"Queen Mother, do I really, really have to rebel against Father?
"Queen Mother, you named me Mordred, hoping I would rebel against my own fate. So, can't I..."
"Little Mordred, do you no longer wish to be King?"
Ever since receiving Merlin's letter confirming the plan's feasibility, Guinevere had felt a profound sense of loss.
What seemed like a favorable outcome for her and the King of Knights would place the entire burden upon Mordred.
Five years later, when Mordred turned ten, Guinevere revealed her expectations, describing the future where Mordred would rebel against her own father.
In the bedroom, seeing the bewildered look on Mordred's face, Guinevere desperately wanted to say that if she didn't want to be King, they would find another way.
But Guinevere's inner conflict was met with Mordred's stunned silence, followed by a bright smile.
"Queen Mother, of course I want to be King!"
From the moment she could walk, Mordred had been raised as the next King. Yet, she never grew to resent this path. Her heart was filled with admiration for her father, and she eagerly awaited the day she would ascend the throne herself.
Now, according to Guinevere's explanation, her final test to become king was simply being replaced with a combat drill—a war game—called the Battle of Camlann.
In this drill, staged under the guise of "rebellion," the King of Knights wouldn't truly die. She would merely abdicate the throne to Mordred and retire to a life of leisure.
And, as Guinevere had just said, the King of Knights wouldn't hold back. If Mordred failed this "exam," they would have to devise another plan.
"Queen Mother, you don't need to say any more. I was thinking about it the wrong way just now. Becoming king is the destiny I've always longed for. What I should be fighting against is the future where Camelot falls to ruin. Didn't that old geezer Merlin say I would die of illness twenty years after becoming king?"
"It should... perhaps... be longer than twenty years now."
The original, inhuman Merlin would never have revealed Mordred's end or cause of death. But the current Merlin, possessing humanity, was willing to mend this imperfection.
His early warning had given the King of Knights and the others time to prepare. For the past five years, Morgan had been trying to resolve the imperfections in Mordred's body.
Moreover, the King of Knights had ultimately lost her scabbard—it had been lost inside Mordred's body, where it was now nourishing her from within.
According to Merlin, if the Human Order wouldn't mind a "reskinned" Camelot lasting another twenty years, then it certainly wouldn't mind Mordred—after 'dying' from 'illness'—traveling with her Father, Queen Mother, and Mother for another twenty years.
"Queen Mother, if that's the case, then I have even more reason to fight! I will use this extra life to extend my kingdom's prosperity for another twenty years!
"Queen Mother, say no more. Becoming King is my wish, and ruling Camelot well is also my wish. Besides, even if it weren't destroyed by my hand, would Father truly accept Camelot gaining only twenty more years of prosperity?!"
Mordred was a stubborn child; once she set her mind on something, she rarely turned back. But this stubbornness was largely Guinevere's doing. The swordsmanship she had taught Mordred was infused with a desperate madness—a willingness to risk death for the chance to live.
Guinevere watched in silence, her thoughts drifting back to a time when she hadn't known the King of Knights was a woman. Back then, to escape her fated marriage, she had pushed herself relentlessly, even imagining herself raising the banner of rebellion to defeat the King of Knights and unify Great Britain.
But what could she do? Since her past life, she had been utterly devoted to the King of Knights. More than all of Great Britain, she cherished the idea of becoming the female King of Knights' partner.
"Humans... they're never satisfied. If that time comes and you still can't let go, then you'd better ask us for help—if we can still lift our swords by then."
"Hmph, no way! Once the throne is mine, it'll be my stage. You two old fossils just need to be good spectators and stay out of my business!"
"Hmm? Old fossils?"
In the spacious bedroom, around a small Round Table, Guinevere's hand once again pinched Mordred's still-chubby cheeks.
This little one was incredibly proud. When the time came, she probably wouldn't ask for help. If Guinevere and the King of Knights returned, Mordred would likely scold them for meddling.
But that scene was at least thirty, perhaps even fifty, years away. By then, Guinevere and the King of Knights might have already died of old age.
In this world, there were countless ways to maintain a youthful appearance, but methods to grant longevity to short-lived races were extremely rare and often came with devastating costs.
When the topic of longevity arose, Guinevere had rejected the King of Knights' suggestion of continuously wielding the Holy Lance. The King of Knights, in turn, had vetoed Guinevere's idea of using the remaining Ancestor Blood Poison to transform into a Dead Apostle.
They had shelved the discussion, deciding to revisit it later.
Looking thirty or fifty years into the future, Camelot would likely still fall to a natural disaster. By then, Mordred would no longer have the resources she currently possessed to resist.
Over the past five years, as the Mystery of Great Britain faded, the number of new Knights in Camelot has drastically decreased.
Before the Decline of Mystery, the Knight Academy could train three hundred new Knights annually. Now, they produce fewer than thirty a year, and that number might continue to fall.
For a small nation like Great Britain, losing its advantage in Knights would make it impossible to maintain dominance over Europe. Once the King of Knights' generation passes away, it would likely be unable to even hold onto Gaul.
Pessimistically, Camelot under Mordred's rule might face a counter-invasion from a united European army—a war fought by ordinary soldiers.
Lost in thought, Guinevere sighed, only then realizing she had been pinching Mordred's small face for too long, leaving it slightly red and swollen.
She quickly withdrew her hand, pretending it was a Queen Mother's punishment for Mordred's insolence. But seeing Mordred's resigned expression, she dropped the act and gently tapped her forehead.
"Let's go. The future is the future's problem. After a few more years with you, it'll be time for my barbecue."
To make the fabricated history sufficiently believable, certain real-world events were necessary. While Guinevere's barbecue could be avoided within the unchangeable nodes of the Human Order, the reason for the Round Table's collapse was essential to achieve that goal.
After much deliberation, Guinevere decided to proceed with the "barbecue" as foretold by the future she knew. After all, everyone was aware of Lancelot's designs on her; if she were truly burned at the stake, it would seem entirely plausible.
Before that, however, Guinevere needed to confirm whether the common folk and Knights, ignorant of the true circumstances, would raise the banner of rebellion in response to her execution, thereby causing the Round Table to shatter.
Currently, her prestige, at least among the populace, surpassed even that of the King of Knights.
Taking Mordred's hand, she led her out of the bedroom. Only five years had passed, yet Mordred had grown so much she could no longer be held in Guinevere's arms.
Compared to the Mordred of the original tale—who grew to adulthood in just a few years and became a Round Table Knight—the current Mordred was merely developing faster than other children her age.
At ten years old, she stood 1.42 meters tall, her heroic bearing making her a true tomboy.