C448

Extra Chapter: A Glimpse of Reality (Part 1)

As the morning light began to filter through the gaps in the door, Mordred slowly awoke. The space around her was dimly lit and filled with the distinct smells of horses mingled with hay. That's when she remembered—she was in a stable.

Having spent the previous night observing the newborn foal, she had stayed in the stable and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Noticing the blanket that was thoughtfully draped over her, protecting her from the chill, she figured it was likely Uncle Bedivere's handiwork.

"Oh no, I can't cause trouble for the teacher again!"

Flashes of her mother handing her over to her frail, coughing teacher a few months ago crossed her mind. With swift but careful movements, she folded the blanket, straightened her clothes, and filled the horse troughs with feed. Then she made her way to the palace courtyard's study room on the right, where she knew her teacher would be waiting.

After eating just a bit of bread and sipping some milk for breakfast, she started her lessons. Her teacher always advised against a heavy morning meal, warning that it would make her sleepy.

Actually, even if she felt drowsy, there was no chance she'd fall asleep.

Because...

Cough, cough, cough—!!!

The sharp sound cut through the room, as her teacher suddenly coughed into her hand while reading the papers, staining it with fresh blood. Her face went an alarming shade of pale.

Putting down the papers she was holding, Mordred rushed to her teacher's side, concern filling her voice, "Teacher, maybe you should see a doctor?"

"No need," the teacher said, shaking her head dismissively before changing the subject. "Did you complete yesterday's assignment?"

"Yes," she nodded, handing a sheet of paper to her teacher.

The teacher scanned the paper, and a faint smile lit up her pale face. "Impressive... you've done better than I ever did at your age. Especially this line, 'Considering all aspects and their relationships comprehensively in a global approach.' It sounds like something the former king would say. How did you come up with it?"

"Well, um..." Mordred dropped her gaze, "It just... came to me."

"You're exceptionally bright, truly deserving to be Artoria's child," the teacher said, her pale smile lingering as she reached out to gently pat Mordred's head. "The former king entrusted me to pass down all that he taught me before I took my leave. It looks like I've found an outstanding student."

Mordred looked down, her small hand nervously fiddling with her clothing.

Just as the teacher was about to offer more praise, her words were interrupted by another violent cough. Blood splattered onto the desk before she slumped over it, losing consciousness.

"Teacher...!!!"

Mordred's voice filled with panic as she shouted, "Someone! Anyone! The teacher has fainted again!!!"

A handful of maids burst into the room, their faces etched with concern. They quickly lifted the teacher and carried her to another room.

Knights and officials who had been gathering in the central area crowded into the room, and a specialized magus was promptly called in to administer treatment to the ailing teacher.

However, with so many important figures filling the room, Mordred found herself pushed to a corner. She watched her teacher anxiously from a distance.

Eventually, the teacher was revived.

"Where am I...?" the teacher mumbled, still dazed.

"You're in your room, Lady Guinevere," Agravain informed her.

She looked puzzled. "Why am I back in my room? Wasn't I in the study?"

"You fainted," Bedivere clarified.

"Is that so... Help me up, I can't rest just yet."

Bedivere hesitated, "Lady Guinevere, you should really take a rest. You haven't slept for seven days and nights!"

"I can't," she shook her head and continued, "The Little Ice Age has ended, and the grain-based economy is facing problems. Artoria is still battling Attila on the frontlines. If the kingdom's economy collapses, everything will be lost!"

Lancelot, standing nearby, couldn't help but interject, "But, Mother, you're already... reaching your limits."

"I can handle it," Guinevere asserted. "The former king favored me with his teachings. I won't let this kingdom fall apart. Until Artoria defeats Attila, I won't go anywhere."

Bedivere hesitated before speaking, "Even so, neither the former king nor Artoria would want to see you pushing yourself to the brink like this."

She stood up. "Please, that's enough."

The knights spent a good while trying to persuade her, but Guinevere remained stubborn. She headed back to her study.

Mordred dropped her gaze and quietly left the room.

At first, she had reservations about being mentored by a teacher who was clearly unwell, often coughing up blood. Even though they never really clicked, Mordred held a deep respect for the teacher.

Being so committed to her responsibilities was definitely something Mordred admired and wanted to emulate. It was a trait she knew would serve her well when the time came to ascend to her mother's throne.

But the thought of the teacher working herself to an early grave? That was just too sad to consider. Not to mention how devastated her mother would be.

"You seem deep in thought, Mordred," Agravain interrupted her musings.

"Huh?" Mordred was pulled back to the present. She glanced at him and said, "I was just thinking about Lady Guinevere, Uncle Agravain."

He replied, "The teacher makes her own choices; you should focus on expanding your own knowledge. Is there something you're struggling with?"

She flipped open her notebook and pointed to a specific line. "In the Book of Wisdom that Uncle Kay recorded, there's this sentence, 'What is false is true, and what is true is false.' — Under what circumstances would the former king have said this?"

"I'll make a note of it. Next time I get in touch with the frontlines, I'll ask Sir Kay about it for you."

She was quick to add, "And don't forget to tell Mom I'm doing fine, okay, Uncle Agravain?"

He nodded in acknowledgment.

Mordred grinned, continuing to leaf through her notebook as he stood up and headed for the basement door.

"You're worried about Teacher Guinevere too, aren't you, Uncle Agravain?"

He paused, his hand on the door handle. "I'm only concerned about the safety of the kingdom."

She chuckled and pointed at him. "Oh, Uncle Agravain, you're like a little kid, saying one thing but meaning another. So shy!"

Without another word, he turned and left the room.

A few weeks later, Guinevere's health took a turn for the worse. 

The knights strongly suggested that she go back to the Inner Sea of the Planet for her own good. However, she was stubborn and wouldn't leave unless Artoria defeated Attila and eliminated the enormous threat hanging over the kingdom.

But everyone knew that wasn't happening anytime soon. 

Attila had conquered the European continent, and Camelot had been completely isolated when Attila's main force clashed with Artoria on the border of Gaul.

But that's not all. There were these other armies opening second and third fronts, invading from places like Scotland and Cornwall. And there were also external threats on the Irish island. Meanwhile, Guinevere's health was teetering on the edge.

This whole situation had Mordred quite worried. If Guinevere, her teacher, were to pass away like this, her mom would be devastated. And truth be told, Mordred couldn't bear the thought of losing her teacher either.

The problem was, Guinevere was as stubborn as they come. No amount of pleading from the knights or officials seemed to make a dent. What was Mordred to do?

As she wandered the streets, wrapped up in her thoughts, she felt a sudden tug—a hand reached out from behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair.

"Ouch!" Modred exclaimed in pain and annoyance, "Who the heck grabbed my hair?"

She turned around and saw Gareth with a playful smile on her face. Mordred said in exasperation, "Gareth, it's you again!"

"It's 'Big Sis Gareth' to you," Gareth corrected her with a wink.

"Fine, brace yourself, 'Big Sis,' because I'm going to grab your hair right back!" Mordred threatened, her teeth clenched. She reached out to snag Gareth's hair, but Gareth effortlessly put a hand on her head.

Given that Gareth was about a decade older and considerably taller, she had the upper hand. Literally. With just one hand, she kept Mordred at bay, making any struggle pointless.

Mordred clenched her teeth before crossing her arms and turning her head away. "I won't waste my time on you."

Bending down to her level, Gareth teased, "Oh? Mordred's too good to bother with me now? That's a new one."

Rolling her eyes, Mordred huffed, "I'm destined to be a king. A little magnanimity is the least you should expect from me."

With her arms still crossed, Mordred threw a sideways glance at Gareth, nose held high, as if to punctuate her newfound sense of royal dignity.

"Really? Really? Mordred's not going to fight back?" Gareth leaned in closer, her face almost touching Mordred's.

One step... another step...

Mordred mentally gauged the distance, waiting for the perfect moment.

Now!

In a flash, she spun around, hand shooting out to seize a handful of Gareth's hair. "Gotcha!" Mordred shouted, beaming with triumph.

Caught off guard, Gareth froze for a moment, then looked at Mordred, her eyes widening in surprise. "You tricked me?"

"How can you call it a trick? What appears false may be true, and what seems true may be false. That's strategy in war! It's something the king has said...uh, cough, cough... Anyway, it's all about tactics!"

"Fine, you win this round. So what are you gonna do with your big sis now?"

With a sniff, she replied, "I don't need to deal with you in any particular way. Like I said, I'm going to be a king, and a king should be above petty grudges." She paused, then broke into a slight smile. "However, there is something I could use big sis Gareth's help with."

"Do tell," Gareth said, intrigued.

"It's a small thing, really. Just a favor I'd like to ask of you, big sis Gareth," Mordred said, her smile widening.

A chill ran down Gareth's spine. Something about that smile seemed all too familiar. She couldn't put her finger on it, but a sense of déjà vu washed over her, and she felt a tingling sensation at the roots of her hair.

...

"This... this is... how can you call this a small thing?" Gareth stammered, nearly in tears.

"Of course it's small," Mordred replied nonchalantly.

She then struck a few poses in front of a bronze mirror, but the image that stared back wasn't her own. Instead, it was a black-haired youth, dressed in gleaming silver-gray armor.

"Impersonating the former king? Are you out of your mind? If we get caught, it's off with our heads!" Gareth was practically shrieking now.

"Calm down, will you? If anything goes sideways, it's all on me. I'll take the fall, I promise," Mordred reassured her, flashing that unsettlingly confident smile again. "Besides, you don't want anything bad to happen to Teacher Guinevere, do you?"

"I get what you're saying," Gareth hesitated. "But using a spell to make you look like the former king to fool Lady Guinevere? That's just... reckless. Don't you have any respect for the former king?"

"Respect isn't just lip service; it's something you carry in your heart. And what I'm about to do aligns with what I've been taught," Mordred said, her grin widening.

"You're kidding yourself if you think you can deceive Lady Guinevere. She was mentored by the former king himself; she'll see right through this charade," Gareth protested.

"You won't know unless you try. You're such an embarrassment!" Mordred's expression hardened as she scolded loudly.

Gareth was taken aback.

Mordred's expression softened, and she gently patted Gareth's head, smiling, "Such a lovely expression."

With that, she turned and walked away.

"Why... why does it look so much like him?" Gareth murmured to herself.