IBHJ 1228

"Wait—you actually met Vivian in the Fomoire Abyss?" Shirou asked, looking at Mordred with surprise.

Mordred nodded.

The witch smiled and offered Mordred a piece of bread.

"Thanks, but I don't need it," Mordred said, reaching out to decline. Just as she let her guard down, the witch quickly reached over and smacked her on the back of the head with a solid thud.

"Did you seriously just hit me?" Mordred's eyes widened in disbelief.

The witch just grinned and waved her hand dismissively. "That's payback for when you ambushed me before. Now we're even."

Mordred's face flushed with anger, like a lion whose tail had just been pulled. She glared at the witch, jumped to her feet, and lunged at her.

The witch's smile quickly disappeared as she tried to scramble away, but Mordred was too quick. She caught up to the witch, and within seconds, the two of them were rolling around in a full-on scuffle.

Shirou sat back with a frown, thinking about how bizarre Mordred's story really was. After being overpowered by the Emperor, she and Guinevere had fallen into the Fomoire Abyss together, where they somehow met another version of Morgan. This Morgan had even recognized the butterfly lurking in Guinevere's body as Vivian.

But there was something more important he needed to ask.

"Mordred, has the Grail affected you at all?" Shirou looked up as he spoke, then blinked in surprise when he saw that Mordred had already pinned the witch to the ground and was repeatedly smacking the back of her head with a rhythmic "thud thud thud."

"A bit, but nothing I can't handle," she replied without bothering to look back.

"That's a relief. But maybe you should let her go now?" He gestured helplessly at the witch, who was squirming underneath her.

"She hit me first!" Mordred protested.

"Haven't you gotten even already?"

"Not quite. I'm still mad. Three more hits and I'll make it an even thirty." She delivered three final smacks to the witch's head before finally releasing her grip and climbing off.

"Oww, that really hurts," the witch grumbled, rubbing the back of her head while giving Mordred a dejected look. "When did you get so strong? You weren't anywhere near this powerful the last time I saw you."

Shirou smiled slightly. "Well, Mordred does have the Dragon Kind bloodline. And also—" He stopped himself, finishing the thought silently in his head. ‘And she's completely embraced the Grail.’

"This is so unfair," the witch complained. "Last time you hit me with an actual brick! I barely touched you just now, and you responded by hitting me thirty times!"

Mordred shrugged. "I live by a simple rule. Treat me with respect, and I'll do the same for you. Mess with me, and I'll pay you back a hundred times worse. Consider yourself lucky—you only got thirty hits."

The witch fell silent, her expression darkening. Without a word, she pulled out her notebook and angrily scribbled down what had just happened.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Shirou watched Mordred with growing concern. It was becoming more obvious that the Grail was changing her temperament. She’s more violent now.

"So why exactly did Vivian send you here?" he asked.

"There's an enemy that needs to be dealt with," Mordred replied.

"Enemy?" he raised an eyebrow.

Just as he spoke, a thunderous rumbling sound came from outside. He glanced out to see misty clouds in the distance where several fighter jets were cutting through the sky, leaving long snake-like trails of smoke as they approached in formation.

"Great, those foreign attackers are back again!" the witch said, frowning in frustration.

"That's them—the enemy." Mordred's blue eyes grew cold as she drew her sword. "And they need to be destroyed."

She turned toward the door. "Just wait here for a minute. I'll take care of them."

Mordred rushed outside, but after just a few steps, her body suddenly went limp. She barely managed to stay upright by leaning heavily on her sword.

Shirou rushed to Mordred's side, alarmed to see her small face drenched in sweat as she struggled to breathe.

"Mordred, what's happening?" he asked worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure," she gasped between breaths. "I've never felt like this before. My body feels so... weak and strange, like it's turning to jelly..."

Before she could say anything else, Mordred collapsed to the ground, her breathing labored and ragged.

"Do you think she might have a fever?" the witch suggested, watching Mordred's condition with concern. It reminded her of how miserable she'd felt during her own bout with inflammation.

"That shouldn't be possible," he replied, shaking his head. "Fevers only affect living people. Servants have bodies made of Ether—they don't get sick like we do."

Even as he said this, Shirou reached out and placed his hand against Mordred's cheek. He pulled back in surprise. "She's burning up!"

The witch squinted into the distance, using her Clairvoyance to track the approaching fighter jets. "Those foreign enemies are getting closer. We need to prepare for battle."

"No," he decided quickly. "We need to fall back for now." He scooped Mordred up in his arms, carrying her in a princess carry as they prepared to retreat.

The witch gave him a puzzled look. "You know we could win this fight, right?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't concentrate on fighting right now," he replied, his attention fixed on Mordred.

"Fair enough," the witch said with a nod.

He carried Mordred as they left their shelter together, the witch following close behind. As they moved away, he kept glancing down at Mordred's feverish face with growing concern. Something felt fundamentally different about her weight in his arms.

This wasn't the weight of a Servant.

This was the weight of a real, living person.

A genuine life—subject to birth, aging, sickness, and death.

Could it be?

Had Mordred somehow gained an actual physical body?

…

Imperial Capital.

Xuanzang walked calmly into the palace, surrounded by a heavy guard of inner attendants.

She moved with such serenity that she barely seemed to notice the attendants around her. Instead, she took her time looking around the imperial palace—the very heart of the Eternal Empire. To Xuanzang's eyes, this place hardly resembled what you'd expect from the center of a nation or an emperor's home. It looked more like a cultural museum, filled with countless books and historical artifacts.

"The lower realms have no history and books..." Xuanzang sighed softly. She pressed her palms together in prayer and turned toward the throne. "This humble monk Xuanzang comes from the Great Tang in the East. I wish to journey westward to worship Buddha and seek the scriptures. I offer my deepest respects to Your Majesty."

There was nothing but silence. No response at all.

The jewel-encrusted golden throne stood completely empty, with only a solitary golden crown resting on it.

No one was there.

Yet somehow, Xuanzang could sense a powerful presence—a grand, majestic will that occupied this space. She could feel a spiritual consciousness that matched her master's in its immense scale.

Suddenly, waves of light flickered in the air, and a virtual screen materialized in front of the throne, directly facing Xuanzang.

On the screen appeared Agravain, his face contorted with fury as he glared at her. "Master Xuanzang!" he snapped. "How dare you intrude into the imperial palace!"

The sudden appearance of Agravain's image didn't startle Xuanzang at all. She simply smiled. "This humble monk also greets you, benefactor Agravain. I've come to speak with the Emperor."

"You've broken into the imperial palace!" Agravain shouted. "That's a serious offense! Guards, arrest her immediately!"

Hearing the command, the attendants' eyes hardened with hostility. But as they moved forward, Xuanzang's body began to glow with a soft Buddhist light, making them hesitate.