Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

Cold. Shaking.

When Guinevere opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at a ceiling that looked unfamiliar—yet oddly familiar.

Oh, right. This was the room I was in just before I passed out. Then why do I feel like I'm in a shaking vehicle again...?

Guinevere lifted his head—and locked eyes with Mordred, who happened to be looking his way.

"Uh..."

And that's when Guinevere realized why he was feeling cold—because his clothes had been completely stripped off. Mordred was carefully wrapping bandages around his wounds.

The moment she realized he was awake, Mordred's eyes flicked away, her face flushed red. She fumbled with her hands, waving them awkwardly as she tried to explain:

"Ah, um... You were badly hurt and unconscious, so I went to find the first aid kit and figured I'd help treat your injuries. Yeah! Everything's pretty much taken care of now!"

Her frantic and flustered demeanor left Guinevere momentarily stunned.

Not because she looked especially adorable like this—although she admittedly did—but because...

—What in the world?! Mordred is actually blushing?!

Recalling how she'd always come off more macho than most men, Guinevere felt like reality had taken a hit.

But then again, this was still a pre-knighthood Mordred—a green, inexperienced girl. Maybe it wasn't so surprising after all. Still, something else didn't add up...

Guinevere stared at Mordred for a few moments. As she squirmed under his gaze, he suddenly asked:

"How much do you remember about us knowing each other in the real world?"

"Huh?" Mordred blinked. She looked at Guinevere with a blank expression before cautiously replying:

"Actually... that's what I wanted to ask you. How do you know my name? I don't remember ever meeting you..."

"What?"

Guinevere frowned.

After thinking it over, he tried a different approach.

"Then what about your memories of your life after this? Becoming a Knight of the Round Table? Leading the rebellion at Camlann? Do you remember any of that?"

"What's that?" Mordred asked, confused. "Wait—are you saying I really do become a Knight of the Round Table? That's amazing!"

But her excitement lasted only a second before she faltered, her expression falling.

"But... what's this about being a 'rebel knight'? What was the Battle of Camlann?"

"Ah, no, don't worry about that part."

As he spoke, Guinevere's brow furrowed even more deeply.

"So you don't even know what a Servant is, do you?"

"Nope, not at all." Mordred shook her head like a rattle drum. "Never heard of it. What is it?"

"...Right. I think I get the picture."

Guinevere sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Now he had a clearer idea of her situation.

He'd originally assumed this past-version Mordred was like a segment pulled from the Throne of Heroes—like how young Gilgamesh and King Gilgamesh both existed, or how child-emperor versions of others showed up sometimes.

But that didn't seem to be the case anymore.

If she were just a temporal slice of her heroic spirit self, she should at least have some vague awareness of her future. Even if that awareness was blurry or came with disdain, she wouldn't be completely ignorant.

Let alone the fact that she didn't even know what a "Servant" was. That made it impossible.

"Um..."

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, but Guinevere, still lost in them, didn't notice.

So what was going on with this Mordred?

He mulled it over.

One possibility was that a past version of her had somehow time-traveled to the present—but given how FGO handled dream travel and world-hopping, that wasn't even the weirdest thing to happen.

Still, Guinevere had another theory:

—This was all just a dream. Or rather, just a dream-avatar of Mordred.

Given the circumstances, he suspected they were still inside some kind of dreamscape. And if that was true, then... anything could make sense.

After all, hadn't he had those kinds of dreams where he was suddenly back in school, freaking out because he hadn't done his summer homework, copying furiously off his desk mate, only to wake up just before the teacher slapped him?

"Um, hello...?"

In a dream like that, your mind couldn't recall what came next—so this sweet, innocent version of Mordred was probably just her dream-self.

Especially since she didn't even remember her name at first and thought she was the son of Queen Cassiluda. That memory confusion? Very dreamlike.

So maybe... he should call her "Little Mordred" instead?

"HELLO! Excuse me!"

Finally, the long-ignored little Mordred raised her voice with uncharacteristic boldness.

"Please stop ignoring me!"

"Huh?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Guinevere turned to see a slightly red-faced Mordred, clearly frustrated.

"Stare—"

She even said it out loud. Guinevere blinked in confusion, realizing he'd indeed been rude to her. He'd left her hanging mid-conversation.

"My bad. I got too caught up in my thoughts. What were you saying again?"

"It was my first question... Why do you know my name? I've never seen you before, right?"

"Oh, that?"

Guinevere smacked his forehead.

"It's simple, really. You're confused because you suddenly appeared in this weird place, right? I live here, sort of, but I'm just as confused as you are. So back before you lost your memory, we decided to team up. From here on, we're partners!"

"I see..."

Her expression softened a bit—but not completely.

Still pouting, she looked sullen, which made Guinevere cough awkwardly and ask:

"Uh... do you still have questions? You look like you do..."

"Hmph." She crossed her arms. "You kept ignoring me, even when I answered all your questions. You didn't say sorry, either."

"My sincerest apologies." Guinevere bowed with a wry smile. "Truly, I was being rude. Please forgive me."

That did it—her cloudy face brightened instantly.

"Well, I am Father King's child, after all... As the future ruler, I suppose I can be generous."

Crossing her arms, she muttered:

"Since you apologized... I'll forgive you."

"I'm forever grateful for Your Majesty's boundless mercy!"

Guinevere clapped his hands dramatically.

"I'm not a king yet! Isn't it too early to call me that?"

Her cheeks reddened again.

"Just a preview of the future," Guinevere said with a grin. "You're going to be king someday, right?"

"Mm! You're right!"

—Wow. She's so easy to cheer up.

Watching her bounce back that quickly, Guinevere couldn't help but think.

So adorable... How did Morgan raise such a sweet kid into that sword-happy, hot-tempered older Mordred?

Thinking back to how the grown-up Mordred always gave off "brute force meets scholar" vibes, Guinevere felt like groaning.

Or maybe the Dumb Hair King deserved more of the blame...

"In any case... since my wounds are all bandaged and your questions are answered, I think it's time we did a little exploring."

Guinevere said:

"If we want to figure out what's going on in London, we'll need to ask around."

"London?" Mordred tilted her head. "What's that?"

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know that name." Guinevere smacked his forehead again. "It's what Londinium will be called in the future. You know Londinium, right?"

"Ah! So we're still in Father King's territory!"

She clenched her tiny fists.

"In that case, I must solve this crisis! I won't let anyone defile Father King's land!"

Looking at her renewed determination, Guinevere's expression grew complicated.

Such a good kid... What went wrong?

Seriously, how did Morgan raise this child?

...

Before heading out, Guinevere checked his wounds. Mordred had done a decent job. In fact, the bandage on his chest was tied with a little bow.

"Still, did she really have to wrap me up like this?"

Back on London's foggy streets, Guinevere couldn't help complaining. He felt like a mummy.

"Well, your injuries were really serious..." Mordred pouted. "We had to prevent infection, right?"

"Fine, fair enough."

Guinevere nodded—just as something flickered in the corner of his eye.

"Wait... I think I saw a shadow move in that house."

At once, Mordred tensed and gripped her sword.

—Even in this pre-knight state, her combat capabilities were formidable. Being a clone of Artoria created by Morgan, her physical stats were impressive.

Guinevere estimated she had C to B-tier stats, far above his. That was why she'd easily decapitated the werewolf he'd nearly died trying to kill.

Given that, Guinevere let her keep the strong sword, while he took a flintlock pistol he'd found earlier.

"Something's in there... a person or a monster?"

"Let's check."

He knocked on the door.

"Hello? Anyone inside?"

No response.

Guinevere frowned and raised his sword.

"If nobody answers, I'll just break in!"

Still no reply.

"This tactic doesn't seem to be working," Mordred whispered.

"Give me a second."

He raised the pistol and fired into the air.

"I forgot I have this gun! It's way easier to blast the lock open. If no one replies, I'll assume the place is empty and go right in!"

He aimed at the lock—

"WAIT! Don't shoot!"

A voice finally rang out from inside. A figure appeared at the window.

"Don't break my lock! If you do, the monsters will get in!"

"Huh?" Mordred blinked. "Why's he only reacting now?"

"Because the times have changed," Guinevere whispered. "To him, guns are scarier than swords."

"Ridiculous. Guns can't possibly be stronger than swords."

Guinevere had no answer for that.

The man inside finally approached the door, still cautious.

"You're not monsters?"

"Of course not, my good man," Guinevere said. "Have you ever seen a monster speak this clearly?"

"...You'd be surprised."

Clearly wary, the man didn't open the door.

"Do I know you?"

"Nope. We just want to ask about London."

"London? What's that? A city? Never heard of it."

"Are you sure this is London?" Mordred whispered.

"Hold on." Guinevere asked again, "Is this city called Etti?"

"Huh? What a weird question... Are you tourists or something?"

Still suspicious, the man answered, "Yes, this is Etti."

Just as I thought...

Guinevere had heard the name "Etti" mentioned in earlier dream sequences. Cassiluda was its queen.

He'd suspected the dream version of London was being overwritten by "Etti." Now he was nearly certain.

"Then... what's going on in Etti?"

"You don't know? You're wandering around in this fog without knowing?"

"What do you mean?"

"The monsters, of course! For the past three days, Etti's streets have been full of them—puppets, mechanical beasts, werewolves, giant statues... even ghosts!"

"And now the fog itself is changing. Stay in it too long, and you might become a monster too!"

The man's voice grew serious.

"You know Martin Street? Old Harry from 206 went into the fog—and came back a werewolf!"

Guinevere and Mordred exchanged glances. They'd just been on Martin Street.

"Was it house 206?"

"Yes! That one!"

"..." Guinevere's expression shifted.

"What about the government? Are there any exorcist units left?"

"Exorcists? You're one of those?! Great!"

The man sounded genuinely relieved.

"I've heard the worst monsters come out at night. They even break into homes."

"If you want help, go to the police station. Captain Ella and Prince Adonis are there. They'll know what to do."

"Ella... right, the girl with the mask."

Guinevere nodded.

"One last question—do you know you're dreaming right now?"