Chapter 448: [448] The Gathering Storm in Sighișoara: The Banner of the Saint
Where the crimson lightning struck, scorched earth spread everywhere.
It was as if a bomb had detonated within Mordred’s body. The lively troublemaker, the glutton, Kairi Sisigou’s Servant—all these illusions were burned away by refined fury, replaced by cold, unyielding full-body armor and a red-and-white helmet that concealed her treachery.
The Rebel. The King-Slayer.
The Cursed Child. The Knight of Trechery.
—This was the Mordred of history, her true form!
Even if what was sown were seeds of hope and admiration, the soil of malice ran too deep, the weeping dew too abundant. Those bright seeds had long been buried, and what sprouted forth could only be twisted, corrupted branches of decay. Even the shriveled fruit was inevitably filled with blood and hatred!
And there was only one source, only one origin for this hatred—
"Ar—thur!!!"
The scream was nearly hoarse. Blood-red lightning spread like a demon’s curse, crawling up Mordred’s fingers into her body, seeping into her organs as if clinging to her bones, burning fiercely.
Mother? You actually call King Arthur mother?
I see... I see now!
Was it because you had other children that you rejected me, Arthur?!
Then let me tear it all apart! Let me rebel against you—until you look at me with eyes filled with hatred, until my reflection is all you see!
Let me—rebel against it all!
Every thought was consumed by these flames. The red-and-white knight roared, burning recklessly, transforming into a storm of hatred and lightning that surged forward.
The Black Faction’s Master—kill!
That child—kill!
King Arthur—kill! Kill! Kill!
Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!
Driven by such overwhelming emotion, Mordred ignored her Master’s command for the first time and unleashed her Noble Phantasm’s true name:
"This is the evil sword that destroyed my father—Clarent Blood Arthur!"
The crimson sea of lightning tearing through the night sky enveloped the town like the apocalypse. As if time had reversed, a blood-red sunset rose from the horizon, so intense, so desperate—just like the final battle between father and son on the hill of Camlann.
No one cared about the cries of ordinary people, nor how troublesome the Church’s cleanup would be. The rebellious knight had already swung her sword. Faced with this sudden assault, the golden-haired ’King Arthur’ shielded those behind her and raised a banner of protection.
This was undoubtedly a blow beyond endurance—a torrent of magical energy fueled by the Red Saber’s lifelong hatred and rage. But the one who withstood it was not King Arthur, but the absolute arbiter of the Holy Grail War—Ruler, Jeanne d’Arc.
"O Lord—"
Clutching the holy banner with slender hands, Jeanne’s face was serene as she invoked its true name.
The flag that Jeanne d’Arc, the Maiden of Orleans, wielded in place of a sword. The sacred banner that had inspired countless soldiers who followed the saint into battle—it was said to have always protected her as she fought on the front lines.
"Behold—!"
This is the manifestation of a legend—a banner waved on the battlefield, emerging victorious with nearly no injuries until the very end. And if this banner were to be deployed as a Noble Phantasm, it would convert Jeanne d’Arc’s extraordinary Magic Resistance into a protective force capable of repelling all physical or spiritual attacks.
Facing the strike unleashed by the Red Saber—a blow carrying all her hatred and joy—the holy banner completely blocked it.
Not only Jeanne, but also Reika Rikudou and little Jack behind her had now entrusted their lives entirely to the banner in the Ruler’s hands. They could only gaze forward at the slender yet resilient figure of the maiden.
Against the violent vortex of magical energy, the Ruler endured silently.
Her figure—it resembled someone who once stood against all the evils of the world.
It also resembled someone who resisted the decline of a dying planet.
And it resembled all those who, as insignificant and powerless humans, stood against "that" before them.
Holding onto dignity, will, love, anger, or perhaps some belief beyond these, even in the face of overwhelming violence capable of slaughtering thousands with ease, humanity still possesses the heart to rise and fight with courage that transcends fear.
Sakatsuki watched her small back and couldn’t help but feel a sense of pity. Though he knew it was an arrogant thought, whenever he recalled the tragic legend of her life, this emotion became impossible to discard.
Resentment would be natural; hatred would be understandable. Yet she harbored neither hatred nor resentment—not even lingering attachment. It was a mindset incomprehensible to him, an assassin, and even to his original self.
Meanwhile, Artoria, whom Sakatsuki had restrained from acting, inadvertently recalled the myth Merlin had once told her—of an old man parting the sea. The completely blocked torrent of magical energy now looked just like those divided waters.
Her own scabbard, Avalon, could also withstand such an attack, but she could never remain as unshaken as Jeanne. After all, the one launching this assault was still her...
Just as life has its end, even an all-out strike has its moment of conclusion. The Red Saber’s full-powered blow was ultimately blocked by the holy banner Jeanne unfurled, and the terrifying energy that spilled out was deliberately directed skyward by the saint, transforming into countless shooting stars streaking toward the cosmos.
Once the light of destruction faded, Jeanne finally exhaled in relief and turned to look behind her, her face breaking into a radiant smile.
"You’re all unharmed. That’s wonderful. Please hurry and leave now."
The moment she turned back, the saint’s benevolence vanished, replaced by the authority of the Ruler. Even as the Saber approached with the fury of vengeance, her breathtakingly beautiful countenance remained unmoved.
"Red Saber!"
Her call was met only with Mordred’s murderous slash.
"Die, King of Knights!"
The lightning glare stung Jeanne’s eyes. With a slight furrow of her brow, she raised the holy banner and firmly parried the attack, then used the momentum to retreat onto the empty street. The Red Saber, more like a Berserker than a swordsman, roared relentlessly, pouring all her hatred into her blade.
"Arthur! I’ll kill you—let me kill you—Arthur!"
Arthur? Arthur? King Arthur?
The holy flag creaked under the strain. The king’s sword, dyed crimson by mana and hatred, possessed unimaginable power. Even though Jeanne d’Arc blocked it completely, the frenzied emotions still assaulted her mind. Yet despite this, she remained calm in her thoughts.
The true name of the red Saber was Mordred, the rebellious knight who ended the legend of King Arthur—which meant she had mistaken me for King Arthur?
Do I really resemble King Arthur that much? He was a "man"! Moreover, I belong to France while she’s from Britain—there’s a huge difference!
The astonishment in Jeanne’s heart would find no answer, but had she known that during the Fourth Holy Grail War, Caster Gilles de Rais had similarly mistaken Artoria for her, perhaps she would have found some comfort?
—Though there was an essential difference in bust size, clearly, one couldn’t expect a half-mad marshal or a rage-consumed Mordred to notice such details.
Unless... there was external interference.
Suddenly, Mordred felt a chill run down her spine. Though she didn’t know from where the attack would come, she was undoubtedly being targeted.
A long-range throw, perhaps a shot—whether it was Lancer’s spear or Archer’s arrow remained unknown. But whoever it was, continuing like this would mean death...!
Before theoretical thought could reach a conclusion, her instinctive reflexes kicked in. Mordred applied slight braking force during her fierce charge, forcing her body to pivot.
Her body crackled from the instantaneous overload, and as she turned, Mordred’s gaze fell upon one of the city’s tourist attractions—the clock tower.
Her eyes widened. Two figures stood atop the clock tower’s spire, bathed in faint moonlight. One was a hero with a physique reminiscent of ancient Greek sculpture, drawing his bow toward her—and releasing the string!
In an instant, a storm of wind and deafening noise assaulted Saber’s entire being.