How'd you like that damn cliffhanger?
Well, everyone, rejoice... for your wish is going to be granted... (Jouji Nakata's voice impersonation)
As always, I really appreciate those of you who reviewed, fav'ed, and followed me. Props to all of you. I'm rather liking this situation: everyone's curious, so none of you asked much questions like the first two chapters. I hope this one can at least cast some light into that dark minds of yours, so enjoy!
Disclaimer: I never even played F/GA, so of course I don't own TYPE-MOON.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
It is hell.
Cecilia looks over her shoulder, and sees a nightmare.
Her house, destroyed. Her village, devoured. Her friends, murdered. Everything she has is now gone, annihilated by that monster.
Her master is fighting it. She has no doubt of her master's abilities, but just looking at that... abomination of the natural laws, she feels her mind going crazy.
The blackness of the body. The everchanging creatures who shows their body parts. The disgusting stench it emits. The heart-stopping roar every time it shouts. The tremor in the ground as it steps. All these assaults her senses, overwhelming them like never before.
She feels sick.
She tries to quell her upset stomach, but all it does is make it more uncomfortable. However, she must stay strong.
Because everyone is depending on her.
Mothers carrying children run behind her through the forest, their hands on their child's mouth to stifle the cries. The men remaining moves at the back and the sides, as per Cecilia's instruction, clearing any obstacles that may hinder the group.
Right around her, the children of the Alcott House and Mrs. Alcott tries to keep up admirably, still running without complaining.
Suddenly, a black wolf jumps into their path.
It is clearly a part of the beast rampaging in the village. A normal wolf is only slightly bigger than a wild dog, with soft furs and sharp eyes. This cruel mockery of a wolf possesses the same black, half-solid body as its spawner, with two rows of teeth baring madly at them. Its five eyes, two on each sides and one on the forehead, glimmers with insanity, drool hanging off its open maw.
Without waiting, it attacks.
Cecilia feels her blade digs into its neck, as its claw tears her shoulder open. The momentum of its leap is countered splendidly, but her still immature strength is insufficient to fully decapitate it and halt its charge, resulting in an injury to her.
With a yell, she throws the beast aside, its corpse melting into liquid and disappears into the earth.
Strong hands hold her body upright as she falls down to a knee. Some are shouting for bandages and spirits to heal the wound, but her mind is hazy from the adrenaline and bloodlost.
She forces strength into her legs, yelling for everyone to keep moving. Without waiting for treatment, with only her palms pressing into her wound, she feels her sword arm going numb. Yet, she runs forward without stopping.
Despite her dire situation, she is happy.
'Is this... what it feels like to protect someone?'
If a word can describe Mordred's fight, it has to be 'superhuman'.
In one glance, she understands the monster's constitution. There is no point in hacking it to pieces or pulverizing it with blunt objects, because as long as the core remains even a tiny bit, its incredible regenerative capabilities will ensure she will be the one who runs out of gas first. As such, she is deploying a different tactic.
Streaks of light surrounds the Soil of Genesis.
As it is a devourer by nature, its power and size grows steadily the more it consumes. However, after acquiring creatures who is 'heavy' conceptually, mere Outsiders cannot compliment to its own strength anymore. It desires more, one more beast to conquer... the strongest of them all...
The dragons.
And now, there is one in front of it.
However, as with all delicious meals, the effort to catch it grows exponentially.
Every part of its body separated from it to attack is crushed as the light bulldozed its way through them. The beast's main tentacles swing madly, trying to swat the incredibly fast dragon, only to be cut to pieces in an instant as a blinding silver-crimson light tears through them.
And the dragon is only going even faster.
Sonic booms pierces the air as Mordred ricochet off the surroundings, Prana Burst continuously accelerating her body without limit. This technique is a tightrope, as even with her homunculus body, one wrong step will mean instant incapacitation, and in front of this monster, instant death.
Mordred is never one to swing her swords according to the teachings of old. Decades of war has created an effective swordsmanship for the current generation of knights, and is being polished and perfected even more by the likes of Lancelot and Tristan. The rigid but effective style is what founded the Knights of the Round Table, although each has their own personal take on it.
Mordred, on the other hand, is a literal wild child. She swings her sword according to her natural instincts, relying on her body's reflexes and agility to land the perfect killing blow. If her sword doesn't work, she won't hesitate to abandon it and use her limbs or teeth, no matter how much she loves Clarent.
Therefore, Shirou didn't teach her any combat techniques.
Her training consists only of physical conditioning and sparring.
He beat her own swordsmanship into her body. He showed her where she was weak and where she was strong, how to attack, to defend, and to retreat. With every swing of his sword, her own became stronger, sharper, and faster. She abandoned her mind's suggestion to use tactics, instead opening her heart and letting her instincts take over and be honed by Shirou's blade.
They crossed swords like that for three years non-stop, until he proclaimed her skill complete.
And then they fought for real, because she couldn't handle the truth.
She left swiftly after that, only to stay in this village, protecting Cecilia and the others.
This is one of the 'tricks' he taught her. Using Prana Burst is inherently inefficient, and even with her monstrous reserve, using it with abandon is very costly. However, the most inefficient part of it is the need for another Prana Burst to stop her instant acceleration, or to change direction.
To put it into an analogy, Prana Burst is like having a grenade stuck to one's sword, propelling it with great speed in one direction. However, to alter that motion requires a comparable force, hence the need to waste magic energy if nothing gets in the way of said motion, for example the opponent's block.
So, how to use it to evade and counter at the same time? If one's opponent is a fast one, he or she may be able to read the trajectory of the launch and simply waited to counter. One method is to use magic energy not to stop the Prana Burst, but to plant a stance to the ground on the landing.
Against this monster, though, it's useless.
Therefore, this technique is used.
If stopping is inefficient, then what one must do is not stopping at all. Instead, the energy required to change direction and velocity can be acquired from the opponent, harvesting it and adding to one's own movement to continuously accelerate without stopping.
A peerless technique, requiring split-second reflexes and body flexibility, not to mention natural talent for executing it. All which Mordred has plenty.
Like the ghost of a firefly, buzzing around leaving a trail of lights, only to remain untouchable and unreachable.
She accelerates her body to slash at one tentacle. Her sword receives a feedback from the strike, which she uses to redirect her momentum to a big tree. Not stepping onto the trunk, but merely glancing the bark, the touch redirects her towards a three-meters tall mountain ape, pulverizing it on the spot. Again, the momentum doesn't stop her, but absorb into her own motion to increase her speed.
To an outsider, the monster is engulfed inside a cage of light, so fast it is untraceable.
All this movement uses very little energy, her muscles moving as natural as possible to execute each change of direction, leaving virtually no burden to her body. Her mind, of course, is working hard to see and percieve any attacks, but she let her body to twist and bend like the wind, gracefully dodging and attacking at the same time in one breath.
More and more, the cage of light becomes smaller and smaller, carving the beast into a solid mound piece by piece.
Gradually... bit by bit...
Then, as if signalling a climax, a brilliant vermilion colored the sky.
On top of a small hill two miles from the village, the refugees stares at the radiant light which suddenly erupts from the middle of the village with bittersweet feelings.
Cecilia has explained it must be Mordred's attack, instead of the beast's, which means she has the upper hand or has attained victory already. Watching the beast which took everything from them in such a short time rouses a cheer from everyone. The men and women all wears smiles on their faces, some even crying with joy. The older children joins their parents or caretakers, while the younger ones are still resting, exhausted from the trip.
But, deep down, a heavy disappointment wears their heart. By the power of that single attack alone, their entire village is flattened to the ground, not even a single plant remaining in the radius of the blast. The monster itself has carved a significant amount of land outside the village, devouring any life and leaving a barren wasteland. Their situation for the future looks bleak.
Victory or defeat, it will be a tough winter ahead.
Cecilia rests her back onto a random tree, her shoulder already bandaged tightly over a coat. The elderly woman who treated her glared at the men when she needed to tear Cecilia's clothes off, but luckily, one of the children carried a coat as a blanket. Now, she only need to wait for news from her master.
As if reading her mind, a red meteor drops from the sky, landing gracefully in a small ring of dust.
"Master!"
Her cry is followed by a massive cheer from the villagers, causing Mordred to perk up in surprise and confusion. However, before she can react, her torso is tackled by her student, disregarding her own injury, and also by various men and women who wants to greet the hero who battled the monster.
Amidst the pats and hugs, Mordred battles her way through to the center of the mass.
She inhales a big gulp of air into her lungs, shouting, "EVERYONE!"
Having quietened down the crowd, she speaks in a normal tone. "I'd like to speak with the chief. Is he here?"
The crestfallen looks makes themselves show into the people's faces, answering her request.
"Master, he... was late to escape."
The news isn't unfamiliar to Mordred, yet despite her experience, losing a person she know is still a hard blow. She can't prevent the gritting of the teeth and the clenching of her fist from showing, a sense of self-loathing momentarily overtakes her.
Why? She tries her best, so why isn't it enough?
Is she no different than the beast she just killed? Can all she do is claim other's lives?
A soft hand on her shoulder brings her back to her senses.
"Master, you must be tired," Cecilia softly smiles. "The preparations for a camp is almost ready. Let's take a rest, shall we?"
For once, she feels outdone by her own student.
It's not a bad feeling.
The cool night wind caresses Mordred's face, swaying her golden ponytail along with it. She silently walks outside of the temporary housings granted by a local landlord, intent on leaving immediately.
Back then, when she fought that unknown monster, she was certain. Its demeanor when aiming for her confirms her earlier suspicion, and its attack was certainly meaningful. It only came after sniffing her scent, its apetite for rare blood from the dragons lured it into the village.
The village was destroyed because of her.
They all died because of her.
If she wasn't so indecisive in leaving when she was able to, all of this wouldn't have happened. If she rejected Cecilia's offer for breakfast that morning, they would all be still alive and happy. If only she decided against taking Cecilia as her student, she would be long gone by now, avoiding the calamity which befell the village.
Everything was gone because of her.
Therefore, this decision to leave is already long overdue.
It was only fortunate for the villagers that Mrs. Alcott still has her husband's contacts. After scouring around for a few days, starving and dehydrated, they arrived at this small municipality of several villages that formed a small town. It's one of the new projects from the kingdom, aiming to ease governing and provide better supply route for the town and the army. The major was revealed to be Mr. Alcott's former comrade-in-arms, and gracefully sheltered them, provided they also contribute to the town's production and industry after everything settles down.
Finally, after the hectic week, the children can sleep soundly again.
She turns around, casting one final gaze at the people she will soon left behind.
The town is better-equipped and better-built than the village. The roads are properly maintained and flattened, wide enough to accommodate two carriages side-by-side with room to spare for pedestrians. At night, numerous torches lights up in several yards interval, eliminating the suffocating darkness the village used to live in. Sounds of night activity is much louder here, with various simple entertainment are set up to allow the people to enjoy the night, relieving them of stress from the day's work.
It's not a scene in which someone like her is welcome.
Her beloved teacher once said the Moonlit World is best kept under the shroud of darkness, never to see the light of the masses. Only now can she fathom his words back then, after the villagers' blood bathed her heart.
Fighting back the tears, she walks away.
Or... not.
Long, wavy golden hair similar in shade to her own. A height taller than her, with a body also more mature. A blue lacy headband keeps the hair in check, accompanied with the smile she has already familiar with. The woman lugs a big rucksack on her bag, so big it's almost comical in size.
Cecilia pouts at her. "Leaving without me, Master? You're cruel!"
Mordred can't even bring herself to stare that adoring eyes. Instead, she decides to ignore her student, walking pass her alongside the road to another province. However, a pair of hands circle around her waist, rooting her in place.
"Don't, Cecilia," she pleads. "Just... forget about me."
"I refuse. I am your best student, and I intend to keep it that way."
"You only say that because you know nothing!"
Mordred's hysteria surprises Cecilia, leading her to release her grip. Now face to face, she can see the traces of tears on the corner of Mordred's eyes, the twin green orbs still showing the same fear as the first time she saw them.
The knight is still afraid of herself.
"Everything... was because of me." Mordred speaks painfully, "I was the one... at fault. It appeared because it was chasing me! All of them dead, because I didn't have the guts to leave!"
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she continues, "I don't deserve being near all of you. If you follow me, you'll meet the same fate, Cecilia. Don't waste your life with me."
"Why not?"
"You're too stubborn!" Mordred berates. She places her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Let me make this clear: if you step forward, I'll beat you and send you back!"
Without hesitation, Cecilia steps forward.
"Ceci-"
A loud clash sounds.
Mordred widens her eyes as Clarent's sheath is blocked by Cecilia's training sword. It's clearly battered after the encounter with the monster's minions, and both her hands are shaking with exertion to block Mordred's one-handed slash, but her student holds firm.
Cecilia stares at her master, her eyes as sharp as steel.
"You think... I don't know all of that?!"
With a grunt, she swings her sword, batting aside the sheath.
Both of them lower their weapons, giving Cecilia an opportunity to talk.
"That day, I saw Master," she begins. "I saw how you fight, how you took it head-on and blasted it to pieces. However, most importantly..."
Once more, she steps forward, putting herself in a position unable to swing her sword.
"I saw your eyes, Master. Those weren't the eyes of a murderer!"
She grabs Mordred's shoulder, bringing her closer.
"The very first time I met you, I noticed your fear. You were afraid that you would only bring harm to those close to you, be it because who you were or your own strength. I don't know your past, Master, and I won't ask, but... living like that, isn't it painful?" Cecilia's voice is desperate.
"I wanted power... so that no one will ever has that look again in front of me!"
Cecilia falls silent after saying that, tears falling from her eyes.
"Master has saved all of us... so, at the very least... you can rely on me as well...!"
A callused palm caresses her cheek, wiping her tears away.
A quiet voice replies to her plea.
"You... are too stubborn sometimes."
"Yes, Master."
"You may die, with your dream trampled over. Is that alright?"
"Yes, Master."
"I am not what or who you imagine at all, dear Cecilia. I am a monster, no different than that beast before."
"If so, then I will slay you, Master."
A sad laugh permeates the night air.
"Then, I'm counting on you, my student." One more palm wipes her other cheek off the tears. "Stay by my side, then."
"Yes, Master!"
Inside a modest inn in the middle of the town, a single man sits down all by himself.
If one looks closely, his bearing isn't one of the local farmers or artisans. They all have a similar disposition of roughness, despite their differing personalities and habits, one which this man doesn't possess. Instead, he seems... clean, prim and proper, like those nobles in the big cities and castle towns. Of course, sitting there, he still manages to make himself blend in, just barely, and so the other occupants don't pay much attention to him.
Soon after, a couple of men step inside and slide on the chairs in the other corner. Both of them orders each a drink, the type unseen by the man, but it doesn't matter. Their drinks come by and they finish it, before leaving.
The man exits the door just after them, slightly apart to avoid people grouping them together.
All three men go their separate ways, likely to different inns they rented.
However, the innkeepers will report they have not seen them that night.
On the outskirts of town, the three of them are joined by several others, so they numbered ten in total.
"My Lord, there is no new information regarding the phenomena from last month, or the two that's missing."
"I see," Gawain nods.
He look around to hsis other subordinates, and none of them reported anything different.
Regarding the phenomena they are talking about, he feels the timing is too perfect for it to be a coincidence or of no relation to the case Merlin was reporting.
A fortnight ago, a report came of a village destroyed to the ground. The kingdom has a disaster relief group, which is small, but they mainly serve to collect information regarding disaster zones and human relocation, though with some charity events to increase morale among the masses as well. This information came from them, saying that the victims has all evacuated to a nearby town, where they were hosted by the mayor.
Gawain's group didn't go straight to the former village site, but instead went to the town to conduct interviews and collect more information regarding what actually happened. A disaster like that... Who stopped it? How? When and why it was triggered? There are too many questions, more than the relief group could collect with their limited manpower.
From what their investigation has gathered over the last few days, the disaster could only be attribute to a rogue monster attack. They planned on heading straight to the former village site to collect evidences tonight, providin Merlin with something to identify the beast the villagers described.
Additionally, the homunculus was here.
A girl who stood out as much as her, and if she really looked like how the villagers described, there was no doubt she was born from His Majesty's blood.
Of course, all of this is only circumstantial at best. Before they can collect more definitive evidence, all this cannot be reported back to the King as it is.
A collection of trots catches Gawain's attention, shifting it to a number of horses his subordinates have secured.
Aside from the homunculus, one other suspect is the girl who is her student, Cecilia. Why did the two of them leave without anyone's knowledge? Were they running from something? Or, sinisterly, were they responsible for the seemingly sudden attack? The caretaker of the orphaned children seemed adamant this wasn't the case, that she was a good judge of people. She claimed both of them were good people, even if she only knew the homunculus for a few weeks, but Cecilia has been in her care since she was a toddler. Faced with such overwhelming testimony, added by the rest of the villagers, Gawain couldn't really say anything regarding his suspicions.
'Ah, there's no use mulling it over now. Time to leave.'
Giving a signal to everyone present, he mounts his horse and gallops away, together towards the former village.
"My God..."
Gawain's men mutter as they approach the barren wasteland where a village once stood.
These are men who have stood in the middle of many battles, enduring various hardships from the enemies and nature. They have accompanied their lord, Sir Gawain, to many victories and peacekeeping missions, which is why they are chosen for this investigation as several of the most-trusted.
However, never once in their lives have they seen such devastation.
A large area, centered on what narth itself. The condition on the perimeter of the crater is no better, either. The trees are withered and burnt, however, those aren't direct burns from a flame.
No, they are dried inside out by an intense heat, likely the aftermath of the impact responsible for the crater. All of them, including Gawain, wondered what on earth is capable to produce such calamity.
"S-Sir! Over there!"
Turning his head quickly at his subordinate's alarmed response, Gawain focuses his eyes at the area said person is pointing.
A man is standing there, roughly in the center of the wasteland.
"Prepare your swords."
Seeing such a unique spectacle, there is no way they won't be alarmed.
They approach on foot, cautiously. That man is clearly not normal, and they have to be careful as to not throw away their lives carelessly.
Looking closer, the abnormality grows.
The man is lean and well-built, slightly taller than Gawain himself. His movements are completely smooth and without delay, signifying his skills as a warrior. Truth be told, he himself still hasn't attained such mastery over his body, and perhaps only Tristan and Lancelot are able to do so.
His skin has a different tone than what he has seen, marking him as a foreigner; its color is quite fair, but there's a certain yellow tint to it. His hair, though, is a flaming red, a color which is certainly unnatural. He has seen his share of redheads, but none of them has hair which blaze in the color like his.
The man turns around to look at them, and they are rooted right on the spot.
His eyes are shining with a color of diamonds' white.
A beat later, as they blink, and the glint is gone, now replaced with soft amber eyes. A completely normal one, like all the people Gawain has ever met.
No, looking at the bigger picture, the man's air of unnaturality disappeared like mist at noon. His hair is still red, but only the shade of deep copper, which is uncommon but not rare. The air around him doesn't bristle with power like before, of which shamefully causes Gawain and his men a bit of a fright, but now it feels like the air of an approachable man.
It is as if his previous appearance is just an illusion.
However, even with them closing with hands on swords, the man never stopped moving. He reaches to his toolkit on the ground, collecting samples of soil, marking several points with what seems to be yellow wooden cones, sketching on a paper, and other duties they can't fully comprehend.
Gawain decides a few steps later they have approached close enough, and signals for his team to halt while he does the talking.
"Good day, Sir!" Gawain lightly shouted, hoping to elicit some friendly response in return.
"Ah, yes, please wait a moment," the man's voice replies nonchalantly, ignoring the increasing agitation of Gawain's men at the rudeness.
After a few minutes, the man finally turns around to face Gawain properly. Even after the previous transformation, the knight still has to restrain his body to step backwards, such is the man's heavy presence. It's not one which is regal like a king, or the wild madness of a majestic beast, but simply... something he can't really put his finger on. The weight pressing down his shoulders is undoubtedly that of a man, but at the same time, his instincts are screaming at him the man he's facing is anything but.
Mustering his guts, Gawain steps forward to meet his opposition.
"Sir, this place is claimed to be a disaster zone by the kingdom, which means unauthorized people are forbidden to enter. Please kindly remove yourself from the premises as we investigate."
His polite tone is also underlaid by a sternness of a noble, leaving no room for negotiation. Standing this close to the man, Gawain is certain his men is no match for him, and therefore only diplomacy will work the most effectively in this situation. There is no reason to make this a complete bloodbath, no matter if he can win against Gawain or not.
Preparing for a tense discussion, Gawain waves at his subordinates to relax and let their grip falls from their swords.
"Ah, alright."
"Sir, ple- H-Huh?!" Gawain can only muster a dumbfounded reaction.
"My work here is done, anyway. I shall stay out of your way, Sir Gawain."
"A-Ah, thank you for your cooperation." Flustered, Gawain motions to his men to start their usual routine for investigating disaster scenes in this level.
He turns to survey the area, and the devastation is even more apparent this close. Really, what sort of monster was able to-
'Hang on!'
Rapidly, the knight turns around.
The man has disappeared without a trace.
The earth slips through my clenched fist, along with my regrets.
Almost. Just one step too late, like always.
If only I was faster, then I could've reached her.
Instead, I'm stuck investigating her next whereabouts through what remains of her battle.
Really, that Mordred... I'll properly scold her next time.
The thought propels my mind back towards the scene when we last parted. It wasn't pretty, for sure, and I think it left a wound inside her heart after I let her know the truth. And, to be honest, it wounded my heart as well.
It was just a simple question. I gave her a simple answer.
In hindsight, my carelessness and insensitivity in regard of the answer hurt her, so much so she left me.
She asked for the truth regarding her birth, and why on earth did I care for her.
I told her everything, not leaving a single detail out.
I spoke of how her mother created, designed, and planned for her to be the King's assassin, of how she was supposed to bring chaos and destruction to the Kingdom, as Morgan's last tool of revenge. I told her how I was created and born, and how I planned to stop Morgan from executing her plan. I told her how in the aftermath, I discovered her inside the magus's Workshop, lying dormant. I told her how I decided against eliminating her, and how I planned to reverse her own destiny.
I told her why I taught her everything I know. I told her how I wanted her to fight alongside me, as a savior to the Kingdom, not its destroyer.
I wished for her to accept and embrace her new role, just as easily and eagerly as myself.
How I was wrong.
It's getting really annoying how often I didn't learn from past mistakes. This sort of thing had happened a few times already, and yet, I never learned how sometimes modesty, not honesty, was better in handling these sort of conversation. I let my good conscience override my judgment, and my desire to be truthful and accommodating had backfired on me.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
Her expression started as a form of surprise, before quickly morphing into anger.
How could she not? Even before she was born, before she gained her first consciousness in the world, two people already used her, planned for her to be their tools to achieve their respective dreams. Her mother and I were just fakes... counterfeits, which took advantage of her and simply treated her like a simple weapon to point at someone else. She accused me of all that, and that I would just simply discard her after I was finished like garbage to the side of the road.
I wanted to save her from the cruel fate some higher powers had destined her to receive. I watched how her ideals was smashed and broken, how her heart turned from a loving daughter and knight to a murderous, rebellious traitor. I watched how her face twisted in despair as her own father stabbed her in the abdomen and killed her.
I watched how a father and daughter slaughtered each other, along with their pain, suffering, and regrets.
I jumped at the chance to change this fate. I gave her everything she could ever wish for: a family, swordsmanship, civil lessons, war stratagems, and many more. I wished for her to be saved, to at least allow her to experience true happiness in her life.
In the end, a 'created' happiness was also a fake one.
I did all that because I was afraid to follow in the steps of my predecessor. I knew the pain of having my own ideals disintegrated. I know the despair when it betrayed me, even when I never betrayed it. I tried to prevent Mordred from experiencing the same painful blow, even if I could never get the credit I deserved.
That's fine.
As long as she's saved, it's fine.
I tried explained my reasons, but she never believed me in her fury.
Then she slapped me, before she turned around and left in tears.
Even now, as I picture the scene, the stinging pain in my cheek can still be felt clearly, as if someone stabs me in the heart and twists it a hundred different ways.
Don't take me wrong, but someone had actually done so, so I know the feeling.
I close my eyes to refocus myself to the task at hand.
As my eyes open, the view around me changes.
No longer is the world bathed in its natural colors, forming clean, precise lines and contours, but they are replaced by a myriad of softly glowing shapes, shining with different tones and intensity from each other. The shapes are all small and detailed, allowing me access to their history and accumulated experience, along with their composition and make-up. The devastated wasteland around me turns to a playful garden of colors, floating and moving along with time and space to create a beautiful dance of magic energy .
The object which glows the most is the fiery crimson of Mordred's magic energy , likely unleashed by her Prana Burst and sword technique, finished with a dose of Clarent. The brilliant vermilion carves beautiful wide strokes on the blank canvas, as if immortalizing every single slash and steps she did. Its color is even more dazzling than the last time he saw it, proving her increased strength and her unyielding dedication to training.
The next thing which is of importance is the remains of black, sticky, and foul magic energy . With prior analysis with his field tools, he suspected it's a part of the Soil of Genesis, and a naturally occurring one at that. Since it's a Magecraft from the Age of Gods, I have some trouble reading its history, but by virtue of inductive reasoning compiled from the rest of the evidences, I have drawn a pretty clear picture how it's born and why it moves to destroy this village.
If my theory is correct, and judging by how hard my teeth is clenched in anger, Nimue has really gone a step too far.
Fortunately, it seems my dear student has no trouble in dealing with this monster. I let a proud smile escape from my lips as I recognize the techniques she used, which was taught by me. Perhaps a peaceful reconciliation isn't such a pipe dream anymore?
Regardless, I have all the clues I need to point me to her direction. There's something important I need to discuss with her, other than patching up our relationship, so I lightly greet a team of knights who just comes to do their own investigations, lead by the famous Gawain. I'm tempted to fork some other information from them, but this takes priority.
I leave the scene, a new determination burning in my heart.
I'll save Mordred, whether she approves or it or not. Even if she hates me, even if she condemns me in the end, I'll still do it. In order to prevent her from shedding those lonely tears, I'll save her, no matter what.
This doomed kingdom... I'll save it.
Glossary Update!
P
Pure Eyes of Mystic Perception
A mutation in the Magic Circuits around the eyes, this ability allows the user to perceive the workings of the World around them. How much the user sees vary according to his or her skills and experience, as this type of Pure Eyes is a rare, evolving one. There are a number of permutations regarding the development of this Pure Eyes, some are listed below.
· Material: includes the physical changes exerted to the World, for example, the laws of phsyics, chemistry, and biology
· Ethereal: includes the distortion of phenomena caused by Magecraft or Magic
· Spatial: includes the inner workings and relationship between all forces in the World and the rest of the universe, for example: Ultimate Ones, Gods, and Ether Liners
Note: usage and effects will differ from user to user, depending on personal experiences and preferences.
