Miss Hebe Is Charging Through the Lostbelts! [9]

Clear water splashed across her cheeks, and the icy shock snapped her awake in an instant.

The mirror above the sink reflected the face of a young woman with a gallant air. Her wet blond hair clung softly to her cheeks, lending her a faint touch of fragility.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling the slightly excessive heat there, and let out a nervous little laugh.

“What kind of joke is this… am I really that fragile now?”

Merlin was already dead—dead in the Fourth History, reduced to nothing under the king’s gaze. Her mother had personally told her as much.

Mordred raised her eyes and stared into her own reflection.

Her body, which had only just begun to adapt to modern life, was starting to ache again. Her fingertips felt as though they had been soaked in blood once more, slick with that unpleasant, sticky sensation.

“Damn it, my head is starting to—”

The calming magecraft her mother had placed on her was still in effect, but the memories began surfacing from the depths of her mind anyway.

…

Who am I?

An artificial human? The poison mother made to destroy Albion? Or the sword wielded in Father’s hand?

“Your blood comes from Arthur. It will grant you the noble blood of the Red Dragon and the Lion’s heart. By nature, you are meant to walk the Path of Authority.”

“Your body was shaped by me, so your desires are akin to my own.”

“Your spirit-body was brought back from the Wasteland by Merlin. With her guarantee, you will have a very bright future.”

Mordred’s father was King Arthur, ruler of all Albion. Her birth mother was Morgan le Fay, the woman crowned by the island itself.

Mordred had known from very early on that she was merely an artificial human, a tool Morgan had made to carry out some plan.

—No family affection, no love, no concern, no self… that was fine.

If she could help fulfill mother’s plan, then that was enough.

When she completed her mission, would mother praise her for being a good child?

And if she could become the sword in Father’s hand, then all the better.

Tools had no need for ideals. Once they had been swung until they wore down and broke apart, they could simply be thrown away.

What was more, Mordred had admired King Arthur for a very long time. If she could fight beneath the king’s banner, then even if she were torn to pieces in the end, she would still be glad.

If everything had simply continued that way—if she had gone on sprinting toward that bottomless abyss—she would have had no complaints at all.

Because, in the end, Mordred had never once seen the light.

If she had never seen what was good in this world, then naturally she would not cling to life over so-called suffering.

That was true until, outside London, she saw the girl in the court mage’s robes, with white hair and beautiful pink eyes.

“Who are you?” Mordred asked.

But instead of answering at once, the other girl gave her a careful look. “Are you a knight who has sworn to the new king, or a new recruit come to enlist?”

“Why can’t I be a knight who chose to follow the king of my own accord?” Mordred bristled.

The moment Mordred gave her name, the girl’s beautiful pink eyes widened.

The look in them was both shock and something like relief.

“If you say your name is Mordred,” the court mage replied, “then I’m obliged to teach you how to be an adult.”

“Hey! Don’t make decisions for me on your own! And who are you supposed to be, acting like that’s obvious?!”

“You’ll know who I am eventually.” She smiled, then added in a voice low enough that only the two of them could hear, “Mo, you don’t want everyone finding out you’re Arthur’s child, do you?”

That single sentence was enough to calm the Mordred who had been on the verge of exploding, and she obediently followed the girl away.

It was not a beautiful beginning, but when Mordred looked back on it, it still made her happy.

Because other than her mother, she was the only person who had ever been willing to care about her… no, in “Mother’s” eyes, Mordred had only ever been a useful tool, and her end had been decided from the very start.

More importantly, that girl had acknowledged her as “King Arthur’s child.” Though Mordred had been shocked and furious at first, joy quickly followed at having been acknowledged, like a stray cat being stroked.

In the secret garden, that girl half-forced her into making a promise.

—Whenever one campaign ended, Mordred would always come to the garden first, and there in that secret garden, the white-haired girl would always be waiting quietly for her.

Mordred’s feelings slowly changed, from initial unease into anticipation.

It was a secret she had never spoken even to “Mother.” To Mordred, the days she spent with the pink-eyed girl were sweet, like a piece of candy she had treasured for a very long time.

No one had ever taught her how to live like a person.

No one had ever smiled at her and told her it was all right even if she never accomplished anything great.

“No matter when, there will always be a place here for Mo. I will always stay by your side,” the girl with the beautiful pink eyes had said.

On that day, Mordred—who had never been understood, never been respected, and never been loved—learned that she was not some wild dog fated to keep running across the dark wilderness until she dropped dead and rotted where she fell.

After that day, Mordred still strove toward her goal of becoming one of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. But now, she no longer swung her weapon in empty, mechanical fashion.

Everything that followed came naturally. No longer hollow inside, Mordred won brilliant military merit, was granted an audience and personally decorated by King Arthur, and took her place among the Knights of the Round Table.

Faced with “Mother’s” orders, Mordred no longer obeyed blindly. Faced with the king’s commands, she began to think for herself as well.

“I am mother’s child, and also the king’s knight. But without the trust and support of that pink-eyed girl, I never could have achieved what I have today.” Every night, Mordred reminded herself of that. “That pink-eyed girl… is a woman who could become my mother.”

If only time had stopped there, how wonderful that would have been.

But time is cruel because it never stops for anyone, and it can never run backward.

Mordred had always known that “Mother” had not created her for any simple purpose. All along, she had been filling her with hatred, holding it in check only while waiting for the perfect moment.

That moment finally came one day, when Morgan the Enchantress sought her out and laid out a string of horrifying plans, ordering Mordred to carry them out exactly as instructed. If Morgan’s plan succeeded, Albion would collapse like a tower, and Arthur’s life would end along with that reign.

Mordred left in a daze.

Morgan had not been suspicious of her reaction. She had expected no less.

What she had not expected was that Mordred’s reaction had been an act. She no longer wanted to be “Mother’s” piece on the board, nor did she want to go on living as a tool.

Mordred wanted to find the pink-eyed girl, tell her to leave this place of turmoil as quickly as possible, then hurry to see father first—to confess her identity and reveal every last detail of “Mother’s” plot.

“And yet that’s fine. Perhaps even someone like me, born to a fate of no consequence, should have a day to play the hero,” Mordred thought as she ran. “Even if I’m driven into a dead end and die fighting at father’s side, that would still be better than rotting away in the bed of a conspiracy.”

She had never felt so close to being a “hero” before. Her blood was boiling with it.

Mordred came to the promised garden, where the pink-eyed girl was waiting as always.

There, she told her everything about mother’s scheme.

“I see. So it really is time.”

The g̶͇͋r̴͕̒ë̶̝́ḙ̷͆n̴̜̽… pink-eyed girl spoke calmly, then looked at Mordred and smiled.

“If that’s the case… then can you die for me, and for Albion?”

“…Right here. Right now?”

T/N: huehuehue wdym merlin has green eyes? its obviously pink… right?

This is a fan translation of 赫柏小姐正在杀出异闻带！ by 青散人 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!