This Is My Holy Grail War [145]

The sky had already descended into darkness, yet the air remained blisteringly hot. Mordred had reluctantly torn herself away from the warmth of her father’s embrace and trudged toward her Master's car, her steps heavy with hesitation.

Wildfires raged, their flames stretching skyward and filling the newly fallen night with a suffocating sense of despair. The trees crackled as they burned, their scorched scent assaulting Mordred's nose. She knew no one would extinguish the flames anytime soon.

The Red and Black factions were battling for the Greater Grail hidden within the forest. Even if firefighters arrived, they would likely fall victim to enchantments and retreat.

By dawn, perhaps the flames could be controlled. But by then, how much of this forest would remain? Mordred didn’t know. She crossed through waves of fire unharmed—the flames were powerless against her.

Still, she felt a twinge of regret. This forest, so beautiful, was now being reduced to ashes. Caught in the crossfire of war, it was irreversibly destined to become a wasteland.

“How did it feel, meeting your father, Saber?” Leaning against the car door, Kairi Shishigou lowered his cigarette with a smile. “You look pretty happy.”

The car was the same one Kairi had stolen earlier, its interior packed with supplies for the war. Mordred knew tonight would be a long battle—two Rulers had already joined the fray.

“Hmph!” Mordred puffed out her chest proudly, her grin as bright as the sun. “Father has acknowledged me. So? I’m already the King of Knights of the future!”

“That easy?” Kairi raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You didn’t… do something unspeakable, did you?”

“Of course not!” Mordred shot back, nearly stomping her foot but pulling back just in time. Elegance. Humility. No outbursts. No outbursts.

Calm down, Mordred. You’re a future knight of the king. You mustn’t lose your temper.

She took a deep breath, suppressing her frustration. I can’t let Father down. Quietly, she recited the virtues of knighthood and the glory of kingship in her heart.

“Looks like you’ve sworn a pretty significant oath,” Kairi said, cutting to the chase.

He saw through me! Mordred flushed bright red.

“Good luck with that!” Kairi’s teeth gleamed in the firelight, and Mordred couldn’t help but find her Master surprisingly warm-hearted. “Since you made a promise, you’d better fulfill it. That’s what a king would do.”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to say it.” Mordred beamed. “Hey, once I ascend… no, I’ll recommend you to Father right now!”

“W-wait a second!” Kairi stammered, alarmed. “No need to rush that!”

“Huh?”

“It’s like this,” Kairi explained. “In this Holy Grail War, all of our allied Masters were killed in the fall of the [Hanging Gardens of Babylon]. Don’t you think that’s suspicious? Only Father Shirou survived.”

“Because he’s a Servant,” Mordred replied after a moment’s thought. “I don’t think ordinary magi could have survived.”

“These magi weren’t just ordinary—they were all elites. And what about their Servants?” Kairi pressed, his confusion evident.

“They’re probably fighting the Black Faction’s Servants,” Mordred guessed.

“That’s possible, but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

Mordred fell silent, contemplating his words. She trusted Shirou even less than Kairi did. “Instead of focusing on the priest, we should keep an eye on Assassin.”

“Semiramis,” Kairi murmured the name softly. “The poisoner.”

“Let’s not worry about that now. Come on, let’s go see Father!” Mordred, refusing to head off alone this time, grabbed Kairi’s hand and dragged him along.

Despite his rugged and intimidating appearance, Kairi couldn’t resist. After all, Mordred was a Knight of the Round Table, her strength rated at B+. Resistance was futile.

With a burst of crimson lightning, she dispersed the flames around them. Upon returning, Mordred found her father clutching his head, seemingly in pain.

What’s wrong, Father?

Before Mordred could voice her concern, someone else beat her to it.

“What’s wrong, Saber of Black?”

Following the voice, Mordred spotted a green-clad Archer. It was odd—why would this archer, unrelated to her father, show such concern for him?

Suspicious, Mordred swiftly pushed Kairi’s head down into the ash pile and crouched behind him to observe.

Her father glanced in her direction, likely aware of her presence. No matter. If sneaking failed, she’d observe openly. Mordred decided to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Father didn’t stop her, so it couldn’t be a secret. Besides, no woman could be closer to him than she was. Impossible.

“I just recalled something unpleasant from the past,” her father replied to the Archer, his frown suggesting he wanted to end the conversation.

Mordred didn’t know the Archer’s identity, nor did her father, judging by his response.

“Let the past stay in the past. Memories only bring pain,” Archer said softly, her tone oddly familiar as she chatted casually.

“Do we know each other?” her father asked abruptly. “Why do you assume my memories are unpleasant?”

Father’s memory is lost; how could he recognize anyone? He forgot about me, so how could he remember you? Ridiculous, Mordred thought with a huff. Mistaking people like this. Foolish.

“Medea,” Archer began, but her father’s eyes widened in recognition.

“She was a great teacher. My knowledge of magecraft comes from her,” he replied, his voice softening with unexpected warmth.

“You met her?” Archer asked, her interest piqued by the mention of Medea.

Once again, her father glanced toward Mordred’s hiding spot, as if preparing to reveal more. Excitement welled within her—what secrets would he share?

“[Oblivion Correction] allows me to remember events from past Grail Wars,” he explained. “I may not recall everything, but I’ve participated in more than one Holy Grail War.”

Silence enveloped the scene. Mordred felt a chill. Father’s Spirit Origin might have a serious problem! But she wasn’t well-versed in magecraft. Not that it mattered—this warm and caring version of her father was far better than his cold, distant self. As long as he cared for her, nothing else mattered.

The red Archer, after a long pause, finally broke her silence with uncharacteristic warmth. “Rider—did he say anything to you?”

“Hmm…” her father mused before answering. “He said, ‘Being killed by this sword… how ironic.’”

“I see.” Archer nodded, then issued a warning, echoing Kairi’s concerns. “Neither I nor Lancer trust the priest. Be careful. That man isn’t worthy of our trust.”

“Understood. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her father frowned, but there was an odd glimmer of joy in his expression. Why would this shared Master bring him happiness? Mordred didn’t understand.

Frustrated, she scratched her head. Something was off about her father. The information he shared was intriguing, but her yearning to connect with him made her overlook the inconsistencies.

Was it the overwhelming joy of having her father’s attention? She didn’t know. A Servant who had forgotten his life, yet bore her father’s face.

How different was he from the real thing?

She knew the name Artoria, and the scabbard she carried—a scabbard. The scabbard of [Avalon]! Aside from her father, no one could possess it!

Name, skills, appearance, Noble Phantasm—they all pointed to the King of Knights. Everything, except for her memory. Except for her memory!

The one inconsistency she could recall was dismissed outright. After all, she had already convinced herself that Black Saber had simply lost her memory.

The golden crown that once graced her father’s head was gone, but Mordred still remembered. That immaculate, commanding presence. That was a king—there was only one king in Britain, and one heir!

There was no doubt in Mordred’s mind. Even if it was just for a moment, that was the bearing of a true monarch.

This had to be her father. The King of Britain was one and only—Artoria Pendragon. And the rightful heir to Britain? That was also singularly clear. It was her, Mordred.

Stepping out from behind the tree, Mordred caught Archer’s disapproving glare. The archer didn’t seem to like her. Why? Mordred couldn’t understand, but she instinctively grew wary.

The tension in the air was palpable, almost like a powder keg waiting to explode. While Mordred bore no particular hostility toward Archer, it was clear the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Archer, for some reason, was deeply invested in her father. According to Kairi, Archer had nearly been killed by her father once.

“I’ll take my leave now, Saber. Best of luck to you,” Archer said as she turned to depart, her tone unexpectedly cordial.

“And to you as well,” Mordred replied.

When Archer was fully out of sight, Mordred finally voiced the question that had been nagging at her.

“Father, why did you betray the Black faction? That doesn’t… it doesn’t seem like something you’d do. A knight should—”

“My Master.”

“A matter of compatibility?”

“Precisely.” Her father nodded. “My Master was an ambitious magus, more focused on glory than trustworthiness.”

“But you were so close to winning!” Mordred exclaimed, unable to hide her confusion. “If you’d stayed with the Black faction, wouldn’t victory have been easy?”

Her question was met with a shake of the head. Her father’s plans were clearly far more intricate. She pressed further, “Why?”

“What meaning is there in winning a faction war?” her father countered. “There’s only one Holy Grail. In the end, it always comes down to a final competition.”

Mordred mulled over his words for a long moment and couldn’t deny the truth in them. Even if one faction emerged victorious, it ultimately wouldn’t matter much.

Each side had seven Servants. Although they appeared to oppose one another, they were really just temporary allies.

“Father will never give up,” Mordred realized aloud. “You’re thinking farther ahead than I am. I’m focused on winning the war, but you’re looking at the prize itself.”

She paused, deliberating before adding, “Even if we win, it might not yield any real reward—just a hollow reputation. But what you want is something tangible.”

Mordred resolved to reflect. A true ruler needed to think of the bigger picture. She recognized that she had been too reckless in the past, charging forward without considering what came after victory.

Even if the Red and Black factions settled their battle neatly, the victors would still face a final, brutal elimination round for the Greater Grail.

“Father.”

“Yes?”

“There must be Servants in the Black faction that you absolutely cannot defeat, right?” Mordred asked.

“Yes, two of them,” her father replied simply. “But the Red faction’s Servants can defeat them, and I can defeat the Red faction’s Servants.” His explanation left no room for argument.

“What about this [Oblivion Correction] you mentioned earlier to Archer?” Mordred inquired.

“I’ve forgotten everything about my past life, but memories of the Holy Grail Wars can never be erased.” A deep sorrow crossed her father’s face, an anguish so profound it pained Mordred to see it. “This skill was granted upon my summoning. That’s why I can’t recall the past, but the present… I can never forget.”

“Does this [Oblivion Correction] mean you’ll always remember everything about me?” Mordred asked, her excitement barely contained. “Even in the future?”

“You’re correct,” her father affirmed.

“That’s such an amazing skill!” Mordred exclaimed.

“It’s not so wonderful. Hatred lingers just as vividly. There are things I wish I could forget, but can’t. And the things I don’t want to forget—like my past—are all gone,” her father said, his voice heavy with regret.

“It’s okay,” Mordred declared, determined. “I’ll help you remember everything.”

In her father’s eyes, she wanted to embody the perfect, loyal prince.

“Father, when this Holy Grail War ends, you won’t forget me, right?”

“Never,” her father assured her.

“That’s great! I’ll make sure you’ll always remember my heroic brilliance!” Mordred’s enthusiasm was infectious. But then her father said something unexpected.

“You have a very sweet smile.”

“Eh?!” Mordred froze, caught completely off guard by his words. For a moment, a vague unease crept into her heart. It was as if she had forgotten something important, though she couldn’t quite recall what it was.

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T/N: chat is this rizz

This is a fan translation of 这是我的圣杯之战 by 向希望祈祷. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!