Mordred's face was naturally also swarmed by a group of children. Looking at the resentful eyes of these children, this existence, who could be considered a homunculus, pursed her lips in annoyance. These children had resentment in their hearts, and so did she! These children had a miserable life, but wasn't her life also miserable? Was this a misery competition?
Who could be more miserable than her, whose "old dad" didn't really acknowledge her, whose old mom treated her as a tool, who grew up quickly because she was a homunculus, and who in the end, met a mutual demise with her own old dad?
Mordred was very annoyed, so annoyed that she directly chopped a mark on the ground with the demonic sword in her hand. Of course, she did not tear the souls of these children to shreds. She just sat down on a box to the side after venting some of her annoyance, crossed her legs, and propped up her chin with her hand, looking like a delinquent big sister.
"I am Mordred. I don't know if you've heard my legend. Later, we can compete to see who is more miserable!"
The vengeful spirits of these children looked at each other. One of the girls asked in a low voice, "Who is 'Mo-de Mo-de'?"
Another boy shook his head. "It's not 'Mo-de Mo-de', it's 'Mo-lei-lei-de'."
Another child shook his head. "Eh? Isn't it 'Mo-mo-de-de'?"
Mordred's mouth twitched. She then slammed her fist on the side. The wooden box was directly smashed to pieces. The children were basically all startled, as if a gavel had been struck. Looking at the innocent souls of the children, feeling the resentment they were constantly emitting because of the injustice of fate, Mordred finally sighed and did not let her anger erupt.
She constantly told herself that the ones before her were all children. That's right, they were just a bunch of little brats. And they looked like the kind of little brats who hadn't received any education. Although the education she had received was also mainly knightly education, so to some extent, the difference between her and these little brats was really not that big. The only difference was probably that she was literate. As for books, she really hadn't read many.
"It's Mordred!!"
A few of the more well-behaved children nodded. Even though they were shrouded in resentment, they were still good little babies. Then, a small voice came from the crowd. "So who is Mordred?"
A few of the children turned their gazes behind them. The vengeful spirits of the children of London ranged from just born to their teens. Since they, the younger ones, didn't know the story of Mordred, then the older ones should know, right? Some of the children who had worked in wealthy families and had done a decent job could, with good luck, get some of the books that the master's family had read. And some children, with good luck, might be able to listen in on the home tutoring lessons with the children of these wealthy families. But it was just listening in. Even a child who knew a few words was very likely to end up on the streets after the sweatshop they worked in closed down.
In that era, under the brilliance of the Industrial Revolution, a large amount of darkness and crime was hidden. In order to survive, there were always people who took desperate measures. These street children were ultimately a disadvantaged group. If there was a robbery, then the first targets would naturally be these disadvantaged groups. I'm afraid that those older children who were literate had died for this very reason. Or perhaps they had encountered an accident in the process of their work.
They were the resentful spirits of the children of London. The purpose of deploying this Reality Marble was, naturally, for a mental attack. Therefore, most of what appeared before the Heroic Spirits were young children who were not very old. Those who were a little older were standing in the back, hidden in the dense fog.
Under the gaze of these children who could be called their younger brothers and sisters, an older child who had read some books took a few steps forward. "Mordred... a Knight of the Round Table in the legend of King Arthur. A child not acknowledged by King Arthur, and also the main culprit who destroyed King Arthur's kingdom. So what do you want to say? Do you want to use yourself as an example to tell us that our lives were still good?"
Mordred had originally wanted to argue properly with these children, but now, just as she was about to speak, she thought again and closed her mouth, because it was meaningless.
Mordred calmed down, then breathed a sigh of relief, dissipating all the anger in her heart. She then looked around at these children for a day, and a hint of helplessness was reflected on her entire body and chin.
"No... it's meaningless to compete over who is more miserable now. We are all existences who have already died, just the shadows of those souls. Even if we eliminate or transcend you shadows now, it can't change what happened to you back then. By the same token, neither can I."
Mordred's green eyes gained a hint of seriousness. "I just want to tell you that, just as your births may have been because of an accident, so you were abandoned, or you had experienced warmth, and in the end, were abandoned for all sorts of reasons, so was I. My birth was a conspiracy, to pull King Arthur from his throne."
Mordred sat up straight. "Originally, I wanted to use the most normal method, that is, the way of a son inheriting, to obtain the kingdom and become king. But you should also know the final result. To be honest, I am a homunculus. My birth had a purpose from the very beginning. By the way, don't look at me having grown up like this, but my actual age is not yet twelve..."
Among these child resentful spirits, the older child frowned. "So what on earth are you trying to express?"
Mordred placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, her tone very serious. "Can't you tell? Whether in the distant past or in the era you lived in, or even now! There are always children who cannot get their parents' love, there are always children who are abandoned. This is something that has not changed from ancient times to the present. It's just that you happened to live in an era that was even more fucked up than before! I don't expect you to let go of your resentment and just be at peace. After all, you are just the shadows of the past. I can only say that in any era, there are existences with experiences similar to yours.
You see, compared to me, you at least have each other. You can help each other, you can chat with each other. You are not alone, are you?"
Mordred leaned back against the wall. "Thinking of it this way, I am indeed a little bit more miserable than you. Well... let's not talk about these sad things for now. For the sake of our similarities, I won't attack you. But I'm afraid you won't be able to withstand the attacks of others."