[FGO] Storm King
In the end, Morgan still did not meet the blond knight.
Tristan seemed to be deliberately keeping Morgan away, fully aware that he was about to have a conversation with a third party. The Knight of the Round Table, who had returned to Morgan's side, simply said, "I'm very sorry, there are no plants or flowers around to offer to the deceased. If we were to search further away, we would not be able to notice the potential dangers around you."
Upon hearing this, Morgan did not blame him. "Is that so? Then there's nothing we can do."
Morgan had only asked to meet Gawain, a Knight of the Round Table, to find something to do; she didn't actually insist on recognizing him as a relative.
While it may sound cold, Morgan didn't really have much of a sense of being a mother.
Morgan le Fay's various deeds (including using her children to assassinate King Arthur) all fall under the category of enchantress.
Even when she occasionally consciously surfaced, existing as a human (King Arthur's sister), her spirit remained in the romantic stage of her girlhood.
This is why, despite sharing Morgan le Fay's memories, she still felt complicated feelings towards the Knights of the Round Table (the children).
But Morgan genuinely wanted them to get along well.
After all, you're bound to run into each other all the time, wouldn't it be extremely awkward if you didn't get along? Morgan thought to himself.
It was already evening when they returned to the Holy City. They still hadn't encountered Mordred on the way. Whether it was a coincidence or the knight was deliberately avoiding them, they didn't know.
As servants, the Knights of the Round Table did not need to eat. Morgan did not explain her situation, but Tristan still ordered food for her. This thoughtfulness surprised her and deepened her impression of Tristan as a playboy.
—Sir Tristan is so skilled; he is indeed a master who can navigate through a sea of flowers without getting a single petal on him!
After Morgan finished her meal and put down her cutlery, Tristan brought the news she had been waiting for: "Your Highness Morgan, the King is already in the audience hall. If it is convenient for you, please go and join him."
-
As night fell, the cool moonlight blanketed the desert and gilded every brick and tile of the holy city with a layer of silvery frost.
As she walked through the corridor bathed in the hazy glow of moonlight, the island witch's black and blue patterned skirt rippled in gentle arcs.
For a fleeting moment, the corridor before her seemed to overlap with Camelot in her memory, reminding her of the few times she had "awakened" and wandered through the palace gardens in the embrace of the night, feeling the cool breeze.
Perhaps it is another memory of some "Morgan".
Morgan thought to himself.
Morgan's memories are stuck in a self-imposed confinement within "that tower," where he studies magic.
She had not yet been welcomed into Camelot at that time, so the above scene was by no means her actual experience.
A profound sense of loneliness overwhelmed Morgan, as if he had been walking through the world in a frantic manner, only to find that he had left no trace of himself when he looked back.
"Yes, Sister Wang. Please let me accompany you on the journey you've been longing for."
The precious words he had heard before his consciousness faded came back to him, causing Morgan to smile involuntarily.
That's all.
As long as I have this thought, I can keep going.
Morgan took a firm step.
...
…
The large audience hall was unlit, with only the cold moonlight from outside the windows illuminating the interior furnishings.
Across a long table from the entrance is the throne on the steps, which, perhaps because it is surrounded by walls on three sides, looks at first glance like some kind of giant beast crouching in the darkness. To the left is a wall adorned with decorative flags and a pedestal, while to the right are rows of pointed floor-to-ceiling windows that extend to the steps, through which shimmering white moonlight, cut into pieces, spills onto a dark velvet carpet with gold trim.
As Morgan walked slowly toward the throne, she noticed someone was there.
It should be said that what was thought to be a "statue" came to life, and from the depths of the lightless throne, the crisp sound of armor rubbing against each other came from afar.
The black steel armor's shoulder guards and chest were bulging with terrifying spikes, and its meticulous, clean lines displayed a distinctly fierce and imposing aura. As the towering, dark figure, as majestic as a rugged mountain range, approached with steady steps, the aura emanating from its body brought a strong sense of oppression.
King Arthur, dressed in a chilling aura, stepped down from his throne without uttering a word, until he was a step away from Morgan, who was bathed in moonlight.
Given the height of the king in front of him, Morgan had to raise his head to meet his gaze.
Its entire body was covered in heavy armor as black as ink, and the same color visor was inlaid with a circle of black mane that reached down to its waist. A pair of sharp golden lights shone from the opening in the helmet. Its fierce appearance could not help but remind people of some kind of ferocious predator.
Before Morgan could speak, his large hand, encased in a glove, slowly covered her cheek, carefully parting her soft, silver hair and gently caressing her fair skin with the most tender touch.
In his distraction, his cold fingertips had already become warmed by the woman's body temperature.
Time seemed to stand still at this moment.
In this moonlit stillness, it seemed only the two of them remained, gazing at each other.
Morgan suddenly felt a little awkward.
No King Arthur in any world ever behaved in this way.
Such an extremely tender gesture.
Although the helmet obscured Arthur's expression, Morgan keenly, or rather intuitively, sensed an undeniable heat emanating from his golden gaze that was fixed directly on her.
"Arthur?"
Morgan.
Unlike the burning intensity of his gaze, the other person's voice was like an undercurrent flowing through the cold, icy riverbed of a glacier, sharp and carrying a chilling coldness that could freeze a person's heart.
King Arthur standing before Morgan—
It is Artorius Pendragon.
...but they are not quite the same.
It wasn't just his posture, which seemed to have swallowed a curse, but also the mature aura he exuded as he transitioned from youth to manhood. These intriguing differences made Morgan hesitate.
The island witch never expected that the heartbeat beneath her chest would be so unfamiliar.
It felt as if my heart was about to jump out of my mouth. In that rapid rhythm, everything I could see was shrouded in a blur, and the air I breathed became scorching hot.
Whether simply responding to the other person's call or trying to hide this sudden surge of shyness, Morgan forced out a sentence from her throat:
"Artorias, whether you are King Arthur or the Storm King, my relationship with you will not change. Perhaps you should call me 'Sister Queen'."
Driven by a competitive spirit that he himself couldn't quite explain, Morgan didn't break free from the other's grasp, his moonlit blue eyes staring directly at Altoris without flinching.
A moment later, she heard the other person say in a cool, clear voice:
"I've been waiting for you for a long time, Sister Wang."
The whispers carried by the night breeze are like traversing long years, shuttling through endless time, and are murmured in the memories that are gradually blurred by dazzling light.
Morgan was stunned for a moment upon hearing this.
Immediately afterwards, the intense heat spread from Morgan's face, so hot that she had the illusion that even her fingertips were being burned by the heat.
Captured by those golden eyes, she felt as if she had fallen into an abyss called "Artorius Pendragon." The intense heat, accompanied by the pulsating sounds echoing in her ears, enveloped her and transformed into a raging tide that overwhelmed her reason.
Before being completely overwhelmed by this profound emotion, Morgan abruptly pulled himself back from his dazed state of mind.
--Wait, wait a minute!
The British princess struggled to suppress the urge to cover her burning cheeks with her hands.
However, interpreting it as obtaining the final piece of the puzzle (combat power) also seems plausible...?
"I also have much to say to you, Artorius." The Queen of the Fairy Kingdom suppressed the fluttering excitement in her heart. She hadn't forgotten the vague questions the two Knights of the Round Table had asked since arriving in this world: "But first, can you explain what happened before, and what your plans are?"
In an instant, the Storm King's towering figure cast a shadow over Morgan, his gaze falling upon her with a hint of deep brilliance. "Of course. I have always been honest with you, the most esteemed lady of Britain, my dearest queen."
If it were the Irish Son of Light who said such a thing, Morgan might have just smiled and let it go, but if King Arthur had said it, her cheeks would have suddenly flushed.
Was it because the moonlight was too dim, or because he hadn't spoken with King Arthur in a long time? Morgan felt that Artoria was different from the one he remembered—Vivian and Morgan le Fay from various timelines.
Especially this unusually ambiguous sense of distance.
Seemingly oblivious to Morgan's unease, the man known as the Storm King continued, "This world is heading towards destruction, and I have decided to select those humans worthy of being preserved and store their souls within the Holy Lance."
The man who made this statement spoke with a tone as cold as barren frozen ground, as if stripped of all human emotions, transforming into a detached and indifferent deity.
He had barely finished speaking when his tone shifted again, "But that's a backup plan. Even if the people living here aren't from Britain, for the sake of these humans living at the ends of the earth, and because I am 'me,' I will definitely make this decision..."
As Morgan stared in disbelief, a powerful vow resounded from beneath the black lion mask:
"—I will face the Magic King here."
The king's cool and steady voice slowly and clearly reached Morgan's ears, "Therefore, I need your assistance, Morgan. This is a request, and also a deal. You can ask me for anything you want, as long as it's something I own."
After speaking, the man in the jet-black armor leaned towards the silver-haired, blue-eyed woman before him. The bright moonlight cast a hazy, cold glow on the dark armor, leaving only a pair of sharp, golden eyes that reflected his focused expression.
As Morgan felt her burning cheeks as if they were about to bleed, the man's scorching gaze followed her wandering eyes, caressing every inch of her skin, staring intently at her fair complexion veiled in a hazy moonlight.
It's as if the only desire is what's right in front of you, so you confine it to what's within your sight.
"What do you think, Morgan?"
What should have been a tentative inquiry was rendered sound like a whispered conversation between lovers by the overwhelming aura of the Eternal King.
When Morgan came to her senses, she saw Artorius slowly withdraw his hand from her cheek, his long fingers lingeringly brushing the silvery-white hair that had slipped across his fingertips.
Morgan parted her beautifully shaped pink lips slightly, then remained silent, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.
—No, you're not allowed...
When faced with the Storm King's unwavering, deep gaze, Morgan involuntarily turned his head away.
—Don't get so handsome, Artorius!!
Altorlis's relentless advances left Morgan flustered, and she could only try to alleviate her shyness by secretly coquettishly complaining.
Had I missed a timeline? Morgan was filled with deep doubt.
After much hesitation, the British princess, enduring the intense golden gaze, finally said, "You can't easily tell a witch that you'll let her take what she wants, Artorius."
After saying that, Morgan felt that the possibility was very high. Perhaps this was the reason why King Arthur became the way he is now?
Hearing Morgan's seemingly mocking yet worried admonition, Artorius's sharp golden light flashed with a hint of a smile, and he replied, "I will only make a deal with one witch, Morgan."
The witch the other person was referring to seemed to have no other thoughts.
On the other hand, Morgan discovered that this Altoris seemed to prefer calling her by her first name rather than "Sister Wang".
And whenever Artorius uttered her name, the cool syllables seemed to roll around on his tongue, wrapped in indescribable emotions.
A sense of unease and embarrassment arose in Morgan's heart, along with a growing vigilance towards the unusual situation.
Morgan embarked on a journey to bring King Arthur to her Britain, but now she feels she has fallen into his trap.
The reversal from hunter to prey made Morgan doubt the reality of everything before him.
"...Artorius, could you explain your seemingly cursed appearance?"
Perhaps by resolving this question, we can grasp the current situation.
Morgan thought to himself.
In the pan-human history, King Arthur never transformed into the appearance before him. In addition, the other party mentioned the "Magic King" and there was no Imaginary Tree. Morgan, who had the experience of helping to defeat Tiamat, immediately realized that this world was probably a "singularity".
So what is the key node that caused the historical deviation?
The island witch had some guesses about this.
"I'm not at all surprised that you could see that. In short, I accepted the curse of the Holy Grail."
"Even if you say something shocking in a calm tone, I won't let go of the motives behind it, Artorius."
A faint chuckle brushed past Morgan's ears, followed by a whisper through the lion-faced helmet:
"—Because there was someone who once said he hoped I could live as 'Artorius Pendragon,' so I chose to exist as 'me.'"
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