The forest clearing was dyed a warm amber by the setting sun. Artoria had just finished a set of fierce sword techniques and stood still, breathing slightly. Her swordsmanship was no longer what it once was; every move and every style contained a steadiness and sharpness beyond her years. Her understanding of war and strategy, under Kanjuro (Merlin)'s daily "guidance," had become profound, occasionally flashing with a near-cold clarity that she herself had not yet noticed.
She raised her hand, wiped the fine sweat from her forehead, and involuntarily looked toward the figure who always stood quietly at the edge of the shadows.
Kanjuro, transformed into Merlin, still wore that dark robe that seemed to absorb light. The large hood covered most of his face, revealing only his elegantly lined jaw and the corners of his mouth, which always held a mysterious curve.
As long as she could see this figure appearing in the forest every day, Artoria felt a strange sense of stability and satisfaction in her heart, as if a drifting ship had found its harbor.
She walked to the side, sat casually on the soft grass, and patted the spot beside her. Kanjuro followed her lead and walked over, sitting down gracefully with his robe spreading out over the grass.
"Teacher," Artoria's voice carried a hint of post-training laziness and an almost imperceptible intimacy.
"Actually... sometimes I feel like, whether I am King Uther's daughter, whether I am to become King... it doesn't seem that important anymore." She paused, her emerald eyes looking exceptionally clear in the sunset. She turned her head to look at the profile shrouded in the shadow of the hood, her tone becoming light and sincere. "As long as I can see you appear like this every day, talk to you, and learn from you, I feel very happy and satisfied in my heart."
These words were like the softest feather, gently brushing against Kanjuro's heartstrings—if he still possessed such a thing.
The curve of his lips under the hood deepened slightly, carrying a hint of cold pleasure from a successful plan. He knew that years of "gentle" guidance, "friendly" care, and the deliberately created sense of dependence had already taken deep root in the heart of this lonely and resilient girl.
He slowly turned his head. Beneath the shadow of the hood, his deep eyes looked at Artoria with a "tenderness" he had deliberately adjusted to be intoxicating. He did not speak immediately, but simply looked at her quietly for a few seconds, letting that silent "benevolence" permeate the air.
"Artoria," he finally spoke, his voice low and gentle, yet he dropped a bombshell, "tomorrow is your coming-of-age ceremony."
Artoria blinked, somewhat confused. "Coming-of-age ceremony? In the village?"
"No," Kanjuro shook his head gently, his tone carrying the solemnity of guiding fate. "I want to take you to a place. A place that will decide the future of Britain."
He paused intentionally, observing the subtle changes on the girl's face, before slowly saying, "Yesterday, King Uther... passed away."
Artoria's body stiffened slightly.
The man who was her father in name, but who had exiled her because he "disliked" her... was dead? A complex mix of emotions welled up in her heart—some emptiness, some relief—but strangely, not much sadness.
"A kingdom cannot be without a ruler for a day," Kanjuro (Merlin)'s voice continued, like a sentence of fate.
"Chaos is about to descend, and the Saxons will be like a pack of wolves smelling blood. But you, Artoria, the purest pendragon blood flows within you. You are King Uther's only legitimate heir. You are the rightful, future King of Britain."
The future King of Britain... these words crashed heavily onto Artoria's heart. She was silent for a moment, then raised her head and looked deep into the shadows under Kanjuro's hood. In her eyes, the past confusion and occasional struggle were gone, replaced by total trust and determination.
"I understand, Teacher." Her voice was clear and calm. "I am willing to do it. As long as it is the path you, Merlin, guide me on, I will do whatever you ask of me."
This unreserved trust was precisely the fruit Kanjuro had carefully cultivated for years. He nodded with satisfaction, his voice becoming even more "gentle": "Very well. Go and rest well. Tomorrow will be a day that changes your life."
Artoria obediently stood up, preparing to leave. After a few steps, she suddenly turned back as if remembering something, and carefully took a small bouquet of wildflowers tied with soft grass stalks from her bosom. It was a simple bouquet composed of a few white daisies wet with dew and several nameless light purple flowers, looking exceptionally fresh in the sunset.
(caaf) She walked up to Kanjuro, a hint of girlish shyness on her face as she handed him the bouquet: "Teacher, I know Britain doesn't have the plum blossoms that brave the snow from your hometown... I picked these by the stream today. Although they are just ordinary wildflowers, I... I hope you will accept them." Her voice grew smaller, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I hope... I can always be with Teacher Merlin in the future, no matter where we go."
Kanjuro looked at the wildflowers offered before him, carrying the fragrance of the earth and the girl's warmth, and paused for a moment. Then, he reached out and, with his black-gloved fingers, gently took the insignificant yet heartfelt gift. His movements appeared very precious.
"Thank you, Artoria." His voice remained gentle, without a hint of anything unusual. "Go now."
Artoria then revealed a smile of relief and expectation, turning to run lightly toward the village, her golden hair fluttering in the evening breeze.
Only when her figure had completely disappeared into the forest did Kanjuro slowly lower his head to look at the fragile wildflowers in his hand.
Beneath the shadow of the hood, the feigned tenderness on his face receded like a tide, leaving only a cold indifference and a hint of almost cruel amusement.
He gently twirled a petal, a trace of imperceptible dark magic swirling around his fingertips.
"Always together?" he whispered to himself, his voice full of irony. "Of course, my dear 'pawn'... until you have completely lost your utility, until that shining heart of yours is crushed by my own hands, we will certainly be 'together forever'."
He loosened his hand, and the bouquet of wildflowers, corroded by dark magic, instantly withered and died, turning into fine black powder that sifted through his fingers and blended silently into the soil.
The night was as dark as ink, and the silver moon hung high, casting its cold light over the quiet Lake of the Fairies. The water shimmered with a faint phosphorescence, as if harboring secrets of a thousand years. Kanjuro's figure appeared soundlessly by the lakeshore, the evening breeze fluttering his black robes. He cast his gaze toward the mirror-like water, his thoughts seemingly returning to that night many years ago when he had abandoned a baby girl here.
Just then, he noticed a girl with a graceful figure sitting on a smooth boulder by the lake. She wore a pale silver dress that seemed woven from moonlight and lake water, and her long silver-white hair cascaded down to her waist like a waterfall, flowing with a cold luster under the moon. She sat there quietly, gazing at the water, the profile of her face beautiful and carrying a hint of distant melancholy.
Kanjuro's heart stirred slightly, and he walked closer with slow steps. His footsteps were very light, but the girl still noticed, and she slowly turned her head.
The moment he saw her face clearly, even Kanjuro's eyes flickered with a very subtle hint of surprise. The girl's appearance was extremely beautiful, peerless even, but what was more striking was that the spirit in her features bore a startling resemblance to his own, especially the straight bridge of her nose and the thin shape of her lips, though her temperament leaned more toward the coldness and haughtiness of ice and snow.
Seeing Kanjuro, the girl's pale blue eyes, the same color as the lake water, showed no surprise, only an unyielding coldness and... a deeply hidden resentment.
"You've come." Her voice was like the ripples on the lake, cold and flat, yet carrying a bone-chilling frost. "I thought you had long forgotten this lake, forgotten the daughter you threw away here like trash."
Kanjuro's face quickly assumed his usual, highly deceptive gentle expression, tinged with a perfect amount of guilt and complexity. "Morgan..." He spoke the name, his tone low and full of "emotion." "Seeing that you are safe and sound, and have even grown up to be so... it is good." He looked Morgan over, like a father truly concerned for his daughter.
"Safe and sound?" Morgan sneered, standing up to face Kanjuro directly. "Thanks to you, I was discovered and raised by the Lady of the Lake. After all these years, you finally 'find it in yourself' to come back and see me?" Her tone was full of sarcasm.
Kanjuro took a step forward, attempting to create an atmosphere of closeness, but Morgan warily retreated half a step. A hurt expression appeared on his face, and his voice became even more gentle, filled with a helpless pity: "Morgan, my daughter, you have every right to hate me. But do you know that the reason I... ignored you back then was not because I didn't love you, but because I couldn't!"
He sighed deeply, his eyes filled with the struggle of "pain": "Your birth, your very existence... according to an ancient prophecy, would bring unavoidable disaster and misfortune to your half-sister, Artoria! I... as a father, could not stand by and watch you sisters turn against each other, could not watch Artoria suffer because of you!" He cast himself as a tragic character who had to sacrifice one daughter for the sake of the other.
"So, that is your reason for abandoning me? For that so-called sister?!" Morgan's voice suddenly rose, filled with unbelievable anger and hurt. "Just because of some illusory prophecy?! Then what about me? What am I exactly?!" Tears finally fell uncontrollably from her ice-blue eyes, carrying a scorching heat.
Kanjuro's face timely displayed deep "regret" and "heartache." "I couldn't let anyone know about my relationship with you sisters, Morgan. Especially the relationship between you and me. I had a secret agreement with King Uther; he became Artoria's father in name to provide her with legitimacy for the throne... This secret must be buried. And only if you 'died' and disappeared from everyone's sight could this secret remain hidden forever, allowing Artoria to safely walk toward her destined throne..." His words were like a poisonous snake, wrapping selfish calculations in a sugar coating of "helplessness" and "protection." "Looking back now, I regret it immensely—regret why I had to use that method... to make you endure all this."
"Regret?" Morgan cried, her voice trembling. "What use is your regret?!"
Kanjuro watched her collapse, knowing the timing was right. He softened his voice, using an almost pleading tone: "Morgan, I cannot change the past. But now, I beg of you, for the sake of my regret, for the sake of... our shared blood, in the future... do not become enemies with your sister Artoria, alright? She knows nothing; she is innocent."
Morgan suddenly raised her head, looking at this sanctimonious "father" through tear-filled eyes. She saw the "earnestness" in his eyes, but also the undeniable calculation deep within. A sense of extreme anger and cold determination coalesced in her heart. She suddenly stopped crying, and a very strange, intensely sarcastic cold smile appeared on her face.
"Fine, fine, my... good father," she said word by word, her voice bone-chillingly cold. "Since you are so 'concerned' about our sisterly bond and so 'regretful' of the past, then tomorrow, please formally introduce me, your eldest daughter Morgan, to my 'innocent' sister Artoria."
She stepped forward, pressing her gaze into Kanjuro's, her sneer widening. "I promise you, I won't tell her... her true origin, won't tell her that her great mentor Merlin is actually our... biological father."
Kanjuro looked at Morgan's eyes, which were a mixture of resentment, pain, and a certain resolution, knowing she had fallen into the new web he had woven. A smile of "joy" and "relief" instantly blossomed on his face, as if he were truly comforted by his "daughter's" "understanding."
"Good! Good! Morgan, I am truly happy you can think this way!" He reached out, seemingly wanting to pat Morgan's shoulder, but she agilely avoided him.
His hand froze in mid-air, then he naturally withdrew it, his smile remaining "gentle": "Tomorrow, I will bring Artoria to see you. You sisters can finally reunite."
Morgan did not look at him again. She simply turned around to face the bottomless Lake of the Fairies once more, leaving Kanjuro with a cold and solitary back. Under the moonlight, her clenched knuckles turned white, and her eyes burned with the flames of humiliation and a hatred that would soon set the plains ablaze.
Kanjuro watched her back, knowing that his goal of "soothing" Morgan and introducing her into the game as a new pawn—one that could sting Artoria—had been achieved. He turned away contentedly, his figure quietly merging into the night as if he had never appeared.
By the lakeside, Morgan's shoulders trembled slightly after he left. Finally, she let out a suppressed sob like a wounded cub, and tears slid down silently once more, dripping into the cold lake water and creating ripples of bitterness. She knew she was making a deal with a devil, but her twisted longing for paternal love and her bone-deep resentment at being abandoned left her with no choice.
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