Something felt wrong.
That was Artoria's first, instinctive reaction.
In her understanding, her sister—the Fairy Queen of Britannia, Morgan—was a Magecraft prodigy, a genius who could stand shoulder to shoulder with Merlin, the Magus of Flowers.
But that only applied to Magecraft. Even with A-rank Instinct and A-rank Magic Resistance, Artoria never considered those class advantages reliable when facing Morgan.
So the moment Morgan made her move, Artoria didn't hesitate. She unleashed her Mana, instantly closed the already short distance of less than ten meters, and went for a decisive blow, aiming to take her down in one strike.
But...
Not only did Morgan block the blow from Artoria's invisible sword, she also countered with a sweeping strike of her magic spear, skillfully deflecting Artoria's slash and reopening the gap between them.
Artoria gripped her sword with both hands, lowered her stance, and focused all her attention on her sister.
She had no memory of Morgan being this proficient in close-quarters combat—wielding a weapon that doubled as a staff and a spear with such mastery.
Historically, Morgan vanished from the public eye after the fall of Britannia. As for when she died and was recorded in the Throne of Heroes, even Artoria had no idea.
Did she learn spearmanship after that?
Or... was Morgan's class not actually Caster, but Lancer?
That thought made Artoria glance back at Irisviel, who stood barefoot on the cold shoreline. She wasn't Artoria's true Master—only a stand-in for the original Master who refused to communicate with Servants, serving as a nominal substitute.
Without the Holy Grail's authority, Irisviel had no way of discerning a Servant's class.
"Saber, be careful. I can only support you with healing Magecraft. Beyond that..." Irisviel whispered, ignoring the chill of the sea around her ankles.
"A swift victory isn't possible anymore. I don't even know the full extent of my sister's strength," Artoria replied calmly. "You should be more worried about her Magecraft."
If Morgan used melee to tie Artoria down while casting Magecraft to strike at Irisviel, Artoria wouldn't be able to react in time to protect her.
Already a Magecraft prodigy, Morgan now displayed close-combat prowess as well. Artoria was certain: as a Servant, Morgan was even more formidable than she had been in life.
"Not going to attack? Then I'll come to you," Morgan said, gripping her spear in one hand, its shaft angled behind her.
Here it comes!
Artoria's Instinct kicked in, and she immediately shifted into a defensive stance.
Watching this unfold, Irisviel was so stunned she almost forgot to breathe.
She had thought it would be a clear victory for the sword-wielding Servant—a quick, decisive close-range fight.
But the surge of Mana unleashed during their clash was beyond anything she had imagined. The intensity of the battle was completely out of her expectations.
There was no way the impact of sword and spear alone could cause such overwhelming force.
Each step gouged deep craters into the coastline.
Each missed swing sent gusts of wind powerful enough to shear nearby trees clean in half.
The gale roared along the beach, and the moonlit ocean, once calm like glass, began to churn.
As if the ravaged, unstable shore had become an obstacle, Artoria and Morgan shifted their battleground out to sea.
With the blessing of the lake fairies, Artoria could move across the water as if it were solid ground.
Morgan could do the same.
Once more, their weapons clashed—sword against spear—unleashing a shockwave that tore the ocean skyward. Water erupted into the air, crashing down moments later in a torrential downpour. Even Irisviel on the shore was soaked through.
Out on the surging sea, facing off with Morgan, Artoria's doubts only grew.
That sense of wrongness was getting stronger.
The Servant before her was undeniably Morgan—yet something fundamental didn't match the sister she had known.
There was an elusive, distorted aura clinging to her.
And then there was that spear.
Its blade looked nearly identical in scale to Artoria's own sword.
In other words—her sister...
"Is your class really Lancer?"
"Who knows? Maybe I really am just a Caster, you ever think of that?" Morgan lifted her left hand. "After all, I am a witch."
Mana quickly gathered in her palm, forming a dark red mass of energy.
She was about to cast Magecraft.
Realizing this, Artoria didn't hesitate for even half a second. She stomped on the water's surface and launched herself backward at high speed.
And half a second later, the spot where she had just stood erupted in a violent explosion.
An instantaneous spell attack, ignoring the distance between them.
So it really was Morgan. A surge of familiarity rose in Artoria's chest.
"If that didn't work, let's try from the inside."
Clearly not expecting such a minor spell to succeed, Morgan gently placed her hand over her chest and spoke in a soft, clear voice.
Servants possessed senses far beyond ordinary humans—Artoria heard every word.
Blue short spears manifested around Morgan, forming a circular array. Then, without warning, they all shot inward—toward her own body.
On the shore, Irisviel gasped and turned away, unable to bear watching Morgan get impaled.
But the expected scene never came.
Instead, Artoria was suddenly sent staggering backward, dropping to one knee on the sea's surface and coughing up blood.
"From the inside... I see..." she choked out, coughing several times.
"Saber!" Irisviel immediately activated her healing Magecraft.
The spell was effective. The severe injuries caused by the high-level spell began to regenerate rapidly.
"Magic Resistance really is a nuisance," Morgan remarked, casually resting the back of her left index finger under her chin. "Even after taking that hit, all it did was damage your internal organs."
The spears that looked like they were about to pierce Morgan had been redirected by spatial transfer, emerging instead from inside Artoria.
"Morgan..."
Artoria had to seriously consider retreating now.
If she took another one or two hits like that, not even Irisviel's Magecraft would be enough to keep her standing.
More importantly, if Morgan turned her spear on Irisviel now, Artoria knew she had no means of defending against such impossibly precise offensive Magecraft.
Thankfully, Morgan didn't seem interested in repeating the same spell—it would've been too dull.
Even though, deep down, she knew she shared no real connection with Artoria Pendragon...
Still, as long as she bore the name "Morgan," she had every reason to witness the Holy Sword of King Arthur from Proper Human History.
"Feel honored, Artoria. I'm being serious."
Morgan raised her left hand high. Blinding white light surged forth, radiating overwhelming Mana.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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