Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

"Mordred! Just hear me out first!"

Chasing after Mordred's retreating figure, Guinevere burst out of the building and onto the street. But when he glanced around in both directions, there was no sign of her anywhere.

"Mordred? Where are you?"

Crap. She couldn't have actually run off in a fit of rage, could she?

Guinevere suddenly panicked.

…Right, after all, even though Mordred usually acted brash and carefree, deep down she was a sensitive and perceptive person. Of course she'd have a hard time accepting lies and secrets—especially when the topic involved King Arthur, which she valued most dearly.

It was no surprise she'd storm off in anger.

Realizing this, Guinevere stood frozen for a long while, then let out a weary sigh and slowly squatted down, burying his face in his hands.

This time, he might've really screwed up.

"You could've at least let me explain…"

He mumbled under his breath:

"Don't just leave me behind like that… So heartless…"

"Bullshit! Who're you calling heartless?!"

A heavy footstep sounded behind him, and before Guinevere could even react, a solid kick landed squarely on his backside.

Caught off guard, he yelped as he was sent flying, landing flat on his butt.

Stunned for half a second, he spun around to find Mordred leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, an annoyed expression on her face.

"What're you gawking at, you dope?" she snapped.

"You… didn't leave?" Guinevere blinked.

"Leave? I've been right here the whole time. You're just blind and didn't see me," she grumbled.

"Oh… oh!"

After two stunned seconds, it finally dawned on Guinevere.

She hadn't gone far at all—just stepped outside and leaned against the door. But since he'd been so focused looking ahead, he completely missed her standing behind him.

Feeling a bit embarrassed now that he understood what happened, Guinevere scratched his cheek awkwardly.

"Uh, I thought you—"

"You thought I threw a tantrum and stormed off alone?"

Mordred rolled her eyes, arms spreading as if to say, Seriously?

"Come on. Do I look that impulsive to you?"

"…Aren't you?"

Guinevere replied reflexively.

After all, this knight before him was notorious for her impulsive streak—even starting a civil war in a fit of rage and wrecking all of Britain in one go. Compared to that, her earlier sofa kick had been shockingly restrained.

"…What did you say?"

Mordred's face instantly darkened. She took a step forward, placed one firm hand on Guinevere's shoulder, and said slowly:

"I must've misheard you. Why don't you repeat that?"

"I'm sorry, I was wrong, you're incredibly wise and magnanimous, please have mercy," Guinevere begged instantly, pressing his palms together in surrender.

"Hmph."

Mordred gave a short, cold chuckle. "Didn't you say you wanted to explain something earlier? So go on—what is it?"

"Well…" Guinevere's voice faltered.

Right. How was he supposed to explain this?

As he stood frozen, unable to answer, Mordred sighed and yanked him up from the ground.

"Forget it. Let's go back."

She grabbed him by the collar and casually tossed him back toward the house.

"I want some peace and quiet. You go back and talk circles with the others."

"You're not going to listen to the rest?"

"Nope. Boring as hell," she muttered. "Stop bothering me and let me be for a bit."

"Okay then, I'll leave you alone."

Though he wasn't quite sure why, Guinevere felt relieved to see Mordred calmer than before. So he gave her a nod and turned to walk back into the house.

Watching his figure disappear into the makeshift strategy room, Mordred stared after him in silence for a couple of seconds before finally turning her eyes away.

After a moment's thought, she reached up and pulled her mask back down over her face, then leaned once more against the doorframe, gazing out into the fog.

Lightly knocking her head against the wall behind her, Mordred let her thoughts wander aimlessly.

—Honestly, there was a moment earlier when she'd considered walking away for good.

Why exactly? …Maybe it wasn't just about that fake King Arthur guy.

Sure, that part was important—but maybe not that important. It was just… frustrating.

Even if it had all just been a dream, in that dream she had truly treated that bastard like a comrade—someone she could entrust her back to, someone she could trust.

That was something she'd never experienced before.

Back when she rode into battle with the Knights of the Round Table, she had never placed that kind of trust in them.

After all, they'd never truly trusted her either.

She was always the one in the mask, with the sharp tongue, the outcast with the worst reputation among the knights. No one ever liked her much.

But she hadn't cared. She was different from them anyway. She was the true heir of King Arthur—special. She didn't need their friendship or trust or any of that sentimental crap.

…Or did she?

Mordred's hand stopped tapping the wall. For a moment, she went completely still.

…Maybe she did want it. Just a little.

Because in that blurry dream, the feeling of fighting side by side, entrusting their backs and lives to one another… it had felt kinda nice.

Even in her favorite tales of knights, those radiant heroes always had that one true partner—or lover—by their side.

So when Jekyll asked her to come along, she hadn't hesitated. Deep down, she thought maybe he was that one true comrade she'd never met in life.

That was why she'd gotten so angry.

Because she had entrusted him with her trust—and then realized, she didn't even know who the hell he really was.

Too many things about him didn't add up. A so-called scholar with swordsmanship that could rival even the Round Table's strongest knight, and a suspiciously intimate knowledge of everything—from London's twisted happenings to the Servants, even the organization called Chaldea. Sure, he acted like he was just finding out, but he adapted way too quickly.

Mordred's instincts screamed that this "comrade" was keeping secrets from her.

And what pissed her off the most… was the second personality—Hyde.

Apparently, he was an even stronger Servant than her. A native of Fairy Britain. Connected to that fake Arthur. Acquainted with Bavanzi…

And yet, Jekyll had pretended not to know Bavanzi at all.

Even though his excuse sounded halfway reasonable, Mordred could tell he hadn't been completely honest.

She had opened up to him, accepted him as a true comrade—and he hadn't fully trusted her back.

Did he ever really see her as a comrade?

…Maybe not. Maybe he didn't need her as much as she'd thought.

After all, he still had that Hyde guy—who wasn't even someone else, but a part of himself.

That was why she had exploded with such fury. That was why she almost walked away.

But when she kicked open that door and saw the thick, endless fog waiting outside… she froze.

Where could she even go?

The endless mist shrouded everything—her sight, her path forward, her future.

She felt lost.

In this unfamiliar era, in this twisted version of Britain… what direction should she take?

And then she heard hurried footsteps behind her.

His voice, filled with urgency and concern.

She didn't want to respond. So she leapt to the rooftop and stayed hidden.

But as she watched him frantically search for her, then slump down in despair, head buried in his hands… Mordred felt her anger begin to fade.

Maybe… maybe she wasn't entirely unimportant to him after all.

Maybe, just maybe, Jekyll had seen her as a comrade too.

Just like back in the Round Table days, when she wore a mask at her mother's insistence, always keeping her true self hidden. Maybe Jekyll had his own reasons—his own secrets he couldn't share.

Back then, all she had wanted was a friend who wouldn't judge her for hiding those parts of herself.

And thinking that… she let it go.

So she jumped down from the roof.

And kicked him square in the ass.

And with that one kick, most of her lingering frustration dispersed.

Whether he had a reason or not, whether he could explain or not—it didn't matter anymore.

Because seeing how panicked he got at the thought of losing her… that was enough.

Still, just for the record—she would not be recognizing that fake King Arthur from Fairy Britain.

No way.

Just as she thought that, the half-broken door beside her creaked open again, and Guinevere poked his head out.

"What now?" Mordred asked, squinting at him. "Didn't I tell you to go argue with them inside? Quit bothering me."

"Uh, it's not that," Guinevere scratched his head. "We finished talking. Time to head out."

"Where to? Who we killing?" Mordred asked crisply.

"Victor's mansion," Guinevere replied. "Turns out Frankenstein's behavior in the dream doesn't match the real one. After discussing it, we decided to go there first to see if we can recruit her."

After a pause, he added:

"Also… Fairy Britain's Artoria might head there to rendezvous with us."

"Why mention her? She's not my real father. You think I'd care?" Mordred shrugged. "Anyway, if the plan's settled, then let's go."

She turned and walked off without looking back.

Guinevere sighed, watching her go, then turned to Ritsuka, who was peeking from the doorway.

"Well then, let's get moving. As for Bavanzi—I'll carry her."

"Are you sure that's okay?" Mash looked worried. "Didn't she attack you in the dream? There's still a risk she might lash out again in the real world…"

"It's fine. Bavanzi isn't a bad person," Guinevere gave a wry smile. "She was just affected by the nightmare. Besides, who else is going to carry her? Mordred and Hina clearly aren't on the best terms with her."

"I never said that."

A quiet voice interrupted him.

Guinevere turned to find Mordred had reappeared—again.

She walked up, eyes serious.

"You said she's Morgan's daughter in Fairy Britain, right?"

"Uh, yeah. That's right."

"In that case, she's technically my little sister," Mordred declared. "I might not approve… but I can't say we've got nothing to do with each other. I'll carry her."

"Sister?" Guinevere blinked. Then, recalling Bavanzi's earlier words, he blurted out:

"Why can't you be the older one?"

"Are you stupid?"

Mordred gave him a look like he'd grown an extra head.

"Of course it's based on age. She's a hundred-year-old fairy—you think I'm gonna let her cosplay as my big sister?"

...............

Following the route in his memory, Guinevere led the group onward. Before long, they reached Victor's mansion.

On the way, they'd also detoured to the site of the massive boulder Guinevere had found earlier, only to discover it had been shattered—presumably by someone using explosives.

Judging by the familiar blast marks, Guinevere had a strong guess who the culprit was.

Sure enough, at the mansion's front gate, a familiar figure in a blue cap was already waiting.

"Hey—!"

Waving with all her might, Artoria shouted:

"You're finally here!"

And the moment Guinevere saw her, he noticed Mordred's footsteps… freeze completely.