American comics: Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!.

Chapter 1045 Traveling with Artoria
Hearing Peter's words, Artoria, whose head had been hanging low, finally slowly raised it.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but felt as if her throat was blocked by scalding sand, unable to make a sound.

On the battlefield of Camran, Mordred falls, filled with hatred and resentment; under the sunlight in a farmhouse, Mordred speaks in a childish voice, vowing to "correct" the world's misunderstanding of the king, firmly believing that the king exists for "a smile"...

Two completely different figures clashed violently in her chaotic thoughts.

"Thanks."

Artoria finally spoke, "Thank you for saying these words to Mordred."

She lowered her eyes, avoiding Peter's all-seeing gaze, and said in a low voice, "I'm not as wonderful as you say, but thank you anyway."

These words seemed to have exhausted all the strength she had just recovered.

Artoria lowered her head again, her golden hair falling down and obscuring her profile.

Silence descended once more, with only the campfire burning tirelessly.

The blackness of the sky is quietly fading, and a cool morning breeze begins to wander.

Peter looked up at the sky and saw that it was already light.

He hadn't expected time to pass so quickly; he chatted with Artoria for a while, and before he knew it, it was dawn.

"That child..."

Artoria's voice rang out again, breaking the silence.

She hesitated for a moment, then asked Peter, "Is his name also... Mordred?"

"Yes."

Peter responded with a low voice, "Mordred has a different life on the farm."

"That's great!"

Artoria murmured softly.

She looked up and saw that it was already fully light.

Only a few stubborn wisps of smoke remained from the embers of the campfire, rising slowly into the air before finally disappearing without a trace.

Artoria slowly stood up, her movements sluggish, as if she were recovering from a serious injury.

The warmth of Avalon, the sword sheath, still flowed through his body, healing the wounds left by Kamran.

"My king, do you know where this is?"

Peter looked around at the vast fields and asked the other person.

He needs Artoria's help to find Ciri and the others.

When Artoria heard the other person call her "My King," she was taken aback for a moment. Then her gaze turned to the southeast, the direction of Camelot City in her memory, even though it might now only be ruins.

"This is Salisbury Plain."

Artoria said to Peter, “Ahead lies a large structure resembling the Irish megalithic architecture—the Dance of the Giants—designed and built by Merlin.”

As she introduced Peter to the architecture of her time, she led him forward.

After walking for about half an hour, the land beneath our feet gradually came back to life. The scorched marks were covered by lush green grass, and sparse oak forests even appeared in the distance.

Artoria's usually taut shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

"Peter Patrick".

King Arthur suddenly asked a different question, "You mentioned... that you put Avalon back into my body, that you are not of this world, so why are you at the end of Camlann? And why did you save me?"

Peter seemed to have anticipated this problem; his steps were steady, and his eyes scanned the path or dangers ahead.

"Actually, I didn't come alone. I got separated from my companions. I have several very important companions: Ciri—who can travel between worlds; Zatanna, who is proficient in magic; Diana Prince, a warrior from Paradise Island; Persephone, who has connections to the Underworld; and Jane Foster."

Peter told Artoria the names of Ciri and the others.

A barely perceptible hint of surprise flashed in Artoria's eyes.

"A traveler who traverses the world... why have you become involved in my battlefield?"

She continued to ask Peter.

“It wasn’t getting involved,” Peter corrected, pausing in his tracks. “We were trapped in a world, and in order to leave that world, we forcibly destroyed the world’s space. After the energy burst, the place I ended up in was the Kamran battlefield.”

"My goal is to find companions and then return to my hometown."

He looked into Artoria's eyes and said frankly, "As for saving you, that was not part of my plan."

Artoria nodded slightly: "I understand."

She looked at Peter and said, "As a reward for saving me, I will help you find your companions and send you back to your world, swearing an oath of honor to the King of Knights."

Peter nodded. "Aren't you going back to your kingdom?"

Artoria shook her head, her expression complex, and said, "Without you, I would already be dead. Even if I return to Camelot, I will be powerless to change anything. My kingdom has been destroyed, and the Knights of the Round Table have fallen apart. I cannot change anything."

Unless he could change the initial outcome, if he hadn't pulled the sword from the stone and hadn't become king, perhaps his country wouldn't have been destroyed.

She suddenly had this idea.

As Artoria thought about what she might have done if she hadn't pulled the sword from the stone, she continued walking with Peter. Sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest path.

A squirrel, clutching an acorn, watched the two uninvited guests curiously from a branch.

Artoria's gaze swept over the clusters of wildflowers blooming by the roadside, white daisies, and purple bellflowers, swaying gently in the morning breeze.

“This land is beautiful,” she suddenly said softly, breaking the silence of the woods. “No matter what we’ve been through, spring will always come on time.”

She stretched out her finger and gently brushed it across a white daisy covered in dew.

Peter glanced at her sideways; her shadow, cast in the sunlight, enveloped Artoria.

He noticed the almost pious gentleness in her fingertips.

At this moment, a hint of girlish softness appeared on Artoria's usually overly serious and resolute face.

The other person's expression made Peter feel somewhat dazed.

He then realized that King Arthur was not only a king, but also a young girl.

"Your childhood."

Peter turned his gaze back to the girl and asked, "Was it also on this land? Before you became 'king'?"

Artoria paused for a moment, then slowly withdrew her finger from the daisy.

She was silent for a moment, then turned her gaze into the depths of the woods.

"childhood……"

She repeated the word softly, as if savoring a distant and unfamiliar taste.

“My childhood was spent near a village called Sir Hector, where I was fostered as an ordinary knight’s adopted son.”

She said calmly, "My adoptive father, Sir Hector, wanted me to grow up like an ordinary boy, to train and learn the skills of a knight, nothing more."

The two walked to a small clearing in the woods, where a clear stream flowed gently, its water shimmering with tiny golden light in the sunlight.

Peter went to the creek and used his hands to conjure a cup from the rubies to fetch water.

Artoria sat down on a flat rock by the stream, looking at the cup that Peter had materialized with a surprised expression.

She had never seen magic like this before. Artoria quickly composed herself and continued:
"At that time, Sir Hector's son, Kay, who was my nominal elder brother, was a... lively, somewhat impetuous, but kind-hearted boy."

The corners of her mouth seemed to twitch upwards very slightly.

"He always laughed at my clumsiness during training, but he was the first to stand up for me when others bullied me. He dreamed of becoming a knight and wearing shining armor."

Peter took the water and handed it to her.

The morning light outlined her slightly thin shoulders. At this moment, Artoria didn't look like the mighty Knight King, but more like a traveler reminiscing about the past.

“Sir Hector was very strict with me,” Artoria continued. “He taught me martial arts, he taught me the code of chivalry: humility, honor, sacrifice, bravery… but he never expected me to become any kind of ‘king.’ Perhaps in his eyes, I was just a child who needed protection and guidance…”

She paused for a moment, as if recalling some scenes from the past.

“Once, to practice riding, I secretly rode away on his beloved warhorse. The horse was startled, and I fell off, nearly getting hurt. When Sir Hector found me, I expected a severe scolding… but he simply picked me up in silence, checked my injuries, and said, ‘Tell me if you want to ride again.’”

Peter listened quietly without interrupting.

After thanking Peter, Artoria drank a few sips of water.

The cool stream water slid over my dry throat, bringing a refreshing coolness.

“Later,” Artoria’s voice lowered, “Merlin appeared, that mysterious magician. He was like a… mischievous child, always with a mischievous smile. He would use magic to turn my food into frogs, and he would suddenly appear in my room in the middle of the night to tell stories about dragons, about ancient heroes, about… ‘kings’.”

Her fingers tightened slightly as she held the water glass. "He told me that I had an extraordinary destiny, that the blood of a dragon flowed in my veins, and that I was born to shoulder the responsibility of saving Britain. He taught me the wisdom of a king, the demeanor of a king, and the... loneliness of a king."

"At that time, I felt that those words were so heavy that they made it hard to breathe, and I was far less happy than when Kai and I competed to see who could hit the tree stump farther with a pebble."

"And then... there was that sword."

Artoria's voice fell completely silent.

"The Sword of the Chosen King, the Sword in the Stone, is stuck in the stone in front of the church, proclaiming that whoever pulls it out will become the Chosen King of Britain. Sir Hector took Kay and me there."

She closed her eyes, and it seemed as if she could see the hilt of the sword gleaming with a mysterious light again.

“Many knights tried, including Kai, but no one could budge it an inch. Then, Merlin’s gaze fell on me.”

She said in a somewhat complicated tone, "As if pushed by fate, I walked over... and grasped the hilt of the sword."

"It was very light. The moment I pulled it out, it felt even lighter than the wooden sword I used for training. But the instant it left the stone, everything changed."

Her voice was calm and undisturbed. "Sir Hector looked at me with astonishment, awe, and then... alienation. Kay's smile froze on his face. The intimacy and casualness in that smile were gone forever. The villagers knelt down, calling out 'Our King.'"

“From that moment on, Sir Hector was no longer my foster father; he became my most loyal knight. Kay was no longer my brother; he became one of my knights. And I myself… was no longer Artoria; I became ‘King Arthur,’ a symbol that had to be perfect, had to be just and impartial, and had to sacrifice everything for the kingdom.”

"Everything from my childhood is like a distant dream, sealed away."

After a moment of silence, she looked at Peter with sad eyes:
"People place their dreams, hopes, and desires for peace... all their beautiful visions on the symbol called 'King Arthur,' and when reality fails to meet these overly heavy expectations, hatred follows."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes filled with an unresolved confusion.

“I strive to act in accordance with chivalry, to act according to the law of justice, and to govern according to the ideals of ‘king’ taught by Merlin. I drove out the Saxons, brought a brief period of peace, and established the ideal of the Round Table.”

"But...why?"

Her voice carried a hint of pain, "Why did I end up like Camran? Why did even my closest knights rebel against me? Merlin said I 'don't understand people's hearts,' perhaps... he was right. How can someone who can't even understand people's hearts truly become king?"

When she was with Peter, who made her feel relaxed, Artoria voiced the doubts that she had kept buried deep in her heart and had never fully revealed to anyone.

Peter did not answer immediately after she finished speaking.

He picked up a pebble from the stream, organized his thoughts, and said to the other person, "Human hearts are like the stones in this stream, washed countless times by the current. Some are smoothed out, while others become more angular."

He paused, gently tossing and catching the pebble in his hand. "You drew that sword and took on that burden. That wasn't wrong. You gave them a dream, a dream called 'Camelot,' a dream without war, where knights protect the weak and justice is served. Many people have had different lives because of this dream."

“This is more important than anything else. As for when dreams shatter… dreams always shatter, Artoria, just as the sun sets but rises again tomorrow. What shatters is that symbol, and you.”

He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. "Artoria, you're still breathing, and you can still sit here, looking at the stream and listening to the birds."

Artoria was stunned by Peter's words.

Peter didn't seem to expect a response from her. He stood up and brushed the bits of grass off his trousers.

"It's time to go. To find the others, we need clues. Perhaps we should inquire in the nearby villages to see if there's any news about unusual celestial phenomena or strangers."

Artoria took a deep breath, suppressing the complex emotions surging within her, and stood up.

Just as the two were about to continue their journey, Artoria suddenly remembered the companions Peter had mentioned earlier, especially the one with the name related to the underworld.

"Padrick".

She asked curiously, "You mentioned Persephone, is she the Queen of the Underworld?"

"Yes, but she and Hades are already divorced."

“By the way,” Peter said, as if suddenly remembering something, looking at Artoria with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, “have you ever responded to a summoning ritual? Participated in that kind of… war for the so-called omnipotent wish machine?”

"A wish-granting machine?"

Artoria frowned slightly, clearly unfamiliar with the concept.

"Holy Grail War."

Peter explained to her, “It’s a ritual initiated by a magician that summons historical heroes or legendary figures as ‘servants’ to descend to the mortal world, fight each other, and the final victor obtains the Holy Grail, which is said to grant any wish.”

Artoria's expression froze instantly.

Holy Grail?

The legend of the Holy Grail existed in her time, and she even sent the Knights of the Round Table to search for it.

But Peter's description—summoning heroic spirits to fight each other for the wish-granting machine—is completely different from the Holy Grail she seeks.

What she sought was the Holy Grail, the legendary object used by Christ at the Last Supper, a sacred symbol, a holy relic that could bring salvation and miracles, and certainly not a blasphemous ritual that used killing as a means.

"Holy Grail..."

Artoria shook her head and said, "The Holy Grail that I seek is a sacred relic, a symbol of faith, and a vessel of redemption. It is by no means a so-called 'omnipotent wish machine' that people fight over to satisfy their selfish desires."

She said firmly, "To participate in this war... a war that uses the Holy Grail as a pretext for blasphemy? Absolutely not!"

“That would be a defilement of the Holy Grail, an insult to all who seek the true Holy Grail. I, Arthur Pendragon, will never answer such a call, nor will I draw my sword for such a blasphemous desire.”

Peter: "."

You speak so righteously, yet you were a key player in both the Fourth and Fifth Holy Grail Wars!
stroking his beard, Peter suddenly wondered, if the fathers on his farm were to fight over the Holy Grail, who would be the ultimate victor?
If they summon Servants, what kind of Servants will they summon?
Peter coughed, pulling himself out of his reverie, and said to her, "I understand. That kind of war, that kind of Holy Grail, is indeed unworthy of your pursuit."

Artoria took a deep breath, the fresh scent of grass and trees in the forest filling her chest and dispelling the flames ignited by the feeling of being desecrated.

She realized she had lost her composure and relaxed slightly.

"Feel sorry."

Her voice regained its calm, "The Holy Grail... it means a great deal to me. That quest permeated my monarchy, and ultimately..."

Before she could finish speaking, she thought of the Battle of Kamran.

The knights who sought the Holy Grail eventually fell apart, and the Holy Grail became nothing more than a legend.

Peter, oblivious to her expression, said to her, "Let's go, perhaps we'll have a chance to see the real Holy Grail someday."

He took the first step and walked deeper into the forest path.

As Artoria watched his retreating figure, an indescribable warmth quietly replaced her previous intense emotions, gently flowing through her weary heart.

She quickly caught up with Peter.

(End of this chapter)