Artoria wanted to explain herself, but it was clear that in Mordred's current state, she wasn't going to listen.
"To think I'd involve myself in someone else's family drama… This really isn't like me. Normally, I'd run as far away as possible from situations like this."
With a sigh, Artoria turned her full attention to Mordred.
Though she understood that her own thoughtless words had caused this mess, she couldn't just stand there and let Mordred beat her to a pulp.
If she were truly killed by Mordred here, any chance to resolve their misunderstanding would vanish entirely.
Oddly enough, she found herself recalling something Sigurd had once said to her in Chaldea.
"Brynhildr… you see, she tries to express her love through the intent to kill. While I don't mind dying at her hands if it would make her happy, the unfortunate reality is that if I were dead, I couldn't express my love for her in return. Balancing life and love—it's difficult indeed…"
At the time, she had thought the dragon-slaying hero and warrior king's words were a bit… unhinged.
But now, finding herself in a similar predicament, she felt she could somewhat—just somewhat—relate.
"Forgive me, Mordred. It seems the only way to make you listen is to knock you down first."
With that, the magical energy within Artoria began to surge, signaling that she was preparing to fight in earnest.
Sensing her intent, Mordred's aura grew even more ferocious.
"Ar—thur—!!"
Though clad in armor, Mordred bore none of a knight's composure at that moment. She was more like a frenzied beast.
Her cursed sword became sharp claws, and the crimson lightning surrounding her became a roar of pure rage.
Mordred had no formal combat style. She fought purely on instinct, like a wild animal, swinging her sword or throwing punches as her intuition dictated.
To her, the rigid discipline of a knight was a burden. Victory was all that mattered, even if it meant throwing her sword and fighting with her fists—or even her teeth.
Though she wasn't the strongest of the Knights of the Round Table, her sheer ferocity and oppressive presence were unmatched. Many of her opponents had crumbled under the weight of her savage aura alone.
Faced with Mordred's relentless aggression, Artoria chose to evade.
She retreated dozens of meters in an instant, her radiant halo unleashing streaks of golden light that shot toward the advancing Mordred.
"Hah—!!"
Surrounded by crackling lightning, Mordred swung her sword to deflect the golden beams. The red and gold energies collided and dissipated, but her relentless momentum remained unbroken.
Like a hunting hound locking its jaws onto prey, she gave Artoria no room to breathe.
Crimson lightning surged from her armor, propelling her forward. In a flash, she was in front of Artoria, her cursed blade slashing downward with the force of a thunderstorm.
Without her holy sword, Artoria had limited options as Ruler. Though she possessed the holy lance, it wasn't easily wielded. Her gaze sharpened as she made her decision.
As Mordred's blade descended, a wall of golden light materialized in front of Artoria, absorbing the attack.
"!!!"
Mordred's expression darkened as she leapt back. The golden wall fractured, then unraveled into streams of light that shot toward her like serpents.
Reacting instantly, Mordred channeled her strength into her legs, shattering the ground beneath her as she vaulted into the air to evade the incoming beams.
The light ribbons, though seemingly soft and ethereal, were sharper than blades, carving deep scars into the earth below.
But the ribbons weren't done. Twisting like sentient creatures, they redirected mid-air and pursued Mordred, who was still airborne. Her face twisted in frustration.
Then, against all odds, she executed a series of acrobatic maneuvers in mid-air, dodging the golden ribbons one by one.
Finally, unleashing her magic energy in an explosive burst of crimson lightning, she turned herself into a projectile and hurtled toward Artoria.
Watching Mordred's high-speed charge, Artoria's expression remained calm. The golden ribbons retracted, coalescing into a massive circular shield in front of her.
"Ar—thur—!!"
Mordred roared as she unleashed her full mana, the gathered lightning around her forming the shape of a ferocious dragon.
With all her might, she crashed into the glowing shield.
Boom!
The impact resembled a miniature nuclear explosion. A mushroom cloud of smoke and energy erupted, while the crimson lightning scorched everything it touched.
The shockwave surged toward Artoria, but it split and passed harmlessly around her, as if crashing against an unyielding reef.
Artoria's expression remained serene, her emerald eyes gleaming with an unreadable golden light.
Then, through the swirling smoke and debris, a flicker of red appeared.
A moment later, Mordred's cursed blade tore through the smoke, thrusting toward Artoria. It was a strike eerily reminiscent of the fatal blow that had once ended King Arthur's life.
But the Mordred behind the blade was visibly weakened. Artoria sidestepped the thrust with ease and delivered a sharp palm strike to Mordred's chest.
Originally, Artoria had intended to strike Mordred's head, but at the last moment, she reconsidered. A parent shouldn't hit their child in the face—it's too cruel, she thought, shifting her aim to Mordred's chest.
The golden energy infused in her palm shattered a section of Mordred's armor and sent her flying hundreds of meters. Fragments of the armor scattered in her wake.
When Artoria approached her again, she found Mordred struggling to stand, using her sword as a crutch.
"D-damn it…"
Mordred's voice trembled with frustration. Her entire body ached as if her bones had shattered, and every slight movement brought searing pain.
Yet what stung more than the physical pain was the realization that she had been utterly overpowered by Artoria.
When she saw Artoria approaching, calm and unruffled, her armor unscathed and her appearance more fitting for a leisurely stroll than a battlefield, Mordred felt a surge of anger and humiliation.
Her blood boiled, and the coppery taste of blood rose to her throat again.
---
Ahem! Gather close, esteemed audience! Do you comprehend the privilege of basking in my radiance? Truly, you're witnessing history in the making—a performance unparalleled in the annals of Fontaine!
Ah, but don't get distracted! Let me be clear: this brilliance isn't conjured from thin air. No, no, no! It requires effort, dedication, and… well, a touch of your generosity. If you fancy being part of something truly extraordinary, do step forward here: [patreon.com/WiseTL].
Oh, but wait! You're probably wondering, "Furina, how can someone as magnificent as you need assistance?" To that, I say: why deny mortals the honor of contributing to such greatness? Supporting me is supporting art, and who doesn't want to say they were instrumental in a legend's rise?
Now, off you go. Make your offerings, and perhaps, perhaps, I'll acknowledge you in my next soliloquy!
— Furina ✨