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

Chapter 1057 This is your retribution for not passing the farm throne to me!
Only Mordred's soft breathing could be heard in the woods.

Artoria stared in shock at the scene before her.

The raging energy vanished into nothingness with a casual wave of Peter's hand.

Artoria stood frozen in place, her astonished eyes fixed on Peter's figure.

What... what kind of power is this?!

On the other side, Mordred's brief shock was instantly replaced by anger.

The humiliation of being looked down upon drove her to madness.

"Ah, impossible!"

With Mordred's roar, her body erupted with an even more dazzling crimson light.

As anger took over her body, Mordred's power surged wildly.

Peter looked at the scene before him with some surprise.

Can this brat's skills keep improving?

"Ho!"

Mordred raised his knight's sword, the blade covered in dark, viscous blood.

To Artoria's disbelief, cursed blood covered the knight's sword.

The knight's sword, carrying immense power, came crashing down on Peter's head.

At this moment, Mordred transformed into a crimson lightning bolt, covering his ferocious, heavily armored body, and charged straight at Peter.

Faced with Mordred's attack, Peter dared not be careless.

This brat's special ability is to target his father; if he's careless for a moment, he might really mess things up.

Peter raised his eyes in response to Mordred's furious attack.

In his deep eyes, it seemed as if billions of stars lit up and swirled for a moment, then returned to silence.

He unleashed the power of the Sandman Sand.

In Peter's deep eyes, it was as if billions of stars had been ignited.

The grand spectacle of countless stars being born, expanding, collapsing, and dying flashed through my pupils in an instant, eventually returning to silence.

"Om..."

To Artoria's astonishment, the scene before her eyes suddenly distorted, like a lake surface tossed with a pebble.

As the scene changed, she smelled a pungent rusty odor and an overwhelming stench of blood.

When Artoria came to her senses, she found herself standing on a muddy, cold patch of ground.

Beneath their feet lay sticky mud, mixed with blood clots that had not yet fully congealed.

The sky was leaden gray, and the low-hanging dark clouds were so heavy they seemed to weigh down the earth, with not a single ray of sunlight penetrating.

As far as the eye can see, there is a mountain of ruins.

Broken spears, shattered shields, and dulled swords lay scattered on the ground, soaked in blood and mud.

The air was thick with the smell of death, despair, and the strong stench of rust.

Is this the battlefield of Kamran?

Artoria was struck dumb, and her hand holding the holy sword began to tremble uncontrollably.

Have I returned to that nightmare?
She raised her head and looked at the tallest sword mound in the center of the battlefield, made up of countless suits of armor.

That place should have been the end of her final battle with Mordred.

At this moment, a figure stands atop Sword Hill.

Peter, draped in a blue cloak and wielding the sacred lance Rungomniad that Artoria once used, silently gazed down at Mordred.

Rungominiad is a weapon that once appeared in Artoria's dream.

This spear, also known as the Vanguard Spear, the Spear That Shines to the Farthest Away, or the Spear That Shines at the End, is the sacred spear that Merlin gave to King Arthur in the Type-Moon universe. It is also the weapon that King Arthur frequently used after losing the Sword in the Lake.

According to Merlin, the Holy Lance has a different function than the Holy Sword. The Holy Sword is used to destroy enemies, while the Holy Lance is a tower of light that holds the surface of a planet together.

Merlin used this analogy: the human world and the elven world are like a layer of skin covering the planet, which needs "pillars of light" like the Holy Lance to stitch them together. If these pillars are destroyed, then this "skin" of the world will peel off the planet.

Judging from this description, the Holy Lance holds a very high status.

Peter has temporarily lent his holy sword to Artoria, who is now temporarily manifesting the holy lance for use.

Even if he doesn't understand the gun's function, it's still good to use it simply as a physical attack.

Anyway, the Holy Sword and the Holy Lance are both sacred objects from the mythological era, so their power should be about the same.

Artoria stared at her Holy Lance in Peter's hands, completely stunned, her mind going blank.

How come Peter also knows how to use his own Holy Lance?
What exactly is his relationship with me?
Mordred, clad in menacing blood-red armor, stared blankly at the scene before him.

The familiar scene awakened her memories of her past life, and her condition became even more abnormal than before.

The power of the Chaos God, like a leech, completely eroded her mind, brutally twisting the fragments of memories belonging to the "Rebellious Knight" Mordred within her.

The scene of Camran, a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood, before her eyes perfectly overlapped with the blood-stained dusk in her memory.

She remembered this place; it seemed to be the site of King Arthur's final battle.

"King Arthur! Father!"

Mordred's voice rang out, "Where are you? Come out and face me!"

She is now being influenced by an evil god, and her mind is becoming increasingly unclear.

She treated the image of King Arthur and the image of Peter as one person.

She abruptly raised her head, her crimson gaze sweeping across the battlefield strewn with corpses.

Finally, their gaze settled on the figure wielding the holy lance atop Sword Hill.

Chaotic fragments of memory surged wildly through her mind: It was King Arthur!
That was also her father, King Peter!
He stole her throne!

He abandoned her!
He hates her!
Because she is the child of a witch!

Everything points to that figure!

“Father——!”

Mordred roared, his entire being slamming into the sword mound with a ferocious aura capable of destroying everything.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the mud and corpses, producing a chilling thud.

She raised the greatsword, burning with filthy blood flames, high in her hand, its blade pointing directly at Peter atop the hill.

"How was it! How was it, Father!"

Mordred charged forward, roaring in a maniacal tone that echoed across the empty battlefield, filled with twisted pleasure.

"Your country, your farm, it's all over, do you see? Is this what you wanted? This is the retribution for not passing the throne of the farm, not passing the throne of Camelot, to me!"

She completely blended the images of the two fathers together, and her speech became incoherent.

Artoria stood at the edge of the battlefield, her face pale.

As she watched Mordred rush madly toward "herself" (Peter), listening to his frenzied, familiar accusations, her heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an icy hand.

This scene is so similar to that blood-stained dusk in my memory.

The same questions, the same resentment, the same... desperate charge.

This time, however, it was not her who stood atop the hill bearing this overwhelming resentment, but Peter Patrick.

A complex and indescribable emotion surged within her.

She still remembered how she answered Xiao Mo when she questioned her.

“I have never hated you, it’s just that you lack the talent of a king…”

Perhaps it was these cold words that pushed Mordred completely into the abyss.

the other side.

At the summit of Sword Hill, Peter, holding the Holy Lance, looked down at his daughter, who was approaching like a blood-red storm.

Hearing the other party's furious roar filled with chaos and resentment, Peter's lips twitched slightly.

This brat is just like Horus in his later years in his previous life—he's lost his mind.

As expected, with the influence of evil gods, anyone can become abnormal.

Fortunately, Xiao Mo hasn't been in contact with the doctor for very long, so there's still hope.

Mordred finally reached the top of the hill.

The enormous sword, accompanied by a piercing shriek that seemed to tear through space, and carrying terrifying power, slashed down fiercely towards Peter.

Do you hate me?!

As Mordred swung her sword, her crimson eyes fixed on Peter, demanding, "Father, do you hate me that much? Hate me for being the son of a witch? Answer me! Father—!!!"

Artoria's heart clenched instantly.

She couldn't bear this kind of on-the-spot torture, to the point that she suspected Peter was doing it on purpose.

Faced with Mordred's attack, Peter used his gun as a guide, drawing a swift arc.

The spear tip was positioned at the middle section of the greatsword's spine, where its power was at its most ferocious and where it was least prone to changing direction.

"clang!"

The deafening clang of metal resounded throughout the entire Kamran Dreamland.

The enormous sound wave, like a real shockwave, violently hurled the mud and blood clots from the top of the hill.

The blinding golden holy light collided violently with the filthy blood flames, unleashing a powerful surge of energy.

The immense recoil caused Mordred's massive body to sway violently, abruptly halting her charge. She staggered back half a step, her armored hands numbing from the shock, and a look of disbelief flashed in her crimson eyes.

Her sword strike, powerful enough to cleave a mountain, was so easily neutralized?!

At the same time, Peter shook his head at Mo and slowly said, "No, Mo, you're wrong."

"I have never hated you."

Mordred's frenzied charge suddenly halted, and a very faint pause seemed to appear in the madness in his eyes.

Peter's gaze remained fixed on his daughter's eyes as he continued in his calm voice:
“No matter whose child you are, no matter what blood flows in your veins, in my eyes you are just Mordred, my daughter Peter Patrick.”

He paused, then continued, "If you want to be the king of the farm..."

Peter's voice took on a serious tone, "Then prove that you possess the power of a king, and prove that you possess the heart of a king, prove that you can bear the responsibility of protection, not the desire to destroy, prove that you can be tolerant, not hateful."

"In my eyes."

Peter's gaze swept across the dreamlike battlefield of corpses and blood, as if piercing through time and space, and saw those equally unruly figures on the farm.

"Whether it's Clark, Azu, Raven, or Horus, all of you have the same opportunity to prove yourselves worthy of that responsibility."

These words suddenly flooded Mordred's consciousness, whispered by the evil god.

Her consciousness struggled violently, as if two souls were fiercely battling.

"No, that's impossible! You're lying to me! You're lying!"

In a brief moment of hesitation, she was overwhelmed by the more turbulent whispers of the evil god and chaotic memories.

Mordred let out an even more hysterical scream, as if trying to mask the violent turmoil within her with anger.

"It's all a lie, you've all been deceiving me!"

She refused to believe it, refused to accept Peter's words.

Only by fighting, only by defeating this "father" before her, can she prove her right and quell the pain deep within her soul.

“Ahhhh——!!!”

With a roar, Mordred raised his greatsword once more.

This time, the foul energy on the sword reached its peak.

She raised the greatsword high above her head, its tip pointing directly at the leaden-gray sky.

Vast amounts of dark energy were being frantically drawn from and gathered within her body and from this nightmare battlefield.

"Let us launch a magnificent rebellion against my father!"

With Xiao Mo's roar, the giant sword slashed down fiercely.

A dark red torrent of destruction, composed of filthy blood energy and chaotic evil power, connecting heaven and earth, crashed down on Peter atop Sword Hill like a collapsing sky, carrying the malice to annihilate everything.

This is her strongest Noble Phantasm, which she fused with the power of the Vampire Queen under the blessing of the evil god.

Space shattered inch by inch before the torrent, emitting a mournful cry of unbearable burden.

Faced with this world-destroying blow that seemed poised to completely erase the entire dream of Camlann, Peter's calm was finally replaced by a hint of solemnity.

TMD!

This brat still unleashed his "treasure weapon against his father".

Moreover, I felt a sudden discomfort and a sense of powerlessness when facing this move.

Could this really be a special attack on himself?

Without a second thought, Peter shouted in a low voice, gripped the Holy Lance Rungomminiad tightly with both hands, and poured all the power of the gods into it.

Peter had a premonition that if he didn't fight desperately, he might capsize!

With the infusion of divine power, the golden light that had been faintly flowing on the gun suddenly burst forth.

Pure and sacred, a dazzling holy light that seems capable of purifying all the filth and despair in the world, bursting forth like the rising sun piercing the deepest darkness.

"Om-!"

Peter thrust the Holy Lance with all his might.

A golden beam of light, condensed to its fullest extent and seemingly compressed from countless stars, tore through the filthy dark red sky. With an unwavering belief, it surged upwards like the dawn piercing through hell, crashing fiercely into the pouring dark red energy.

"Boom!"

In the dream, Kamran erupted with a terrifying, earth-shattering roar.

Pure light and extreme darkness, the belief in protection and the madness of destruction, collided directly at this moment.

In the clash of the energy torrents, Peter found himself at a disadvantage.

Shocked, he was about to exert more force when the holy spear in his hand suddenly released a powerful energy on its own.

Peter immediately remembered that this holy lance seemed to be the weapon that pierced Mordred's heart in some legends.

His own weapon is also a special weapon against Xiao Mo!

Well, father and daughter are hurting each other!

I said I didn't mean it, daughter, do you believe me?
As Peter drifted into thought, the light emanating from the Holy Lance Rungomminiad in his hand, like the breaking of dawn tearing through the eternal night, instantly devoured the power released by her Noble Phantasm.

However, the light did not directly destroy Mordred; instead, it brought a soul-purifying warmth, bursting forth in her chaotic vision.

"Uh……!"

The immense impact directly affected the chaotic core of her soul.

The light pierced deep into her consciousness, which was influenced by the Chaos God.

All the madness, all the resentment, all the twisted forces, melted away like snow exposed to the scorching sun before this pure light, making a chilling sound.

The whispers of the evil god screamed and twisted, being forcibly stripped away and dispelled.

A strong sense of tearing swept through her consciousness.

Just as Mordred's consciousness was about to be completely swallowed by the light and plunged into boundless darkness, she murmured softly, "Father..."

I do not know how long it has been.

Mordred's consciousness slowly rose from the cold, dark seabed, and she found herself standing up.

It was still the same battlefield of Kamran, a place of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

A leaden sky, cold mud, mountains of corpses...

She stood in the center of the battlefield, looking around blankly, enveloped by a profound sense of emptiness.

Mordred looked up at the highest peak of the Sword Hill, a mound made of broken armor and corpses.

There stood a figure.

The figure stood high up, its tattered blue cloak fluttering in the wind.

The other person had his back to her, holding the holy spear that emitted a faint golden light—Rungomminiad.

His back view was solitary and heavy, carrying an inescapable sadness and weariness.

Is that King Arthur?

No, that seems to be his own father, Peter Patrick.

Just as she was filled with doubt, the figure atop Sword Hill slowly turned around.

Mordred froze on the spot.

That wasn't King Arthur's face, but his father's face.

Peter, clad in the tattered armor of the Knight King and wielding the Holy Lance, stood atop the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood. His gaze calmly traversed the distance of the battlefield and the barriers of time and space, landing upon her.

There was no anger, no blame, no negative emotion in her father's eyes, only a deep calm.

Then, under Mordred's completely stunned and blank gaze, Peter's father, atop the hill of swords, slowly extended the hand that was not holding a gun towards her.

Feeling her father's warm hand, an indescribable surge of warmth suddenly broke through the dam in Mordred's heart.

Tears welled up without warning.

The scalding liquid instantly blurred her vision, sliding down her cheeks and dripping into the blood-stained mud at her feet.

She reached out her hand to her father, trembling.

Just as her fingertips were about to touch that warm hand—

"Woof! Woof!"

A wet, wet sensation, accompanied by urgent whimpers, was constantly licking her cheeks.

The next second, Mordred suddenly opened his eyes.

The blinding sunlight made her squint instinctively.

What came into view was no longer the leaden sky of the Camran battlefield, nor the dome of the Wayne Tower, but the familiar ceiling of home.

Was it a dream that my father reached out to me from Sword Hill just now?

Mordred pressed his forehead in confusion and looked around.

She found herself lying in her father's bed.

Outside the window is a clear, azure sky, with a few fluffy white clouds drifting lazily by.

The warm, bright, and vibrant sunlight streamed down without obstruction, gently enveloping her body.

The wet, itchy feeling on my cheeks continued.

She rolled her eyes somewhat blankly and met a pair of big, round brown eyes.

A large, furry, golden face loomed close to her, its pink tongue diligently licking away the tear stains on her face.

"Murphy?!"

(End of this chapter)