Unknownfate
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Chapter 200
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 15:10:45 +0000 UTCWith both Mordred and Lancelot having fully abandoned their attempts at keeping a low profile by wielding their true weapons, I knew things were getting out of hand.
Though I had to admit that I, too, was tempted to bring out one of my greater weapons and reduce Amora to dust.
After all, having one of my knights turn against me angered me quite a bit, yet I managed to stay calm. Amora was, after all, an Asgardian, and I had put in a lot of effort into not making an enemy out of them, so for the sake of that, I decided to step in.
“Mordred, Lancelot, both of you stand down!” I didn’t just speak, I filled every word with divine power, letting my aura on full blast. To ensure my words couldn’t be ignored, I even brought out Rhongomyniad.
The might of a Goddess was brought to bear in France, in this godless land, the very heavens shifted as some people would later claim to have seen a great tower reaching into the skies.
Despite Mordred’s desire to protest, the tone of my voice allowed for no such thing. Even Lancelot, despite being under the control of Amora, stepped back; he still stood before the Asgadian and protected her from my aura, but he didn’t continue his attack.
“You… you are… her!?” Amora finally asked, her voice filled with shock and disbelief.
“That is Right, Amora of Asgard, I am Arthuria Pendragon, King of Knights, Ruler of Albion, and Goddess Rhongomyniad, and more importantly, Lancelot’s lord. I ask that you release him from your spell.” I spoke calmly, yet the words allowed for no questions or refusal.
Amora was in shock; she was honestly not sure what to think.
She knew of Arthuria, having seen her on TV plenty, and knew a lot about her from many different sources. Yet, despite that, she never expected this.
She knew she was powerful, as well as dangerous, and getting along well with that fool Loki, which is why she agreed to work with Morgana to deal with her so she could claim her prize.
Yet Amora had never expected that she would meet her like this, or that her dashing knight was one of the fabled knights of the Round Table.
She couldn’t help but give him another look, and indeed, he was amazing, so handsome, so strong, not worse than Thor at all.
Still, the overwhelming might she felt coming from the woman not far away was too much for her to enjoy her new lover, and forced her to take the situation seriously. “Indeed, there is no need for this violence; my beloved was merely trying to protect me.”
Her voice softened, honeyed again, though this time it was aimed at me instead of the crowd. “You must understand, great King… I do not seek to wound. I am love itself, a balm upon men’s hearts. Is it my fault if they adore me? If they see in me what their souls crave most?”
I lowered Rhongomyniad slightly, though the aura did not abate. “Your sorcery does not give men what they crave. It steals them from themselves. Strip it away, now.”
For a moment, her lips trembled as though she might refuse. But the raw pressure of divinity left no room for her usual games. With a flourish of her hands, invisible threads snapped.
Maxime blinked hard, clutching his head. “What… what was I—”
Manon held him tightly, her relief evident. “You’re safe, brother. It wasn’t you.”
Mordred holstered her weapon with a sharp click, muttering, “Tch. Should’ve let me shoot her again.”
Lancelot staggered back as though freed from shackles, his face pale. The weight of what he had nearly done hung heavy in the air. His eyes found mine, shame burning there, yet he still stood protectively before Amora, as if he hadn’t yet realized she was the one who bound him.
“Forgive me, my King,” he said, voice raw. “I… I was not myself.”
“You never are when it comes to women,” Mordred snapped, venom in her voice.
Amora, however, didn’t seem chastened at all. She touched her lips thoughtfully, studying me with a mixture of awe and calculation. “Arthuria Pendragon… truly radiant. Even I must admit, you eclipse even the Allfather’s court. No wonder Loki fawns. No wonder Thor cannot escape your orbit.”
Her eyes glimmered with something almost like longing, and I realized with sudden clarity the true danger of Amora’s nature. Not just that she enslaved men with her magic, but that she also believed in the love she stole. To her, every conquest was as real as the passion she gave back.
This would be a headache.
…
It didn’t take long before the situation calmed down somewhat, and we vacated the large open area and gathered inside a smaller room, all eyes on Amora, who in turn was looking bashfully at Lancelot.
She really did look like a woman in love.
If anyone didn’t know the background information, this would no doubt look like we were all bullying the poor woman; she looked so pitiful, throwing longing, bashful, hopeful gazes at Lancelot, as if begging to be rescued.
Mordred, however, wasn’t taking it. “Fucking slut, can’t we just bash her face in and be done with it?”
“No, Mordred, as much as I feel you, we should at least give Asgard some face, and not kill one of their own.” I placed a hand on her shoulder as I threw Amora a hard look. “You won’t give us any more reason to attack, will you?”
Amora placed a hand over her heart, lowering her gaze with an almost girlish sigh. “Of course not, great King. I have no quarrel with Albion. I only wished to… help. To bring comfort in this dark hour.”
“Comfort?” Mordred scoffed, folding her arms. “Looked more like you were building yourself a harem.”
That earned a few awkward coughs from the men present, still shaking off the fog of her spell. Even Lancelot shifted uncomfortably, though his eyes lingered on Amora longer than I liked.
Amora ignored Mordred entirely, her attention fixed on me. “I know what you seek, you seek the dark witch Morgana, and I… I can help you, maybe in return you grant me a knight of my own?” She eyed Lancelot like a lovestruck schoolgirl, lips parting in a dreamy smile.
I honestly didn’t have words for her. I didn’t wish to overly control the lives of my knights, yet I also didn’t wish for them to leave me, much less wish for them to be used and manipulated by magic.
I knew that Amora had fallen for Lancelot, as easily as she stole hearts, she gave out her own, and Lancelot, having stood before her with his dashing looks and strength, had won her over.
So on one side, I didn’t want to even entertain the idea, but on the other, I did want to allow Lancelot his own freedom.
“My knights are not toys to grant to others; they are precious to me, not to mention, after all the trouble you have already caused here on Midgard, surely you would do well to earn the favour of a Midgardian Goddess before I send you back to Asgard?”
Amora’s lips quivered into a pout, though even that carried a kind of elegance only an Asgardian could manage. “Earn your favor? Do you think of me as some supplicant at your throne, begging for scraps of grace?”
“Yes,” Mordred said flatly before I could answer.
Amora’s gaze snapped toward her, narrowed like a cat’s, but she swallowed the retort and turned back to me, all silken smiles once more. “Very well. If that is what you demand, then I shall prove myself. Still… must I return so soon? Can I not remain at your side? Perhaps even within Camelot itself?” Her eyes flicked to Lancelot, soft and shining. “Your knights… so noble, so handsome, so utterly dreamy.”
Lancelot stiffened under her gaze. For the briefest moment his eyes clouded again, and my jaw clenched, until he forced himself to look away.
“I think you have been in Midgard long enough,” I said, my tone iron. “Your friends in Asgard must miss you terribly. Best you return before they begin to wonder what became of you.”
Mordred muttered, “Best you return before I bash your skull in.”
I pressed down on her shoulder before she could lunge. Patience was thin all around, even mine. Amora either did not grasp how close she skirted to destruction, or she simply didn’t care.
She had turned one of my knights against me. She had nearly driven Lancelot to raise Arondight against Mordred, my heir. Such rebellion—such insult—deserved nothing less than death.
And yet here she sat, batting her lashes, sighing like a lovestruck girl in a courtly romance.
Was she foolish? Was she fearless?
Or was it love?
Love makes one blind, they say. Looking at her, at the way her eyes lingered on Lancelot with real devotion tangled up in her sorcery, I wondered if she was not as much a victim of her own magic as anyone else.
Still, mercy had its limits. And Amora was rapidly testing mine.
Amora’s pout softened into a dreamy smile once more, as if she could charm her way past judgment itself. But I had no more patience to spare.
“Enough,” I said, my voice cutting the air like steel. “You will aid us with what you know of Morgana, and then you will be placed under the custody of my kingdom. There, you will remain until Asgard decides what to do with you.”
Her eyes widened, lashes fluttering. “Custody? By you?” She glanced toward Lancelot, a hopeful spark in her gaze. “Then perhaps—”
“No,” I said flatly, and that ended it.
I scrawled a short letter, the ink quick but the meaning clear, and pressed it into Lancelot’s hand. “This will be given to Agravain. He will know what to do with our guest.”
Lancelot bowed, still pale with shame. “As you command, my King.”
“Sir Wagner,” I said, turning to Nightcrawler, “if you would do me the kindness of seeing Amora and Lancelot safely to Camelot, I would consider it a favor repaid.”
“Ja, natürlich,” he answered, dipping his head, relief clear on his face. “I can take them both.”
“Good,” I said, fixing Amora with one last, unyielding look. “You will go with them.”
Mordred barked a laugh, arms folded. “Agravaine’s going to despise her. Oh, this I almost wish to see.”
She wasn’t wrong. If there was any knight immune to Amora’s charms, it was Agravain — his legendary disdain for women was rivaled only by his severity. If anyone could keep an Asgardian temptress in line, it was him.
Amora must have sensed it too. For the first time, her confidence faltered. But she said nothing, only lowered her gaze, a picture of wounded elegance.
And that was that.
She gave us her information, and I sent her off, leaving me without Lancelot for the final trip of this journey, but maybe that was fate at work, for this confrontation with Morgana, it would just be me and Mordred.
I really didn’t like having to send Lancelot off, but I couldn’t send Amora on her own; the amount of chaos she could cause in Camelot if she was left alone… I shuddered to even think about it.
No, it was better to send Lancelot, who would use Amora’s own weakness against her. Given that she had fallen for him, she wouldn’t harm him, and therefore, he should be fine… at least I hoped so.
“Come, Mordred, we have a witch to meet!” I said as we finally had Morgana’s location.
“Hell yeah! I have been waiting forever!” Mordred said, her hands clenched around the hilt of Clarent.
Perhaps that too was fate, that she would face her would-be mother with the same cursed sword that once struck me down.
“Hey, don’t forget about us!” Fantomex slurred, as he was still barely conscious after EVA shut him down.
Manon & Maxime also stood up. “We are also here to help you!” they said at once, both eager and willing to help.
I would only sigh, they would be of little use at this point. They had been able to play a role when dealing with smaller threats or when looking for clues, but at what would likely be the final battle? Their strength just wasn’t good enough.
Morgana would be at least an Avenger’s level threat.
Still, given their involvement until now, I knew they wouldn’t be satisfied with being left out now, so I just decided I would have to protect them and play support while Mordred handled the fighting.
“Very well, you shall obey me as would my knights.” I allowed them no room for questions.
