Unknownfate
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Chapter 155
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 12:30:42 +0000 UTCMordred was as eager as one could expect once she learned that the key to this mission is to do whatever she thinks is fun at the moment. In order to beat the witch pretending to be her mother, she needs to fully prove that Morgana doesn’t know Mordred at all.
“Come on, Father, you said I was in charge, so why can’t we send the adulterer back home?” Mordred cried out.
“I have already explained why I had him come along, so please, just try to get along with him.” I groaned out as I felt a headache forming.
“I am deeply regretful of my actions back then, my betrayal is without a doubt an unforgivable sin, but I will dedicate myself to you, the king, so I apologize, Sir Mordred, but I can’t simply leave.” Lancelot tried his best to calm Mordred down.
However, he had no idea that the more he spoke like that, the angrier he just made her.
Because Mordred, too, had betrayed me, so while Mordred bringing up betrayal was fine, someone else bringing it up was a surefire way of making her angry.
“You keep saying that like it makes a difference!” Mordred snapped, throwing her arms wide. “You think your guilt makes it better? That if you grovel enough, it all gets washed away?”
Lancelot, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “I know it does not. I do not seek forgiveness. I seek only to serve.”
“Then shut up and serve,” Mordred hissed, turning sharply away from him, her hand twitching toward Clarent II as if the weapon were a stress toy. “Every time you speak, I remember everything you ruined.”
“Mordred,” I warned, tone low. “He is here because I willed it. And I will not have my knights fighting each other in the middle of enemy territory.”
She exhaled loudly through her nose, muttering under her breath. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it…”
“You do not,” I agreed. “But you will work with him.”
Mordred made a rude noise but said nothing more. That, in itself, was progress.
“Alright,” Mordred said at last, her tone abruptly shifting to something resembling enthusiasm. “I’ve picked our first target.”
That got Lancelot’s attention. “You have intelligence?”
“Pfft, who needs intelligence?” she grinned. “There’s this area in the city — old cathedral ruins turned into some underground club for wannabe mystics and shady types. Word is, people go in looking for power, and come out either brainwashed or in body bags.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”
“I have Twitter,” she said with a smug look, pulling out her phone and waving it.
Lancelot gave me a side glance that practically screamed Is she serious?
I truly didn’t know what to say… not even I knew Mordred had gotten on social media… I wasn’t sure it was a good thing.
No, what was I thinking? It was undoubtedly a disaster waiting to happen.
“But before that,” Mordred continued. “Father! You need your gear as well!”
I blinked. “My gear?”
“Yes!” Mordred beamed, already halfway across the room and yanking open the final equipment case. “You made both of us dress up, and then said you had a box too, and then you didn’t even show it off? That’s cheating.”
“I never said I wouldn’t wear it,” I replied, mildly amused. “Only that I would wear it when the time came.”
“Well, the time’s come!” Mordred declared triumphantly. “If we’re going to storm some dark cathedral and start punching sorcerers in the teeth, then we need to look the part. You can’t go into battle dressed like a Sunday school teacher.”
Lancelot let out a very faint sound, somewhere between a suppressed chuckle and a sigh.
I approached the case slowly, curious despite myself. It had been custom-designed by the Veiled Hand.
Because, while my Knights didn’t have much gear other than their armor that I summoned them with, I was very different, having all the gear of each of my different servant versions.
“Fine, since you are so curious, let me go change.” I gave in, there was no point in trying to hide it, I had already shown the weapon, so now was time to show what it would go with.
Stepping out of the room and into the one where I had left the box, I wasted no time in opening it up.
Inside was no fancy energy swords or red and black racing outfit. Nor the more modern armor of Lancelot’s new outfit.
No, inside was little more than some black casual clothes, though the material was far from ordinary; it was made to be bullet-resistant. Tough to cut and just hard to damage in general.
It was also designed to be easy to clean, waterproof, and much more; it was honestly a marvel of technology.
That, however, wasn’t the entire outfit; no, the main part was something I had from none other than my maid's alter ego. She might mostly run around in a swimsuit or a maid uniform, but she had much more than just that.
Beyond her impressive assortment of weapons, my rider herself used one in particular, the gun I had shown Mordred, Secace Morgan. Though it was no gun, it was a sword… that worked and looked like a gun, but it had infinite bullets, so it counted as a sword for sure.
No, the real treasure was in her final ascension. There she traded out the maid uniform and swimsuit for a nice dress. But the dress wasn’t what was important, but what she wore outside of that.
Instantly, a burst of light escaped me as I brought something out from my soul space.
A large black coat instantly settled around me, reaching down below my knees. Even in my Lancer form it was large, though it did fit me slightly better than it did my Rider version.
It was, without a doubt, a large and insanely cool-looking coat, something I had no doubt Mordred would be jealous of.
And more importantly, it was nothing like what I would wear normally. Where I often wore bright silver armor or blue, noble colors, this was dark, dark and nothing like a knight at all. I would pass as a mercenary now.
Which was what I wanted.
Not a real disguise, just one that would help the magecraft stick better, because, naturally, all of our outfits had been enchanted by me. It wasn’t much, just enough to make people ignore certain clues.
My face was that of the king of Albion? Mordred looking like well, Mordred of Camelot?
No problem, people would simply ignore that connection.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and couldn’t help but smile as I held Secace Morgan by my side. Yeah, a woman in all black, wearing a great big trench coat, with a gun? That wouldn’t make anyone think about Albion or Camelot.
Soon enough, all of France would know of three new vigilantes going around, and that… that should draw Morgana’s attention onto us.
I returned to the others without fanfare, stepping through the doorway with my long black coat flowing behind me and Secace Morgan resting comfortably in my hands.
Mordred’s head snapped toward me instantly.
She froze.
Her eyes dragged down the full length of the coat. The sleek black fabric, the subtle shine in the low light, the way it shifted around me like liquid shadow. Then her gaze caught on the rifle-sword hybrid at my side — and her expression began to crumple like a paper tower in the rain.
“You’re joking,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“That,” she waved at me with exaggerated offense. “That’s not fair. You look cool. Like, ridiculously cool. What the hell, Father!?”
“I take it you like it then?” I asked with a hint of amusement in my voice.
“Yeah, but I thought you were going to be, like… regal! Knightly! Not... trench coat noir queen of death cool!” She jabbed a finger at me, then at Lancelot. “He looks like a sci-fi crusader! I look like I escaped a laser tag tournament!”
“I think it suits you,” Lancelot offered mildly.
Mordred turned and pointed at him. “Shut up, adulterer.”
I hid my smile behind the barrel of Secace Morgan as I inspected it. “Well, if it helps, I don’t think any of us are trying to blend in. We’re meant to be noticed, remember?”
“Yeah, well…” Mordred folded her arms and kicked at the air. “At least give me a trench coat too. I want one that billows when I walk. Like that. Yours is billowy.”
“No way, it would decrease the coolness of mine if we both had one.” I quickly shot her down, not that she liked that at all.
Mordred gasped. “That’s not how coolness works!”
“It is now,” I said calmly, brushing an invisible speck from my coat sleeve. “Hierarchy of fashion. Commanding officer gets the long coat.”
“This is oppression,” she muttered, slouching. “You’re just afraid I’d out-cool you if I had one too.”
“No,” Lancelot said, deadpan. “That would require restraint.”
“I will punt you into the sun.” Mordred growled.
“Try,” he replied without missing a beat.
“Enough,” I said before Mordred could reach for Clarent II again. “We’re not here to debate who’s the most dramatic-looking, because that is me. We have work to do, and Mordred, you look great in that outfit.”
Mordred paused mid-huff, caught off guard.
She blinked. “Wait… seriously?”
“Of course,” I said plainly. “It suits you perfectly. Bold. Loud. Impossible to ignore. Just like you.”
For a split second, I thought she might actually blush. Instead, she straightened her posture with all the overconfidence in the world and grinned like she’d just been crowned queen of cool.
“Damn right it does,” she said, flipping her hair dramatically. “But I’m still getting a coat someday. With flames on it.”
Lancelot opened his mouth, but whatever he wanted to say, he never did as he soon closed it again, deciding to remain silent.
“Once we return to Camelot, you can all wear the coats you want, but for now, these are the outfits we will be using when we operate within France.” I said, ending Mordred’s begging for an upgrade to her outfit.
Mordred flopped dramatically onto the couch. “Fine. But I want it on record that I am not done talking about the coat thing.”
“I’ll have the scribes etch it into stone,” I said dryly. “Now, tell me more about this cathedral.”
That got her attention. She sat up again, tapping away at her phone. “So, from what I’ve gathered, it’s technically off the books — no official listing, no paper trail. But people know. Tons of people go there daily, and they do strange things, clearly rituals.”
“If it is that well known, then it is clearly a trap.” Lancelot said flatly.
“A party,” Mordred corrected. “One we’re going to crash.”
I nodded. “Good. Then tonight, we begin. Subtlety is not the goal — making noise is. So Mordred, take us to this party, and show me how you crash them.”
Mordred’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah!” She jumped up and fired Clarent II into the ceiling a few times, causing dust, wood, plaster, and brick to rain down over her.
“Mordred!” I barked, shielding my eyes from the falling debris.
“It’s called setting the mood!” she said cheerfully, already brushing drywall off her shoulders. “You want chaos? Gotta start strong.”
Lancelot looked up at the ceiling with deadpan resignation. “Shall I call in repairs, or shall we move before the roof collapses?”
“We move,” I muttered, stepping over a fallen chunk of plaster. “Before she brings the entire structure down on our heads.”
Mordred was already halfway to the door, her finger never leaving Clarent II’s trigger.
“Let’s go, team!” she shouted. “Time to go scare some cultists and break everything they love!”
I sighed and rested Secace Morgan on my shoulder. “Don’t make me regret putting you in charge, Mordred.”
“No promises.” She said far too cheerfully as we followed her out into the night. Our goal is this mysterious cathedral.
(End of chapter)
