Mordred glared at Verethragna, radiating hostility. It seemed she was ready to unleash [Rebellion Against My Beautiful Father] right into his smug face at the slightest hint of aggression.
If Verethragna dared show any intention of attack, Mordred wouldn't hesitate for even a second before blasting him with her magic cannon.
However, a calm voice came from behind her.
"Mordred, he won't attack."
"Huh? He won't?"
Mordred glanced back at Artoria, then turned her eyes to Verethragna again.
"That's correct, I won't."
Verethragna smiled faintly. "Your Father is the mightiest [Steel], the savior hero who vanquishes Demon Kings on Earth. Even if I truly intended to battle her, I would need more of my incarnations to return to me to improve my odds."
"While it's unfortunate that my Wild Boar incarnation has been destroyed, there's no use dwelling on it. The loss isn't enough to shake my path to victory."
"Besides… there's still my battles with you and that God King to look forward to. Perhaps I may yet face your Father, but it would only be after I've defeated you and that God King—standing before her as the ultimate victor."
Mordred, still exuding hostility, reluctantly lowered her battle aura. Resting her magic sword, [Clarent], on her shoulder, she gave a defiant snort.
"Is that so? Then let me tell you something: you're not going to get the chance… because I, Mordred, will beat you and that so-called God King into the ground!"
"Hahaha! I look forward to it. I hope you'll bring me a thrilling, unforgettable fight!"
The winds surrounding Verethragna suddenly grew stronger.
In the blink of an eye, his figure dissolved into invisible threads of wind, leaving no trace of his presence behind.
Artoria gazed in the direction where the wind had dissipated, her voice soft but resolute.
"Verethragna… As an opponent, he's not bad. This will be a good opportunity for you to grow accustomed to your current strength."
"Tch. Never heard of him."
Crossing her arms, Mordred's dismissive tone made it clear her initial impression of Verethragna wasn't favorable.
"If you go into battle with that attitude, it could cost you," Artoria said impassively. "That being has survived countless battles undefeated because of his ten incarnations, each tailored to counter different enemies. While I destroyed one of them, he's still not an opponent you can underestimate."
"Ugh…"
Mordred looked down, her expression tinged with frustration.
Artoria's gaze softened slightly as she observed Mordred's dejected demeanor.
Artoria didn't want to upset her, but under the influence of the Alter Saint Graph, sharp reprimands often escaped her lips uncontrollably. What she had just said was the restrained version of her usual strictness.
Still, she felt a pang of guilt. She wanted to offer some encouraging words, but she had no idea what would be appropriate in this situation.
Anything I say feels wrong… Maybe I should just act instead of talking?
Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, Mordred raised her head.
Artoria stood in front of her now, her expression serious.
Mordred's heart sank, unease and fear welling up within her.
It felt oddly like being a schoolchild facing a parent summoned by a teacher to discuss their misconduct.
Was Artoria about to unleash a scolding tirade, or worse, deliver a slap?
That tension grew unbearable when Artoria raised her hand.
But instead of a reprimand or a strike, Artoria gently placed her hand on Mordred's head and began to pat it.
The unexpected gesture left Mordred completely stunned, her mind grinding to a halt.
"I only hope that you give it your all," Artoria said softly.
"No matter what happens… you will always be my pride, Mordred."
Would this be enough to encourage her?
Artoria wasn't sure. She had never been good at comforting others. As the kind of person who led by action, words of encouragement didn't come naturally to her. This task should've been left to Fenhuan Yu, but that entity was too socially awkward to manage it either.
Unbeknownst to Artoria, Mordred's face had turned slightly red.
Internally, Mordred felt like her breath was caught in her throat. Fireworks exploded in her mind, bursting one after another, shattering her rational thoughts to pieces.
---
Dark clouds loomed overhead, as if the sky had spilled an ink bottle, drowning the heavens in black.
Thunder roared, jagged streaks of lightning illuminating the grim storm clouds.
The wind howled violently, branches swaying and leaves rustling. It felt as though the oppressive clouds might snap the trees in half.
The first raindrops fell—a light drizzle at first, then a torrential downpour in mere moments.
Sardinia, due to its geographic location, rarely experienced rain—let alone a storm as ferocious as this one.
This abnormal weather wasn't natural; it was the wrath of a god.
He had once been the king of this land, a god who ruled the skies and slew dragons.
But religious conflicts had twisted his name. What was once the exalted title of "Lord of the Sky" became the disparaging moniker "Lord of Flies."
His legends spread across the world. The image of the "club-wielding hero" became the basis for Hercules in Greek mythology, and his dragon-slaying feats inspired the tale of Saint George.
After being awakened, he had fought another god, suffering grievous wounds. Forced into slumber, he used the Earth's vitality to heal himself.
As the king of dragon slayers, he lacked immortality, but he remained a god of Steel.
His name was Melqart, also known as Baal, the Phoenician God-King. He was the storm god, the sea god, the sun god, the god of life who governed harvest and decay, the god of the sky, and the god of locusts.
The roaring winds and searing lightning heralded his awakening.
His wild, untamed hair and a beard covering the lower half of his face gave him a rugged, primal appearance. Standing over fifteen meters tall, his imposing figure radiated raw power.
His body, chiseled like a mountain of stone, exuded overwhelming pressure.
Despite his coarse clothing—dirty rags and leather scraps covering his chest, with a tattered cloak draped over his shoulders—he commanded an undeniable majesty.
The moment Melqart awoke, his gaze fell upon a single figure.
Compared to Melqart's towering stature, the figure seemed insignificantly small. But the aura they exuded was anything but weak.
"So, you've finally awakened, Melqart."
---
...
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