlick—!
Blood sprayed as Mordred unhesitatingly cleaved one of the smaller figures in two! The bisected body quickly disintegrated into magical particles.
"Where did these Servants even come from?"
Unperturbed, Mordred rushed toward the next figure.
Alaric couldn't let her continue. He swiftly caught up and grabbed her sword hand to stop her.
"What are you doing?"
Mordred's playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold gaze as she stared at Alaric, waiting for an explanation.
Alaric met her gaze with equal seriousness.
"I told you—don't kill them."