Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

"So... what the hell were you even talking about back there? See? Now he thinks you're some kind of lunatic."

Having left the house, Mordred walked alongside Gawain, grumbling under her breath.

Just as Gawain had expected, the man had flatly denied his last question. In fact, he'd looked at Gawain like he wasn't sure if he'd just woken up or completely lost his mind. Not surprising—after all, people usually don't realize they're dreaming while they're in a dream.

"So tell me—don't you think this might all be a dream?"

Gawain suddenly turned back toward Mordred and asked.

"Hey, that's not funny at all. Don't joke around like that..." Mordred shook her head with a frown.

But Gawain suddenly came to a stop, simply staring at her in silence.

"...Wait, you're not serious, are you?" Mordred paused, looking at him suspiciously.

"Heh... who knows?"

Gawain lazily waved a hand, clearly not in the mood to argue further.

"Anyway, I'm heading to the police station to check something out. You coming or not?"

"Jeez! That was the most obvious subject change I've ever seen!" Mordred puffed up her cheeks in protest.

"Was it?" Gawain shrugged. "So are you coming or not?"

"Of course I am! I mean, you're pretty weak, aren't you? If we run into any monsters in the fog, you'd be toast without me!"

Mordred crossed her arms proudly.

"Oh? Wasn't it you who froze up in fear last time when we saw that werewolf?" Gawain poked at her smug expression.

"T-That was..."

Mordred's face turned red as she looked away in embarrassment.

"That was only because I didn't have any real combat experience yet! But now I'm a knight who's slain a werewolf! I won't be scared next time. Anyway, you said it yourself—I'm way stronger than you! So obviously I have to be the one to protect you!"

"Wow." Gawain laughed softly and ruffled her hair. "How reassuring. Should I be thanking you?"

"Hmph!" Mordred stood up straighter, clearly pleased. "No need to thank me! After all, I'm the future King of Britain! And since you're... uh, from London or whatever, that makes you basically my subject, right? Protecting my people is just what a king does!"

"..."

Gawain paused mid-step.

He'd only been teasing her—speaking in a tone meant for a child—but she'd accepted it with such genuine pride, like a real child being praised.

It reminded him suddenly of something... something about Mordred's origins.

—She was, in Proper Human History, a homunculus created by Morgan using the stolen genes of King Arthur, intended to be a weapon to overthrow the king.

And in the Nasuverse, homunculi generally grow at an accelerated pace. Many are combat-ready right after birth and serve as disposable soldiers. As such, they have notoriously short lifespans.

Mordred, though one of the more advanced homunculi, still bore the same fundamental traits. She grew up in just a few short years and was serving as a knight by the time she was practically still a toddler.

Which meant... this version of Mordred, who hadn't even become a knight yet, might only be two or three years old right now.

Not even a child, really—more like an oversized infant.

And even when she eventually betrayed Arthur and died on the Hill of Camlann, she was probably no older than seven or eight.

Yes... even when she died, she was still, in every sense of the word, just a child.

Considering that, it made perfect sense that her Noble Phantasm was something like "Clarent Blood Arthur: Rebellion Against My Glorious Father." After all, what age is more rebellious than childhood?

"Hm? What's wrong?" Mordred noticed Gawain had stopped and turned to look at him.

"Just... thinking about something."

He hesitated, unsure how to continue.

"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head with curious eyes.

And staring into those innocent, inquisitive eyes, Gawain finally gave in and asked:

"Mordred, how old are you right now?"

"Huh?" She blinked, then frowned in thought.

Seeing her expression, Gawain quickly added, "You don't have to answer if—"

"Can't really remember..." she interrupted. "Mother never told me my exact birthday or anything. But going by how long I've been conscious... maybe two or three years?"

She gave a big, carefree grin.

"But it doesn't look like it at all, does it? That's because I'm a homunculus. We grow way faster than humans. Give me a few more years and I'll look just like Father!"

So she really is only two or three...

Gawain sighed silently.

"But... doesn't that also mean your lifespan will be far shorter than normal?" he asked gently.

"Whoa—how do you even know that?" Mordred blinked in surprise.

"So... do you ever feel like your life is too short?" he asked, the weight of the question settling between them.

She didn't answer right away. Her footsteps slowed.

Maybe I shouldn't have asked...

Gawain started to feel guilty for bringing it up. But then, Mordred let out a sigh and gave a small smile.

"Now that you mention it... yeah, maybe it is kind of sad."

"I'm swinging a sword every day, training to be a knight... while kids my age are probably still out playing. By the time they grow up, I'll probably be old or already dead."

"But hey—gain something, lose something, right? After all, I'm Father's child! The same blood runs in me!"

She lifted her chin high, voice brimming with pride.

"Just being born as her child makes it all worth it, even if I don't have many tomorrows. My Father is the greatest King in all of history—being her child, it's only natural that I'm not ordinary!"

"Oh, right!" she added suddenly, her eyes sparkling. "Didn't you say I'll be a Knight of the Round Table someday? That means my life is going to be super awesome, right?"

"..."

Gawain fell silent.

He had watched her expression carefully while she spoke—and even if she tried to sound cheerful, he could see the shadow of sadness behind her pride.

But what struck him most was not that fleeting sorrow—it was the overwhelming pride and hope that filled her words.

—She genuinely believed that being Arthur's child was worth more than any amount of time.

It reminded him of a line from an old movie:

"To shine twice as bright, one must burn twice as fast."

That, he thought, perfectly described the Mordred before him.

"...Yes."

He nodded softly.

"Your future will be anything but ordinary. You'll become one of the legendary Knights of the Round Table, fighting at Arthur's side... and your story will live on for generations."

"Awesome!"

Mordred cheered and spun around in delight.

"So what's my legend going to be? Like Lancelot's 'Knights never die barehanded' or Gawain's 'Triple power under the sun'? Can you tell me?"

This time, it was Gawain's turn to freeze.

What was he supposed to say? That her most famous deed was betraying King Arthur and ending the era of the Round Table?

He'd already tried his best to beautify her future without outright lying!

Luckily, Mordred saved him the trouble by waving her hands dismissively.

"Never mind! Don't tell me yet—let me keep a little surprise for the future!"

"...Yeah, that might be for the best." Gawain let out a breath of relief and smiled. "Honestly, I was struggling to pick which of your many feats to talk about first."

"Whaaat! Really?!"

Just like that, Mordred's mood shot back up.

"In that case, let's go! I'll start my legend right here and now! Go! Go! Go!"

Watching her dart off into the fog, full of energy and dreams, Gawain stood there for a moment, lost in thought.

This Mordred was so different from the one he remembered—the fierce, fiery knight with anger burning in her eyes.

This one still looked toward the future with hope.

If he recalled correctly, Mordred's transformation in Proper Human History began when Arthur rejected her.

Originally, Mordred knew nothing of her origins. But because of her short life expectancy, she started training hard from a very young age, dreaming of becoming a noble knight like the ones in stories.

Even after Morgan shattered that innocence by revealing the truth—that she was the unholy offspring of Arthur and Morgan, a child never meant to exist—she didn't give up.

She was proud to be Arthur's child.

Even when Morgan asked her to rebel, to take Arthur's throne, she refused—determined instead to earn her father's recognition.

For a girl who had never known love from a father, being acknowledged by Arthur meant everything.

But when she finally confessed her origins to Arthur, Arthur—Proper Human History's Artoria—coldly rejected her.

Was it because she hated Morgan? Or because she saw Mordred as unworthy of the throne?

No one knew except Arthur herself.

But from that moment on, Mordred changed.

The higher you stand, the harder you fall.

Hope turned to despair, and hatred took root in her heart.

Later, when Arthur went on her Roman campaign, Mordred led a coup from Camelot, sparking the legendary Battle of Camlann.

And there... mother and child died together.

Thinking of all this, Gawain looked again at the little Mordred before him, and his heart grew heavier.

If only Arthur had been a little kinder to her only child... would history have turned out differently?

But that was just wishful thinking now. The past couldn't be changed.

This Mordred was just a memory—an echo of someone who no longer had a future.

Even so, she still swung her sword each day, striving to be a great knight... a worthy heir to Arthur's legacy.

——But then again...

A new thought crossed Gawain's mind.

The past couldn't be changed—but what if Mordred met Artoria Caster?

Unlike the stoic, emotionally distant King of Proper Human History, Artoria Caster—this world's "Child of Prophecy"—was gentle, empathetic, someone who truly understood others.

Could she heal Mordred's wounds?

Would Mordred... acknowledge her as her father?

And if that happened... what would that make Gawain?

Surely not...

He shivered.

...Don't tell me she'd really start calling me "Mother"?

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

"Hey! Um..."

Mordred's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"There's someone up ahead. Looks like... a little girl?"

Gawain followed her gaze—and sure enough, there she was.

A familiar tattered cloak. White hair. Eyes like a cat's. A scar across her cheek.

He recognized her instantly.

Jack the Ripper.

Only... she looked even younger than the last time he saw her.