20: Clarent

Lightning pulses around me as I use Mana Burst to close the distance to Father. Of course, long before I reach him-

"[Excalibur… Morgan]!"

A torrent of inky blackness fills my vision, but the golden light shining forth from the sheath strapped to my hip allows me to force my way through it.

And then, I'm in melee range, and our blades meet again. And again, and again. We rocket around the cavern, heedless of gravity, of the earth, of anything except each other and the swords we hold.

Boisterously, thunderously, two dragons dance through the Greater Grail's resting place, shaking the walls, the ceiling, even the oversized cup itself.

It's a meaningless battle. Utterly pointless. I know that. Father knows that. The past won't change.

No matter who wins here, neither Camelot nor King Arthur will be saved.

Even if Father were to go back in time, and become the ultimate tyrant he thinks could do the job - the fact is, the Camelot he would create wouldn't look a thing like the Camelot he wishes to save.

Even if I were to go back in time, and draw the sword of selection in Father's place - the fact is, the person I saved from his miserable fate wouldn't be a thing like the person I want to save.

King Arthur and Mordred fell at Camlann, and Camelot fell soon thereafter. That will not change. Father died in terrible pain, and saw everything he loved lost. That, too, will not change.

King Arthur will not be saved. The King of Knights cannot be saved.

But the person, Arthur Pendragon, still might be.

Second after second, minute after minute, our frantic fight continues. Even with me completely disregarding my own safety, even after throwing away all pretense and relying completely on Avalon to keep me alive - I still have yet to land more than a glancing blow.

This new black armor of Father's is a serious problem. Under normal circumstances, a Servant's armor is of limited utility - for any servant with strength over C-rank, putting a blade through steel is no harder than putting it through cardboard. My armor might as well be nonexistent as far as Father is concerned - and were he wearing the same set he wore in life, the reverse would be true.

But he's not. And that black armor, a set that he never wore in life, is capable of withstanding Clarent - at least for a few milliseconds, which is all he needs in order to use a Mana Burst to force me back. It certainly makes my life more difficult.

On the other hand, I'm almost certain that the armor is the reason I wasn't killed earlier. It's heavy, unbelievably so. I'm almost certain that Father's taken at least one rank down in Agility as a result of wearing it - and that's probably the reason I wasn't pitched into the grail before Master had a chance to rouse my spirits.

Ultimately, it's not like the armor or lack thereof changes much. If he weren't wearing such a thing, Father would simply parry my every attack, since he wouldn't be slowed by the weight. Even as we are now, it's only one attack in a hundred that can slip past his guard and necessitate a Mana Burst.

Even with the full weight of my legend behind me, even after I usurped Avalon, even with the sword that killed King Arthur in hand - I'm still no match for Father.

"You didn't have the capacity of a King." - Once again, those words resound in my head.

I know.

I know, dammit.

I could never measure up to Father. King Arthur is "perfect", after all. No one else could play such a role - no, in the end, not even Arthur Pendragon was a match for "King Arthur". Such was the impossible standard he set for himself.

I was naive to believe that I could best this version of King Arthur in combat. If King Arthur believes that "The only thing that matters to a king is power", then he will become the most powerful existence without fail. Because Arthur Pendragon will always be perfect.

In fact, the only reason I defeated him before was because he became "too perfect". A perfect chivalrous king who only failed because he was faced with an absurd, childish "king" who was willing to break every rule of kingship to get the throne.

Oh. Right, I should just do that again, huh?

I jump backwards, my helmet shifting away from my face as I prepare for my attack.

{Master, a command spell.} I say, even as Father raises an eyebrow and readies his own Noble Phantasm to deflect mine.

"[Excalibur…"

{...This is the last one, you know? Remember, [Clarent Blood Arthur] won't trump [Excalibur Morgan]. They'll just make a big crater, and that's it.} He interjects. I'm not certain how he's so certain, but it does sound correct.

{Don't worry. I've got a plan. It's pretty stupid, but I think it's our best shot.} I reply. It's a stupid plan. Completely idiotic. An absolutely absurd scheme that will only work because the "perfect" warrior-king couldn't possibly imagine one of his knights could be such an utter failure.

{I already sent Hanam to go try to finish off Archer and send Caster to help us, you know. Back when you looked like you had completely given up.} He shoots back.

{Please, Master. I know I'm asking a lot, but…}

{I know, I know. This is your battle, not Caster's. Fine.} He sighs. "Mordred, by my command spell, activate your Noble Phantasm!" The light of his final command spell shines, and red mana begins to blaze forth from Clarent.

He waits. Waits for the exact moment that I release the beam from my sword, so he can counter it with his own, and render our final command spell useless.

So, naturally, I don't. I just rocket directly towards him with Mana Burst.

"...Morgan]!" Father yells, and black mana fills my sight. But Avalon prevents me from taking any injuries, and my own instincts guide me to land the all-important swing.

"[Clarent]!" I roar, driving my blade directly down on him. Father scoffs, and his blade easily meets mine - and then his eyes widen, as he finally realizes my intentions.

Clarent clashes against Excalibur for the final time - and then, in a supernova of mana and lightning, my [Broken Phantasm] explodes.

"Are you kidding me!?" Yells the Director. In my ear. "She seriously used a Broken Phantasm!?"

"I guess?" I say, plugging my right ear with a finger and wincing. "What… exactly is a Broken Phantasm?"

"It lets a servant sacrifice their Noble Phantasm for a slightly stronger attack - in short, it's totally useless! A completely idiotic technique that leaves the Servant a sitting duck once it's over!"

I let out a small "Hm," as the smoke clears. Arthur is still standing, barely. But her sword has fallen, and her arms are both hanging limply at her sides. Left and right are each broken in several places, with the skin below her elbows flayed apart, and everything below her wrist little more than bone and tendons. Mordred, on the other hand, is unharmed, thanks to Avalon. "Seems to have worked out, though."

"Sure, but it's not like she can get Clarent back now! You've seen how useless that Assassin is without his arm; this is the same kind of thing!" Olga Marie says. Oi, you'd hurt Hanam's feelings if he heard you, you know! Losing your only weapon isn't the end; just look at me, I broke my gate, but things turned out alright in the end!

Arthur assumes a crude kickboxing stance - but before she can put up any resistance, Mordred charges forward. Avalon is torn from its place at her hip, and-!

"Grit your teeth, Arthur!" Mordred yells, swinging the scabbard with both hands at her father's head.

"Oh, a pop fly." I note as the King of Knights is launched into the air. She bounces once, twice, and lands in a broken heap a few meters away from me.

"I… I can still…" She groans, slowly trying to rise to her feet.

I sigh as I approach her. "Stay down already. You lost. Seriously, Mordred got it exactly wrong earlier. You and I are way too similar, in all the wrong ways. I mean, the me of the present is pretty different from you, but that's just because I was just lucky enough to have people around who could talk some sense into me."

"Y-you..!" Saber snarls, her cold facade starting to break as her eyes glisten. But even still, she presses what's left of her hands into the dirt floor - and they break under the strain, tendons tearing as her hands fall off her wrists. "Gah!"

"Can you stop? Please, it hurts to look at you." I say, scratching my arm. "Just who are you trying to act all cool for?"

"The king must-!"

I cut her off. "King of who? Your subjects aren't here, you know. Just how prideful-?"

"That's enough, Master." Mordred says. She's holding Avalon, which seems to have returned to its previous color - and Excalibur, which has been returned to its scabbard, and is rapidly changing colors even as she speaks. "You too, Father. You lost. I'm the King now."

"And so what!?" Arthur spits. "Camelot is gone! You can play king all you want, but everyone is already-!"

"Idiot. I never gave a damn about Camelot. The important part is - you're not king anymore, Father." Mordred says with a smirk.

"You! Then all of this, everything you did was-!?" Arthur roars in anguish.

"You aren't the King. So, please, yell at me. Cry. Hate me." She continues, her smile growing bitter. "And, the next time you get summoned - Be Arthur Pendragon, not King Arthur."

"...What are you..?"

"Make friends with the person who summoned you. Eat good food, not the tasteless slop we had at Camelot! Enjoy the comforts of everyday life! Please, just for once… live the life you want, instead of what someone else wanted for you!" Mordred concludes, smiling even as tears stream down her face.

"...Sir Mordred, you truly are a fool." Arthur says, heaving a melancholy sigh. "From the beginning… there was only one life I desired."

And then, she dissolves into a storm of golden lights.

"No!" Mordred screams, desperately grabbing at the cloud of golden sparkles. As she does so, she drops Avalon, and I note blade and scabbard alike disintegrating to join the rising cloud of dust. "That's not..! Father-!"

She falls to her knees pounding at the dust of the cavern floor as sob after sob rips its way free from her throat.

From the rising motes of light, Arthur's last words emanate. "I leave the rest to you, Sir Mordred. Grand Order - the battle to Obtain the Holy Grail has only just begun."

A/N:

One day late, at 4:30 AM!? When else would I finish writing!?

A few people on SB: "Wow this feels like an NP upgrade chapter"

Mordred: "I will now break Clarent."

Certain parts of the chapter felt very clumsy, but maybe that's my lack of sleep and self-doubt talking.

Next chapter Monday at the latest.

Review responses:

Guest said:

I think you should do change your environment to not procrastinate as much and think of your death and hurry we need more content

Please have mercy! I am trying to update at least twice a week, that's better than my monthly pace on previous stories!

Guest said:

Mordred: "I will, definitely, save you."

Subaru: *arc 1 bowel hunter flashbacks* "I need a club!"

That was, indeed, the callback

Wouldn't it suck if Subaru somehow gets around summoning the Archbishops/Witches only to summon Elsa instead? Or with Subaru's luck, he'd somehow summon TonChinKan before anyone else he knows(because suffering)

TonChinKan don't qualify to be heroic spirits. Elsa miiiight. Maybe. But she probably couldn't be summoned on Earth.

Same gues said:

Hey author says without blessing Reinhard has same power by the way do you think his based of from galactic hero rein

I mean yeah, his blessings aside Reinhard is still a friggen monster. In terms of pure swordsmanship the guy would be pretty up there as far as Heroic Spirits go, and his stats wouldn't be anything to scoff at. That's why he's in roughly the same tier as bersercules. Like, he could easily dumpster the vast majority of servants. But that top ten percent or so are all serious business in their own right.

Also don't know who that is, sorry.