Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

　　Mordred… so this means I'm now in the Fourth Singularity?

　　Staring at the armor she wore—one I'd seen countless times in the game—and that face identical to Artoria's, yet with a wild boldness, Guinevere felt dizzy.

　　Come to think of it, what was the relationship between Artoria Caster and Mordred? Both were "Artorias," both born of the same essence—but raised in different worlds, their natures were polar opposites. They couldn't be the same person, right?

　　After all, if one called Caster "my father's daughter," wouldn't that make me—Mordred—the queen consort?

　　"Hey! You there! Stop spacing out—answer me, or do you want to die?"

　　Mordred's furious roar snapped Guinevere back to reality. She was leaning toward the greatsword at her side. Guinevere raised his hands in surrender:

　　"Don't get angry, sister! I—I'll answer, I will—please don't get excited!"

　　"Hurry up!" Mordred glared.

　　"Uh…well…"

　　He thought briefly. He hadn't actually met Artoria yet and wasn't sure of her current situation. Best not reveal too much.

　　"I'm actually a scholar… I research ancient heroic epics. In my studies, I discovered that the legendary King Arthur was, in fact, a woman—named Artoria…"

　　"Huh? That sounds ridiculous—are you joking? Even so, how could you know my father's face?!" Mordred's glare grew sharper; she gripped Guinevere's tunic, raising her fist to strike.

　　"Eeek! Wait—!" Guinevere blurted, mind racing. In every previous encounter—Artoria, Bibhanshi—his bluff had never failed. But against Mordred, his smooth talk got him nowhere. Scholar or not, he felt like a learned fool before a soldier's blade.

 "Cut to the chase—no more nonsense!"

　　"If you catch me lying, you know the consequences." Mordred's threat dripped with menace.

　　"All right, all right," Guinevere raised his hands. "So—continuing—my research led me to meet another Artoria. We became friends. I heard this Artoria was King Arthur's descendant…"

　　He intended to deny knowing Caster, but Mordred's mistrust compelled him to change course mid-speech.

 "Nonsense!" Mordred snapped.

　　"My father had no other children… except me! I'm his only heir!"

 "Indeed," Guinevere said quietly. "After Camlann, she died—no chance to bear heirs beyond you, right? Sir Mordred, the Rebel Knight?"

 "M-You—!"

　　Her eyes burned; for a moment, Guinevere feared she would slay him on the spot. But she hesitated, then released his collar and slammed her fist into the ground, cracking stone.

 "Yes—yes, I killed my father. I ended her legend—which makes you… what?"

 Mordred's voice trembled.

 "Exactly," Guinevere met her gaze. "Because there were no other heirs, I suspected she lied—her true identity is likely the same as yours: a Heroic Spirit summoned here by chance."

 "Oh…" Mordred paused, then grabbed Guinevere's shoulder. "Wait—so you mean my mother appeared in this Grail War too?!"

 Guinevere hesitated:

 "I didn't say that… I've heard no Grail War rifts in London. And my guess she's Artoria came only after I saw you. Beyond that, I don't know."

 "Mere guesswork…" Mordred's disappointment flickered—then she shook it off.

 "Forget it! Regardless, lead me to the one you suspect is my mother! I'll decide there how to deal with her!"

 "Are you a genius?" Guinevere murmured in exasperation.

 "Maybe I am!" She grinned, oblivious to his tone.

 "All right," Guinevere sighed. "But I can't promise that. I only know her as a friend—I don't even know where she lives. Besides, London itself has undergone strange changes. Until these are explained, I can't help you find her."

 "Huh? What use are you…" Mordred began angrily—then, as if remembering something, her anger faded. She muttered to herself:

 "Oh, right. I only woke you up because something felt off. I grabbed the first person I saw to ask questions—then we got sidetracked. So… you don't know what's happening here either?"

 Guinevere fell silent.

 Mordred's rambling made him realize something: perhaps Morgan's foster children weren't the brightest? Her carefree manner hid a sharp mind. She'd once secretly sway knights and nearly challenged her mother herself. She was cunning indeed.

 In any case, he would follow her lead—until he learned her link to her mother and where that mother now resided.

 　　Suddenly, Mordred turned her gaze toward the swirling fog.

 　　She sensed something watching them from its depths.

 　　"Stay here—don't wander off. I'll be back soon."

 　　Without waiting, she dashed into the mist, sword in hand.

 　　"Uh—wait—"

　　Guinevere called after her, but she vanished into the mists.

 　　"She moves fast," he sighed. "If this is a Singularity… wandering fog could be dangerous."

 　　A soft footstep sounded behind him.

 　　"Damn, just my luck."

　　Guinevere braced himself. If it were an enemy—just automaton level—he could manage. But a Servant? Then…

 　　He spun around to face whatever approached.

　　A little girl in a tattered cloak emerged. Barely chest-high to him. Beneath the rags, scant leather armor. Snow-white hair and two deep scars across her cheeks. Her large, innocent eyes locked on Guinevere—so pitiful it tore at him.

　　Yet Guinevere felt no sympathy—only exasperation.

 　　"Another Jack the Ripper?"

 　　He pondered how much worse his luck could be. In prior loops, he'd relied on Luck D, this time… Luck E?

 　　He groaned.

 　　"Big brother—what are you doing alone in the fog?"

 　　Tilting her head, the white-haired girl asked sweetly:

 　　"Now that I've found you, will you stay and play a game with me?"

 　　"Um—sure, what game…"

 　　Relief flickered in Guinevere's chest—no attack meant maybe he could parley.

 　　"Then let's play 'Ghost Hunt'!"

 　　She beamed and raised two small daggers.

 　　"Rules are simple: you run, I chase. If I catch you, I'll gut you!"

 　　Guinevere's heart sank.