Five-year-old Little Mordred was remarkably well-behaved, except for her aversion to reading and writing. She preferred playing games and practicing swordplay...
Among her three family members, she loved her Father most, followed by her Mother, and least of all, the wicked Queen Mother Guinevere.
As the tiny golden-haired, clear-eyed girl rushed toward the King of Knights with a joyful shout, the usually stern knight's face softened into a smile as she caught the leaping child securely in her arms.
"Mordred, did you study diligently today?"
The question froze the joy on Little Mordred's face, replacing it with a squirming expression.
Morgan herself had strayed from righteousness, yet the child she had raised was utterly honest. Little Mordred couldn't even bring herself to tell a small lie to her father, the King of Knights.
"Father, Mordred was wrong. After Father holds me a bit longer, Mordred will go back to studying with Queen Mother..."
Her face twisted into a pout, but Little Mordred stubbornly refused to cry. Ever since she could understand human speech, she had known she would one day be the King of Camelot, and she didn't resent her destiny. She deeply admired her dignified and virtuous father, the King.
"There's no need to rush, Father still has matters to discuss with your Queen Mother."
Cradling her in his arms and stroking her hair, the King of Knights had watched Mordred grow from the moment she emerged from the cultivation tank, truly witnessing her development. From the moment she learned to speak, she had listened daily to her joyful cries of "Father."
Whether Mordred could inherit the throne remained to be seen, dependent on her growth. But whether the King of Knights recognized her as her daughter was never in doubt. She cherished her dearly.
"Mordred, do you feel wronged? Just because this era favors male rulers, just because a male heir would bring greater stability, you can't wear beautiful dresses like your Queen Mother and Mother. Instead, you must endure extra training in governance and knighthood every day..."
"Father! Are you unhappy because of that? Besides, didn't you wear little dresses when you were alone with the Queen Mother?"
Little Mordred's face flushed crimson, and she couldn't finish her sentence. The King of Knights, still inexperienced in raising children, didn't realize that with her as a role model, Little Mordred would never feel resentful.
"Being just like you, Father, only makes me happier! I love you even more!"
Little Mordred's smile remained radiant, her tone still gentle and obedient. As if to reassure the King of Knights that she truly wasn't unhappy, she reluctantly wriggled out of his embrace, picked up her small wooden sword from the nearby corridor, and tossed Galahad's sword and shield to him.
The adults present could easily guess what the little ones were planning.
Though both children were only five years old, they had already undergone two years of knight training. Their training had been carefully adjusted to ensure it wouldn't hinder their physical development, gradually building a solid foundation.
In the garden, at a small gathering platform of about ten square meters, the two youngsters exchanged the most proper knightly salutes, striking their stances with meticulous precision.
Next, Little Mordred, wielding a two-handed sword, launched her attack with wild abandon, slamming her blade viciously against Galahad's small wooden shield.
For a five-year-old, the strike carried impressive force and momentum. Fortunately, Galahad was no ordinary child either. He stood his ground, discarding his right-hand wooden sword, and retaliated with a brutal counterstrike after parrying Mordred's blow.
Galahad's strength surpassed even Mordred's.
The King of Knights and the other knights watched the children's spirited clash intently, preparing to offer their assessments after the youngsters presented their "treasures."
Though both five years old, Mordred and Galahad had received different knightly training. Mordred's chief instructor was Guinevere, which explained her fiery spirit even at such a young age.
Galahad, while distant from his father, acknowledged his father's martial prowess and trained under him. At just five years old, his shield techniques already approached flawless execution.
"In the future, their martial prowess alone will undoubtedly secure them positions among the Round Table Knights' Top Twelve Seats," one knight remarked.
By the age of five, both children had already forged their own paths. It was entirely conceivable that by fifteen, they would surpass their mentors.
"What's so impressive about just the Top Twelve Seats? Mordred is going to sit beside Father and become the First Seat of the Round Table Knights!"
Mordred, benefiting from her Red Dragon Bloodline and superior stamina, literally exhausted Galahad into defeat.
After her victory, the little brat became insufferably smug, declaring without hesitation her intention to cut down Lancelot, who was present, and even her Queen Mother, with brute force.
"That little brat~"
"Guinevere, what are you planning? Mordred's arrogance is a good thing. As the future King of Great Britain, she should have such a temperament. Didn't you once tell my foolish sister that a true King should be the one who laughs the loudest and rages the fiercest? You should apply those words to Mordred too, not just expect her to be a well-behaved child."
Unlike the disobedient adult children like Gawain, Mordred was very close to her mother, making Morgan particularly fond of her youngest daughter.
Moreover, she was delighted that Mordred favored her over Guinevere.
Thus, the moment Morgan sensed Guinevere's intention to scold the child, she immediately interrupted, silencing Guinevere with her own words, leaving her unable to retort.
This verbal clash belonged to Morgan's victory.
Their words naturally reached the ears of Little Mordred and everyone else present.
Seeing Little Mordred's eyes shining with admiration and her face beaming with approval, Guinevere simply couldn't bring herself to scold her.
"Anyway, just keep playing here for now. I need to borrow your Father first!"
The "borrowing" merely meant walking to the nearby corridor. They weren't alone, however; Lancelot, the Kingdom's strongest Knight, followed them.
"Lia, have you decided to declare war?"
"Emperor Lucius of Rome has already launched an undeclared war," Lia replied. "Our intelligence networks across the European continent were purged three days ago. Master Merlin personally informed us during the recent meeting."
"You mean our intelligence networks were completely wiped out without sending a single message? What about the past three days...?"
"Yes, Emperor Lucius's men have been feeding us false intelligence."
"Hiss..."
Despite herself, Guinevere gasped. Camelot's intelligence network was still relatively new, and its presence on the European continent was particularly weak.
But to completely crush them and prevent them from even sending out news of their annihilation, the enemy's power must be overestimated as much as possible.
"Is it the Holy Church?"
"Yes," the King of Knights nodded, then continued, "How are the mages who are cooperating with you? Can they join the campaign this time?"
"I'll contact them immediately. Lia, let's strike with all our might in this battle. If we lose, Camelot's future will become even more hellish."
Great Britain had enjoyed five years of bountiful harvests, but this year the weather had turned ominous. Even though it was barely summer, temperatures had already soared past thirty degrees Celsius.
The Decline of Mystery was accelerating, its final stage imminent.