I Don’t Want to Be a Heroic Spirit [232]

Frankenstein, Caules's Servant, was a young woman with a beautiful yet melancholy appearance, her bridal gown contrasting with the long bangs that veiled her eyes.

A creation of Victor Frankenstein, she was an artificial life form made from stitched-together corpses. Deemed a failed experiment for her inability to control or express emotions, she was abandoned. Yet, through her interactions with the world, she gradually gained intelligence and feelings, ultimately giving rise to her anger toward her creator. Pursuing Victor with unrelenting determination, she drove him to his death in the icy desolation of the Antarctic.

"Hey, hey! Is that thing a dragon? It's a dragon, right? A rare monster, for sure! Watch how the great Mordred takes care of—hey! Fran! Don't attack it! That's my prey!"

"Ugh—waa!"

"What? You're saying you saw it first? Don't kid me! If I see it, it's mine!"

"Ah! Aaah!"

"Fine, fine! Let's settle this with skill, then! But I'm warning you, there's no way I'm losing!"

"Ugh—!"

Artoria couldn't help but smile as she watched the two. Their chemistry was unexpectedly good, and somehow, Mordred seemed to understand Frankenstein's fragmented speech.

She suddenly remembered something: during the Fourth Singularity, the Mist City of London, Mordred and Frankenstein had also gotten along well.

Perhaps their compatibility wasn't a coincidence after all.

Artoria's gaze was drawn to the screen.

The game wasn't anything high-tech. The pixelated graphics exuded a nostalgic charm, reminiscent of old-school games like King of Fighters or Contra.

Simple gameplay, low difficulty, fuzzy visuals—by modern standards, it had countless flaws.

But considering the current era, it was already impressive. The castle housed old, bulky computers—relics of a time long past. For magi, especially the conservative ones, even having this level of "modern technology" was surprising.

After all, magi typically believed that "the older something is, the more mystique it possesses."

No wonder the Modern Magecraft Department under Lord El-Melloi II had such an awkward standing.

Speaking of which, Artoria's eyes wandered to Frankenstein.

She recalled that Caules, Frankenstein's Master, would eventually join El-Melloi's classroom.

It made sense, then, that these computers and games belonged to Caules. His affinity for modern technology far surpassed that of the average magus.

"Father! Why don't you join us?" Mordred suddenly suggested, turning to Artoria with a grin.

"Me? I don't think I—" Artoria hesitated but then shrugged. "Very well. I suppose I can give it a try."

Initially inclined to decline, she realized she had nothing pressing to do. A little diversion wouldn't hurt.

Besides, it had been a long time since she'd touched a video game. It felt strangely out of character, even alien, for her past self.

"Ugh! Ugh!"

Artoria sat cross-legged, accepting the controller Frankenstein handed her.

"Father, do you have any game in mind?"

"I'm unfamiliar with these. Pick whatever you think works best."

"Alright! Let's try this racing game. Fran and I played it before; it's super easy to pick up. Perfect for a beginner like you."

Beginner?

"Since it's your first time, Father, it's okay to lose a few rounds. I'll guide you through the first couple of races to help you get used to it."

Artoria raised an eyebrow at Mordred's patronizing tone.

Setting the controller on her lap, she rolled up her sleeves theatrically before picking it back up.

---

Two minutes later, Mordred stared at the screen in disbelief, her expression as if questioning reality itself.

Meanwhile, Artoria, seated beside her, frowned slightly.

"Hmm... This does feel a bit off. The controls are rather sluggish."

The old system's response time left much to be desired—worse than the lag Artoria remembered from playing Genshin Impact on her phone back in the day.

"This makes no sense! How is my Clarent Racer losing? I've got a B-rank in Riding!"

"First of all," Artoria replied dryly, "game physics don't apply to Servants. Second, why are you naming your virtual car? And third, even an EX-rank Riding skill wouldn't impact a video game. That's more BB's domain."

Mordred wasn't one to give up easily. She challenged Artoria to several more races.

As the competition heated up, Mordred's immersion reached a point where she began leaning her body in sync with the game. Left turn? Mordred leaned left. Right turn? Her body tilted right.

Artoria side-eyed Mordred's exaggerated movements before copying her. Soon, both were swaying in near-perfect unison.

During left turns, they tilted left together; for right turns, they leaned right. The synchronization was oddly harmonious.

However, the friendly competition fell apart when they hit a stretch of consecutive curves.

"Ah! Argh! What the heck? How are you so smooth through the corners, Father?"

Mordred's panic contrasted sharply with Artoria's calm, focused expression.

"I told you," Artoria said, her tone steady, "straight-line speed means nothing if you can't handle the corners. Anyone can floor it on a straight. The real test is in the turns."

As Mordred approached a left turn, Artoria navigated a right-hand bend.

Instinctively, both leaned their bodies—

Thud!

Their foreheads collided with a resounding bonk.

A moment of stunned silence followed.

"Ow!" Mordred yelped, clutching her head in pain.

"Hiss..." Artoria inhaled sharply through her teeth, rubbing her own forehead.

Her head is ridiculously hard... Artoria thought, wincing.

"Does it hurt, Mordred?" Artoria asked.

"No..." Mordred muttered, though her glistening eyes betrayed her words.

The collision had been no light tap; even Artoria felt stars dancing in her vision.

Lowering her gaze in thought, Artoria approached Mordred and gently pulled her closer.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Uh... here." Mordred pointed hesitantly at the spot she'd been nursing.

Without warning, Artoria wrapped an arm around Mordred's head, cradling it softly. Mordred's cheek pressed against something warm and soft, and her nose caught a faint, soothing fragrance.

Then, Artoria leaned in, blowing gently on the sore spot.

"Hoo—"

---

T/N: daddy~