Her Dream

Warm sunlight streamed through the massive French windows, casting its golden rays onto the floor.

Several steadfast knights stood silently guarding on either side of the corridor.

Mordred suddenly felt as if the corridor she had walked through countless times before seemed shorter than usual. However, before she could even gather her thoughts, she had already reached its end.

Gazing at the familiar door before her, she took a deep breath, raising her slightly trembling arm to knock three times.

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

With each knock, her heart seemed to echo the rhythm, making it hard for her to distinguish between the sound of knocking and her own heartbeat.

"Come in."

A cold voice came from beyond the door.

It was a voice she had listened to countless times, yet never before had it sounded so beautiful. Whether it was her imagination or not, she couldn't shake the feeling that this time, this voice held a hint of warmth amidst its usual coldness.

Without further thought—or perhaps because she couldn't be bothered to think any longer—Mordred pushed open the door gently.

*Creak—*

The familiar hall greeted her eyes, and the knights standing on either side immediately turned their attention toward her.

Each face was familiar—Lancelot, Lamorak, Gareth, Gawain, Percival, Gaheris, Galahad, Bedivere, Tristan, Palamedes, and standing beside her, Agravain.

All the Knights of the Round Table were currently in attendance.

Since the establishment of the Round Table, such gatherings of all the knights were quite rare. Furthermore, whenever they did occur, it signified significant events were unfolding.

However, Mordred paid no mind to this. From the moment she stepped into the hall, her gaze was firmly fixed upon the figure seated on the throne.

It was none other than Artoria, in her male Arthur persona.

"Sir Mordred."

Artoria on the throne stood up. Her silver armor reflected a brilliant light under the magical lamps, and her eyes, as clear as a tranquil lake, held a profound sense of sacredness and solemnity within her delicate features.

Seeing Artoria's majestic figure, Mordred shivered involuntarily, instinctively dropping to one knee.

"My King."

"This time, you have led the army to capture Gaul, achieving great victory for Britain." Artoria's voice remained as calm as ever, devoid of any emotion, much like her gaze. "After a lengthy discussion in the meeting of the Round Table, we have unanimously decided to reward you. If there's anything you desire, feel free to speak up."

"I... I merely seek your acknowledgment—" Mordred began but swallowed her words, bowing her head respectfully. "Receiving your praise is the greatest reward for me."

Artoria gazed at Mordred silently for a while before continuing her words.

"Those who merit reward shall receive it; that is the custom. Since you are reluctant to ask, I shall decide for you."

Upon hearing that, Mordred's heart pounded with anticipation. It was the first time the King had bestowed a reward upon her.

What could it be?

*Tap* *Tap* *Tap* *Tap*

The crisp sound of footsteps snapped Mordred out of her trance. She instinctively raised her head, only to find Artoria standing before her, expressionless.

As she looked into that emotionless and cold face, a slight panic rose within Mordred, but she managed to restrain herself, holding her posture steady without flinching.

"I've been thinking for a while, maybe only this thing suits you..." Artoria said before glancing at Agravain. "Bring it over."

Agravain stepped out from behind Mordred and respectfully handed a sword to Artoria, who examined it briefly before passing it on to Mordred.

"I hope you won't be disappointed with this reward."

Mordred took the sword from Artoria's hand in a daze. It was a rather splendid two-handed longsword, with magical letters inscribed on the silver blade.

'Clarent...'

Mordred gulped, feeling a dryness in her throat. If she remembered correctly, this sword should be—

"The royal sword of succession, Clarent." Artoria's lips curved slightly. "How is it? Are you satisfied with this reward, Sir Mordred?"

"I... This..." Mordred's mind was in complete disarray.

Why would the King bestow this sword upon her? Wasn't this sword supposed to be a symbol of kingship denoting the right of succession to the throne?

"Obviously, because only you are the most suitable owner for this sword..." Artoria's voice carried an unprecedented gentleness. "My child."

Upon hearing the term 'my child', Mordred's heart skipped a beat. Before she could react, Artoria's hands gently touched her head, and with a light lift, her helmet, known as the Secret of Pedigree, which had almost become a part of her, was removed, revealing her true face.

Mordred instinctively reached for her helmet, but as she gazed upon the face identical to her own, she dared not show any hint of foolishness.

"From now on, you won't need this anymore." Artoria tossed the helmet aside casually. "Those of the Pendragon bloodline should stand proudly in the sunlight, rather than hiding behind shadows, afraid to reveal their true identity."

"Did you... perhaps already know about my... true identity?" Mordred asked, slightly anxious.

"Of course, your veins carry my blood. How could I not know?" Artoria's tone remained gentle.

"But I..." Mordred still felt uneasy, fully aware of the sensitivity of her identity.

"That doesn't matter." Artoria waved her hand dismissively. "You've already shown your capability as my heir, and I believe you will become a worthy king in the future."

"D-Do you... Do you think so?"

Surprise flickered in Mordred's eyes.

"Of course. If you don't believe me, just ask them." Artoria smiled, gesturing toward the knights below.

Every Knights of the Round Table exchanged glances, and eventually, all knelt down spontaneously, bowing their heads in unison.

"Greetings, Your Royal Highness!"

Seeing this, Mordred turned her head to Clarent in her hand, still finding it hard to believe. Her dream, her impossible and unattainable dream she once harbored, had actually come true.

However, wasn't this too good to be true?

Yet—

She glanced at Artoria in front of her, then at the knights kneeling below. A smile gradually spread across her face.

Even if this was a dream, she was willing to stay here forever, never to wake up.