I'm Not A Master, I'm A Director
Chapter 387: Where Is Merlin, Where Is Merlin~♪
"Pff—cough, cough."
The instant that certain scammer magician's voice echoed through the theater, Arturia nearly sprayed the drink she was halfway through all over the place.
Thankfully, her control over her own body was absurdly precise. She slapped a hand over her mouth just in time, forcibly swallowing the drink back down before it could escape.
That said, her throat paid a terrible price for it.
"Cough… cough…"
Arturia cleared her throat softly, staring up at the movie screen with a completely different expression now.
"Merlin? What's going on here? Did Master actually summon him?"
She leaned forward, scanning the entire screening room, checking again and again—until she was certain that a certain fun-loving mage was not lurking anywhere nearby.
The only reason the King of Knights even had such a thought was because of that voice just now.
From Fate/Stay Night all the way to Fate/Apocrypha, Merlin had never officially appeared in Shinji's version of Fate, but his presence was anything but small. The number of times he showed up cloaked in a white hood was far from rare.
Yet in all previous versions, no matter which Merlin it was, the voice Shinji used had always been deliberately vague.
It was hard for most people to tell whether Merlin was an old man or a young one, which only added to his air of mystery.
But this time—inside Mordred's mind—the voice that appeared was unmistakably the real Merlin's voice, exactly as Arturia remembered it.
'What the hell? How does Master know Merlin's voice?'
Based on earlier works, Arturia had always assumed that Shinji didn't know Merlin's true appearance.
And that made sense. In the written records of the Nasuverse, descriptions of Merlin's looks weren't just rare, they were basically nonexistent.
Every depiction of Merlin's appearance came from modern imagination, and without exception, they all portrayed him as an old man. A perfect example was Disney's long animated film The Sword in the Stone.
After all, Merlin had lived through the entire Arthurian era, and combined with his "guide-the-hero kindly old wizard" role—eerily similar to Gandalf—it was only natural that people pictured him as an elderly man.
Shinji's version of Fate leaned heavily into mystery when it came to Merlin. Anyone with even a basic understanding of Arthurian legend would immediately recognize that white-clad magician as Merlin, but beyond that, details were intentionally obscured.
But now—
'Why use Merlin's real voice this time?'
The fact that Merlin hadn't been summoned, yet his original voice still appeared, didn't trouble Arturia much.
With Yan Qing's disguise abilities, as long as Shinji had a reference in mind, Yan Qing could adjust bit by bit until it matched.
What truly puzzled her was how Shinji knew Merlin's real voice in the first place, and why he chose to use it now, instead of continuing to shroud the character in mystery.
And Arturia wasn't the only one caught off guard.
Many audience members were equally stunned by Merlin's appearance.
Of course, what shocked them wasn't Merlin himself, but the shockingly young voice.
"That was Merlin just now, right?" Shibamatsu asked the friend beside him.
Fujita answered without hesitation, "Obviously. Who else could it be?"
"The voice is way too young," Shibamatsu said, frowning in confusion. "It's completely different from the old grandpa I imagined."
"Who knows…" Li Ri'ang scratched his head, equally baffled. "I mean, if the boss can summon Heroic Spirits, maybe Merlin was actually young in history?"
"Or maybe it's another Knight of the Round Table?" Shibamatsu still couldn't quite accept it.
"Like Gawain… or Kay?"
In his mind, that white-bearded old wizard simply refused to become a young man.
The reason Shibamatsu still clung to a sliver of hope was simple: Merlin had spoken only that single line before the camera cut away.
Now, the scene on the big screen had shifted to Sisigou and Astolfo, standing outside Mordred's battle chamber.
"Ah… this is looking troublesome," Sisigou let out a sigh.
With Astolfo's help, he had made it to the door of Mordred's combat room.
Calling it "help" was no exaggeration. The moment Mordred was poisoned, Sisigou sensed the violent fluctuation of his Servant's mana.
Wanting to understand what was happening, he directly linked his right eye to Mordred's vision and promptly got blinded.
Well, "blinded by poison" wasn't entirely accurate.
The instant Sisigou realized he had been poisoned, he gouged out his own right eye to prevent the toxin from spreading further through his body.
Fortunately, the naturally cautious Sisigou hadn't connected both eyes. His left eye remained intact, preserving his vision.
Besides, to a magus, eyes were important, but also strangely not that important.
After all, when magical eyes were routinely transplanted, ophthalmologists were practically overflowing in the mage world.
So Sisigou had only one thought regarding his sudden blindness:
'Next time, I'll grab myself a high-grade pair of Mystic Eyes on the Mystic Eye Train.'
"Hell, I might as well replace the other eye too," he muttered.
"I've been jealous of those Mystic Eye users for a while now."
Compared to his own eyes, what concerned Sisigou far more was what lay beyond the door in front of him.
From the chaotic, distorted flow of mana leaking through, he knew Mordred was almost certainly in a dire situation.
Just connecting their vision had destroyed his eye, there was no need to imagine how much pain Mordred herself was enduring.
"Calm down," Sisigou told himself.
Yet as he stared at the single remaining Command Spell on the back of his hand, unease gnawed at his heart.
After losing his right eye, Sisigou had immediately used a Command Spell, attempting to forcibly recall Mordred to his side.
The Command Spell had clearly activated.
But under the influence of this flying fortress, his order was suppressed.
One Command Spell had vanished from his hand. He had felt that unmistakable surge—the release of massive magical energy.
And yet, his Servant had not returned.
"Tch, so even Command Spells can be sealed?!"
Sisigou slammed his fist against the door, frustration boiling over.
As for why Mordred hadn't been recalled, Astolfo suspected it was due to that Assassin's Noble Phantasm—the interference caused by the airborne fortress itself.
This Hanging Gardens was the domain of the Red Faction's Assassin. Being suppressed inside her own territory was only natural.
In the end, a Command Spell was still just a form of magecraft.
And anything that was magecraft could be countered… or suppressed.
But that made Mordred's situation far more dangerous.
Sisigou stared at the Command Spell on his hand, deep in thought.
If he used another one, he might be able to break through Assassin's restriction.
But—
This was his last Command Spell.
Jeanne wasn't nearby, and Sisigou didn't have the time to go looking for her to replenish them.
In fact, he'd lost contact with Jeanne some time ago already. Chances were, the Saint was dealing with a rough battle of her own.
Sisigou even suspected that going to find Jeanne would just get him bogged down by enemies on her side.
Worse still, he couldn't even tell what condition Mordred was in beyond that door.
He was certain she was in a terrible state, but the specifics were unknown.
And with every second he hesitated, Mordred's chances of survival ticked down, moment by moment.
"What should I do…?"
Each passing second felt unbearably slow, and that very slowness only fed the anxiety gnawing at his heart.
The only card he had left to play was Rider.
But with Astolfo's raw power alone, facing the Empress head-on would be a losing battle.
The only thing that might shake the situation—even slightly—were Astolfo's flashy Noble Phantasms.
But how could he use them effectively…?
"Damn it…"
Sisigou fell into confusion.
'Think, Sisigou.'
'What a Master can do is never limited to simply giving orders to their Servant.'
'Most Servants are capable of acting on their own. A Servant isn't just a familiar—they're a partner.'
'So then… what exactly is a Master's responsibility?'
Sisigou understood now.
As a Master, his duty was to think, to rewrite a zero-percent chance of victory into something, anything, greater than zero.
Suddenly, as he frantically sifted through everything he knew about Astolfo, a breakthrough flashed through his mind.
"…But even then, the success rate is probably less than one percent."
Sisigou removed his sunglasses and silently wiped them with the hem of his coat.
Hesitation meant defeat.
If he did nothing, Mordred's loss was already inevitable.
Even if the chance of victory was only one percent, in a dead-end situation like this, he had to gamble on it.
"Waiting around will only make things worse. It's time to go all in."
Sisigou turned to Astolfo and asked with absolute seriousness, "Rider, are you willing to follow my plan?"
"Of course! Old man, your brain definitely works better than mine," Astolfo replied without a second thought.
Fully aware that his head was good for little more than boiling water, Astolfo decisively handed over command.
"Good. Then let's go, Rider."
Sisigou flashed Astolfo a broad, fearless grin.
"If everything goes smoothly, we'll make that arrogant Empress take a really nasty fall."
"Oh!" Astolfo shouted enthusiastically, pumping a small fist into the air.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
No one in the audience knew what Sisigou's plan actually was.
The camera cut once more, and with the flow of the story, their perspective returned to Mordred's illusion.
Until the very last moment, Shinji had no intention of letting the audience relax.
Only by keeping their hearts hanging like this could he ensure their eyes never left the screen.
Within the illusion, Mordred still hesitated, unable to decide whether to draw the sword.
Merlin's warning hadn't strengthened her resolve, it had only deepened her uncertainty.
Did she really have the right to reach out and grasp it?
At that moment, a young girl appeared before the sword.
It seemed that while Mordred wavered, the turn had already passed to someone else.
As Mordred stared blankly at the girl's back, she felt an inexplicable familiarity.
This was someone she knew very well.
"You should think things through before you take that," the magus standing beside them warned the girl.
"The moment you pull out that sword, you'll stop being human and meet a horrible end."
From his words alone, Mordred could clearly feel one thing—
He desperately did not want the girl to pull the sword.
"No."
Despite the magus's warning, the girl standing before Mordred rejected it without hesitation.
"Do you really want to be king that badly?" Mordred asked, unable to understand.
"It's not like that."
The girl turned around and spoke to Mordred in a gentle, yet resolute voice.
"There's no way that a path that makes a lot of innocents let out such happy smiles is a mistake."
"Ah… that really is your answer, Father."
A bitter smile spread across Mordred's face.
In that instant, everything became clear to her.
From the very beginning, her way of thinking had been completely different from Arturia's.
"Father… you didn't protect the people because you were king. You became king because you wanted to protect the people."
At last, Mordred realized the truth.
What she had admired was never a heroic, towering figure, but a frame so slender it was almost painfully fragile.
The future was already decided.
A tragic end was inevitable.
Even after being shown such a cruel fate by the magus, the girl still firmly grasped the sword's hilt, opening the legend that belonged to her alone.
Yet compared to the magnificent life that awaited her, this beginning was unbearably lonely.
No one cheered for her.
Those knights all believed they were the most suitable candidate to be king, too busy competing atop their horses.
No one believed in the girl—
No, more accurately…
Everyone had simply overlooked her.
In such an environment, the girl embraced a single belief—
If so many people could smile, then this choice could not be wrong.
For that sake, she was willing to sacrifice herself and face her challenge head-on.
To others, drawing the sword was the greatest obstacle on the path to kingship.
But for this girl—one destined from the start—the true trial was not the act of drawing the sword, but the decision to do so.
At the very moment her hand closed around the hilt, the magus suddenly turned his head and looked toward Mordred.
With a bright, easy smile, he asked:
"So then, what will you do?"
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
Outside the screen, the audience watching Fate/Apocrypha was completely absorbed in Mordred's transformation.
They watched as she gradually came to understand Arturia's state of mind, reflected on her own past mistakes, and slowly emerged from her confusion.
As Mordred's heart changed, the scenery around her continued to shift as well—hazy and dreamlike, as if wrapped in illusion.
Yet the audience before the screen could clearly feel her resolve solidifying.
This was especially true for the magi in the audience.
Alice was one of them.
Because of her exceptional talent in magecraft, she was far more sensitive than those around her and were far more easily drawn into Mordred's moment of enlightenment.
Perhaps it was because Mordred's journey—from confusion to understanding—was so striking, so deeply moving in some indescribable way.
Without realizing it, Alice found herself sinking into it.
Gradually, she began to understand Mordred's thoughts.
And at the same time, she realized something unsettling—
Without noticing, her own perspective had shifted to align with Mordred's.
She already had an answer.
And she felt an overwhelming urge to tell Merlin.
'If I want to tell him… then I have to find him first—wait, why am I thinking this?'
A voice in her mind seemed to warn her that something was wrong.
—It was a magus's sixth sense.
Alice realized she was being affected by some kind of suggestion magecraft.
But before she could fully grasp what was happening, Mordred's realization on the screen had reached its climax.
At that moment, Merlin turned to face the camera.
And through the screen, he met Alice's eyes directly.
"…So then, what will you do?"
Boom!
The instant Alice locked eyes with that deep, unfathomable gaze, the brief moment stretched endlessly long.
In a flash, she seemed to see a white tower standing within a garden of flowers.
At the top of the tower, a white-robed magus clutching a staff as tall as a man appeared to have been startled, collapsing backward onto the floor.
"Oh dear… I've been found out."
The magus complained softly, his tone tinged with resignation.
The next moment, Alice felt her thoughts snap back to reality—just like Mordred's had in the film.
"…What just happened?"
<+>
Tn: I updated the story once every 2 days, but if you want to see more chapter of this story ahead of time, please go to my Patreon.
Latest Chapter: Chapter 429: Another Poor Kid Who Gets Sold and Still Says Thanks[1]
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