Unknownfate
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Chapter 189
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 13:25:29 +0000 UTCChapter 189
The room was finally quiet, or as quiet as a room with Mordred inside it ever could get.
She had mostly exhausted herself after a long, cursed-filled rant about the French and their “fraudulent fireplaces,” and was now slumped sideways in an armchair like a spoiled cat.
A spoiled cat that had fallen into a pile of shiny jewels and now shone from top to toe, it didn’t fit her racer girl outfit at all, but it was very Mordred. To act like a little dragon like that, building a hoard of her own.
Even back in Camelot, she did that, though it was mostly just her hoarding trash, then gold and gems.
“Thank you, Sir Lancelot.” I said as he placed a cup of steaming tea in front of me.
Tea was just what I needed after such a large meal. Even now, Manon and Maxime were looking at Mordred and me with shock. Nightcrawler was a bit better, but even he clearly struggled to understand how so much food could fit in our bodies.
“Think nothing of it Your majesty,” he withdrew with a bow and sat down in his chair, silent and waiting, they all were.
Waiting for me to explain about that sword, that power, and the young mutants, they were starting to gaze through the veil, seeing what, or rather, who I truly was.
Not just some Cosplayer, but Arthuria Pendragon herself, king of Albion and the most dangerous person on earth. Plus the countless other titles the world has given me.
“I assume,” I said at last, “you want to know about the sword.”
“Heck yeah!” Mordred shouted, “What is that, and why does it have mother’s name attached to it?”
The rest didn’t speak up, but their silence was a confirmation in itself.
I looked over the three mutants. They weren’t truly part of this, but they weren’t strangers. If they were to understand anything, they had to know; they had to realize just who I was. Only then could they follow the conversation to come.
The enchantment, the magecraft used to hide it, was just meant as a tool to allow me to operate out in the world without causing problems. Should my face show up anywhere these days? It would be a massive diplomatic incident.
And while I didn’t fear that, it would get in the way of whatever it was I was trying to do, so I needed to hide my identity, but I wouldn’t lurk in the shadows; neither would Mordred. It wasn’t in our nature.
So, magecraft and magic were the answer.
It did its job, but there was no real reason to keep the truth hidden from allies, and I thought it might be funny to see how Maxime might react to realizing who he is crushing on.
“First, you three need to realize something,” I waved a hand in their direction, and lifted the veil, allowing the mind to connect what it had been tricked into ignoring. The undeniable fact that I was indeed, Arthuria Pendragon.
For a moment, none of them reacted.
Then Manon inhaled sharply, like a puzzle piece had just clicked into place behind her eyes.
Maxime blinked. Then blinked again. “No… freaking… way.”
Nightcrawler just crossed himself quietly and muttered, “Mein Gott.”
The enchantment hadn’t been a perfect disguise — more like a mental blind spot. Their minds had seen the truth but refused to register it. But now, with the veil gone, it was undeniable.
The golden hair, the presence, the impossible weight of command in my posture.
Not a cosplay. Not a persona.
“You’re real,” Manon whispered. “You’re actually her. The her.”
Arthuria Pendragon. The one who conquered England, who brought down the British government in just two days, who rebuilt Camelot in a single night, and brought legends to life, a living, breathing Goddess!
There was a mix of awe, confusion, and even a slight fear in their eyes as they looked at me as if they saw me for the first time, despite the fact that they had watched me for the past hour, and known me for weeks.
“Sir Lancelot, if you would please introduce us all,” I motioned to him.
Lancelot rose from his seat with smooth, knightly grace, as if the tension in the room hadn’t touched him at all. He placed a hand over his heart and gave a slight bow toward the mutants.
“Allow me,” he said, voice calm and resonant. “You stand in the presence of Her Majesty, King Arthuria Pendragon of Albion—first of her name, wielder of Excalibur, Lord of Camelot, the Once and Future King. White Lion King, Red Dragon of Albion and lord of storms. The Sovereign of the Round Table.”
He paused for just a moment before continuing. “As well as the King’s true heir, Born of magic, child of Morgan and the King, the red knight, the rebellious son, Sir Mordred Pendragon. And myself, a humble knight serving on the Round Table.”
Lancelot’s voice did not waver, though I saw a flash of guilt pass through his eyes as he introduced himself, he still couldn’t forgive himself for what he did. He did not regret it, and that is why he could never forgive himself, because he knew, if the situation were the same, he would do it again.
His greatest shame wasn’t the action itself; it was what happened due to that action: the rebellion, the splintering of the Round Table, and the battle of Camlann, and my fall upon that lonely hill.
Mordred, for her part, didn’t comment. She didn’t smirk, didn’t interrupt. She simply accepted the title, the introduction. Not because she noticed his guilt, but because she had nothing to add, Lancelot had managed to say what was important, giving her no chance to complain.
Maxime let out a low breath. “This is... a lot.”
“I’ll say,” Manon muttered. “You’re Arthuria Pendragon, she’s Mordred Pendragon, and he’s Sir Lancelot du Lac. That’s three legends sitting in one hotel suite. Three actual legends.”
“How?” Nightcrawler asked, “I didn’t realize it. How didn’t we realize it? Your face is famous across the world, and you even used your name, so how?”
Both Mamon and Maxime nodded their heads. They, too, clearly struggled to comprehend how they didn’t notice something that obvious.
“Magic,” I answered simply. “It’s the product of magic. By now, you should all realize the power of magic. You have seen what happened in Lyon. You saw and felt the magic of the dark witch Selene. Magic can be a force for good, a force for evil, or it can do small things.”
“I could walk into the Louvre wearing full armor, and most people would assume it’s performance art. That is the power of magic; it can take lives, defend them, or trick them.”
Nightcrawler frowned, then slowly nodded. “A veil of perception, then. Similar to a telepathic nudge. Not quite hiding the truth—just turning your eyes away from it.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And now that I’ve lifted it, you saw what you missed, your mind putting two and two together.”
“Selene realized as well that is why she reacted like that; she knew who you were, and she realized she was fucked.” Maxime finally realized, and all three of them nodded.
“True, she was able to overcome the nudge, and see the truth, not that it saved her.”
“Damn right it didn’t. Nothing could have saved her from you, but enough stalling. What is with that sword, Father?” Mordred asked, bringing the discussion back on point.
I couldn’t help but sigh. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about it, but it wasn’t an easy topic to explain.
Because Excalibur Morgan was a sword that shouldn’t be; it was an impossibility, something impossible, yet possible, and worse still, real.
Excalibur was pure, it was a weapon forged in the heart of the world, made by fairies. A weapon meant to protect, to save, to banish evil itself, to undo corruption and darkness, so how could something like that even be corrupted?
The truth was hard to explain because, to make Excalibur Morgan a reality, so many pieces had to be in place; it could ONLY happen in very specific circumstances. Any normal attempt would fail; even the corrupted grail alone couldn’t do it. The mud… it just couldn’t touch the sword, like how ice couldn’t touch the sun.
Only because the actions of a Beast, only such evil could do it, because he knew that sword was deadly, even to a Beast, the more evil, the more of a threat to Earth, the stronger the sword.
And Beast I wanted to remake the world, to turn time back to before it was formed. How was that any different from destroying the world? There was a risk of Grand Servants appearing to stop him, so he targeted me in his reality.
Because if there was a dark version of me, one that couldn’t stop him, there couldn’t be a normal version of me. It wasn’t hard to summon a servant, and for the will of the earth, summoning two versions of one was easy enough.
The problem was Grand Servants. They were far more complete and couldn’t be summoned while there was a normal version around. Not to mention, the me of that time wasn’t a true heroic spirit.
So, unless a beast acted, it was impossible to darken Excalibur, but how do I even go around explaining any of that? They wouldn’t understand. I would have to simplify the story, and a lot.
“It is not a simple story. This sword has a complex background, one that involves powerful magic, true magic, and advanced magecraft theory.” I said slowly. “But I can try to explain it in ways that you can understand.”
“Hey!” Mordred complained, “I’m not stupid, I can understand anything you throw at me.”
“Says the person who can’t read French.” Lancelot muttered, earning a hot glare from Mordred, but she did sit down. Arms crossed, pout on her face, but she did sit and wait.
“I’ll keep it simple,” I began. “Excalibur Morgan, has in fact, nothing to do with Morgan, despite its name.” I suddenly realized just how difficult explaining this would truly be.
“It has, however, everything to do with Excalibur and me.” I continued.
“Excalibur Morgan is the twisted darkness of Excalibur, its shadow, the brighter the light, the deeper the shadow. And just like that, there is good and evil in every person, and good can turn to darkness, love, to hate, the more love, the deeper, the more intense the hate.”
I stopped myself, I was getting close to explaining Beasts, and while it was somewhat related, it would just cause more questions and worry.
“Excalibur Morgan, and even me when I wield it, is the mirror of myself, the darkness I could be.”
I knew they had questions, but before they could ask them, I continued. “As a divine Spirit I am able to control my essence, and shift it around to some extent. I can draw out that possible darkness, and the shadow of Excalibur, manifesting in a new sword. I could in fact wield them both, though I can’t imagine any situation where I would even need to do that.”
“That’s insane,” Maxime muttered, eyes wide. “You can just… make a second divine weapon? A corrupted version of Excalibur?”
“It’s not quite that simple. Even I can’t just make a sword like that. It can only be done because I can. I know that makes no sense, but sometimes, things just make no sense, so it's best not to question it.”
Manon tilted her head, thoughtful. “So it’s not evil. Just… a reflection.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “A reflection given form. And like any reflection, it can be distorted—dangerous, even—if not handled carefully.”
“Sounds metal,” Mordred said, clearly impressed. “Can I make one too?”
“No,” I said flatly.
“Why not?!”
“Because you’d name it Clarent But Evil and accidentally bring Camelot down before breakfast. I barely trust you to not reduce my castle to ruin with the normal Clarent, much less one that is pure evil.”
“Not to mention, Clarent is already an evil sword.” Nightcrawler said. Before instantly withering under Mordred’s intense glare.
“I mean… that’s what the media say anyway.” He tried to defend himself.
“Mordred, let him off. If you keep glaring at him like that, Maxime might get jealous,” I said, and enjoyed the reaction.
Maxime instantly paled, realizing he was seen through. He then blushed hard, and looked down, suddenly finding the carpet the most interesting thing in the room. Mordred just looked confused.
“But if it’s not from Morgan, then why is it called Excalibur Morgan?” Manon asked, offering her brother a way out of the awkward situation.
“That is something tied to Morgan’s origin. Morgan can be said to be the dark side of Lady Vivian, so in the same vein, the dark side of Excalibur is Excalibur Morgan.”
Despite my wish to keep things short, there were many, many questions, so the conversation ended up lasting for a great many hours as I did my best to explain things, all while keeping some truths secret.
After all, my special state of transmigration or whatever I counted as was something I would never, and could never, explain to anyone, so some secrets had to be kept, and some lies had to be told.
