Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1283: The Hero of the Campaign a Century Ago

Cloud shadows drifted as the gaunt man who had been sitting on the windowsill stepped down.

The chains on his shackles rang with a crisp clatter… He was truly emaciated. The chains binding his hands and feet seemed almost heavier than his own body.

“Alice…”

The man called Mordred spoke in a hoarse voice, as if his vocal cords had been scorched.

“Have you gone too long without speaking?” the witch tilted her head slightly as she looked him over, then shook her head. “But I’m not Alice. I’m her daughter, Gillian.”

“Daughter?”

His expression turned vaguely confused, and he fell silent, as though searching his memories.

The witch frowned as well, half speaking to herself, half to him. “Sixty years of imprisonment, plus the poison concocted jointly by a hundred alchemists of the Magicians’ Association… Has that already thrown your mind and memories into chaos? Look at me, Mordred. You should remember who you are.”

He stood motionless, more like a skeleton than a living man.

This castle possessed terrifying anti-magic properties. She could not use any of her abilities here. That was precisely why Perkins had agreed to her prison visit. Even so, before entering, she had been subjected to extremely thorough searches to ensure she carried nothing concealed.Yet she had still brought something in.

The witch lifted the hem of her skirt and slid her hand inside. A faint flush of bodily sensitivity crossed her face. She slowly exhaled, her eyes glowing like phosphorescence. When she withdrew her hand, there was a small glass vial in it.

Holding the vial, she walked up to Mordred and pulled out the stopper. “I spent thirty years—and was wanted by the Magicians’ Association for thirty years—to finally gather the ingredients to make this universal decoding potion.”

He remained unresponsive, still trapped in his own memories. Seeing this, the witch had no choice but to pinch his chin and pour the liquid from the vial into his mouth.

When the potion finally slid down his throat and entered his body, the witch slowly stepped back. In truth, even she was not entirely certain that this potion could dispel the alchemical poison within him.

Time passed bit by bit… Mordred still stood there without moving. Gillian frowned. Had it failed?

Just as her heart sank, Mordred suddenly showed signs of agony. He clutched his throat, dropped to his knees, and retched violently.

Black liquid poured from his mouth, accompanied by a foul, nauseating stench.

The retching went on and on… He vomited far more black fluid than his body should reasonably have contained.

A long time passed—far longer than the allotted visiting time.

At last, it seemed the black liquid inside him had been completely expelled. He remained kneeling on the ground, hands clutching his throat, head lowered.

“Y-you… what’s wrong, Mordred?” Gillian asked hesitantly.

He lifted his head. His eyes were clear again as he slowly rose to his feet. “I’m just sorting through several decades’ worth of memories… You really are Alice’s daughter?”

“I inherited my mother’s power. I’m also a psychic witch.” Gillian nodded. “Perhaps after we leave this castle, I can prove it to you. How do you feel? Has the antidote completely cleared the poison from your body?”

“About fifteen percent,” Mordred said after a moment of silence. “But that’s enough.”

“Only fifteen percent? How is that possible?” Gillian frowned and snorted coldly. “That damned alchemist… so he really didn’t give it his all!”

Mordred looked at his own hands. “The poison in my body was formulated jointly by over a hundred high-ranking alchemists, including masters. I don’t know who the alchemist you found was, but for a single person to achieve this level already makes them a genius… And fifteen percent is enough.”

“Really?” Gillian’s face lit up with joy. “You’re confident you can leave this prison? To be honest, this was a gamble for me. If I couldn’t wake you… I’d probably end up locked in here forever. Best case scenario, I’d be handed over by the Round Table to the Magicians’ Association.”

“I will leave this place.” As he spoke, he looked at the witch. She saw not the slightest trace of nostalgia in his eyes.

“But before that, you need to tell me… why you came looking for me, and why you helped detoxify me.”

“The Akashic Records.”

Fervor flashed in the witch’s eyes as she enunciated each word. “Mordred, I need you to help me obtain them.”

“A document that can alter history…”

He closed his eyes, seemingly thinking.

The witch grew uneasy. If this man refused, all her planning would come to nothing…

“Fine. I agree.”

He opened his eyes and nodded calmly. “Consider it payment for bringing me the antidote. But think it through—this is your one wish. Once it’s used, it’s gone.”

The witch chuckled softly. “It’s said that whoever can rescue you from this prison may ask you to do one thing. I don’t think my request is a waste—though what I’m spending is a favor owed by the strongest knight ever called a demigod.”

“Demigod?”

He gave her a strange look, then said calmly, “I stopped being that long ago… Come on. After I help you find the document, I’ll be coming back. There are still books here I haven’t finished reading.”

Coming back?!

She was instantly startled, unable to grasp his meaning. But seeing Mordred already heading for the door, she could only hurry after him.

The shackles and chains were still bound to his hands and legs… Listening to the scraping of metal as he walked, the witch frowned.

This so-called demigod, the most vicious and evil knight in history, seemed… surprisingly ordinary.

…

“Mr. Lino, it’s almost been an hour!”

They reminded Lino, who had maintained a sword-ready stance for nearly an hour. He showed no reaction, eyes still closed, maintaining the most solemn vigilance.

His subordinates were unconcerned. No one had ever escaped this prison.

For half a century, every criminal confined within had eventually gone mad and committed suicide—owing not only to the terrifying anti-magic power inside, but also to even stronger guardians.

…

“Why did you suddenly stop? The gate is still some distance away.”

The witch frowned. She had walked this road on her way in and felt only a vague oppression at the time—because both sides of the path were lined with countless knight statues.

“Step back a little. Passing through here will be troublesome,” Mordred said suddenly.

“Troublesome?” The witch froze.

“These statues contain the heroic souls of fallen knights—at the very least Grand Knights, and even some of the Twelve throughout history. Of course, mere heroic spirits can’t compare to them in life.”

“These…?” The witch frowned. “They’re just ordinary statues.”

“For you, yes.” Mordred spoke calmly and stepped forward. “They only awaken when I attempt to pass through here.”

As if to prove his words, the instant he took another step, the statues lining both sides of the corridor abruptly opened their eyes.

Vast killing intent poured from them, converging into a terrifying pressure. In an instant, the witch’s face turned deathly pale, as if her soul were being pierced by countless blades.

This was merely the leakage of their aura. Gillian stared in terror as the statues came “alive,” stepping down from their pedestals and drawing their weapons.

Impossible to escape! Completely impossible! Her mind screamed.

Mordred continued forward. “I don’t know what method you used to gain their permission for this visit, but don’t think they allowed you in because you were clever. It’s simply because they have absolute confidence—confidence that even if you entered, you could do nothing.”

She could only smile bitterly. These were famous Grand Knights of history… and even members of the Twelve of the Round Table.

Suddenly, a knight statue wielding a golden greatsword strode up to Mordred. It stood at least two heads taller than him.

Mordred lifted his head. “Kaijin… do you want me to kill you one more time?”

Kaijin?

Gillian was extremely familiar with the history of the Knight Bureau. Staring at the golden sword in the statue’s hands, she exclaimed in shock, “Kaijin… could he be the Heavenly Golden Knight who stood shoulder to shoulder with you a century ago—the one who inherited the name of Gawaine—Kaijin Alexander?”

Mordred turned to look at Gillian, but at that very moment the knight statue before him slowly raised its golden sword and, without the slightest hesitation, brought it down in a slash.

“Watch out!!”

She screamed in terror at the sight—but in the same instant, when the golden sword fell, her eyes widened.

That golden sword was unquestionably razor-sharp, and with the partial power of the Heavenly Golden Knight behind it, it could easily cleave steel plates. Yet such a blade failed to cut through Mordred’s shoulder.

The tremendous force of the strike still drove Mordred’s legs straight into the floor. Was his body harder than steel? The witch parted her lips in disbelief.

“Since you’re already dead, it’s better to rest in peace,” Mordred said calmly. “Why linger in this world… one that was long ago destined to end?”

The statue suddenly opened its mouth and let out a roar. It raised the sword again and slashed down once more.

This time, Mordred instead lifted both hands. The chains on his shackles were severed instantly—and his figure vanished from where he stood. At least, the witch could not see his movement at all.

In the blink of an eye, when she saw Mordred again, the golden sword was already in his right hand… and the Heavenly Golden Knight statue’s arm was gone.

“Rest in peace. There’s no use guarding me.”

As he spoke softly, Mordred crouched slightly, placing the golden sword behind him. With a sudden twist of his body, he swung the blade in a horizontal arc from behind!

The castle’s anti-magic power seemed to completely ignore this man.

A dazzling radiance burst from the golden sword, followed by a crescent-shaped blade of light that surged outward—sweeping across the hall!

In that instant, statue after statue was cleaved apart by the crescent sword light. The murderous aura that had made Gillian tremble vanished completely. In just a few seconds, the corridor was left filled only with countless fragments of stone.

Beams of light slowly rose from the shattered statues, gathering and spiraling together into a vortex of light that slammed straight toward Mordred.

He set the golden sword aside and extended his left hand, placing his palm against the spiraling light. The resulting airflow erupted like a hurricane. The castle’s anti-magic force was still present, forcing the witch to lean forward as her body was steadily pushed back by the gale.

At last, the violent wind gradually subsided.

When everything settled, the witch saw Mordred standing amid the countless fragments.

For a moment, she seemed to see him standing atop mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Mordred lowered his head, left hand raised. In his palm, tiny lights like fireflies slowly circled. He let out a quiet breath and picked up a bottle from the ground.

The bottle appeared to have once been part of a knight statue’s equipment. Mordred guided the flickering lights into it, then walked slowly over to Gillian. “Before we leave, help me keep this for now.”

Her mind blank, she took the bottle almost by instinct.

This man’s poison had really been cleared by only fifteen percent?

…

…

In front of the castle gates, the subordinates—now growing impatient—were frowning.

“They’re coming.”

Grand Knight Lino suddenly spoke, slowly raising both hands. As he did, faint light began to flicker around them.

Only then did they realize he had not been miming a sword stance—he was actually holding a blade… one that was almost completely transparent!

Only when it moved and refracted the light could it be seen.

“Coming… what’s coming?” The others froze.

Boom—!!

A deafening crash erupted.

The massive castle gates were blasted apart by something, splitting cleanly into two halves that shot outward. The crowd panicked as the heavy doors flew toward them.

Only Lino sprang forward instead of retreating, swinging the nearly invisible sword to meet them. In an instant, he sliced the two massive door slabs into dozens of smaller pieces.

From the dust, two figures slowly emerged from the shadows beyond the gate—along with the clanking sound of shackles and chains.

“She’s out! The psychic witch… and the one beside her is?” The crowd gasped.

The man’s clothing was thin and badly worn by time. Slung over his shoulder was a golden greatsword.

Lino took a deep breath and slowly straightened, his voice grave. “Hundreds of heroic souls of our predecessors, an anti-magic field jointly established by a hundred gold-ranked magicians of the Magicians’ Association—and still they couldn’t stop you… the legendary knight, Mordred. Allowing this psychic witch a prison visit was a mistake from the very beginning.”

Mordred glanced sideways at Lino and said casually, “Don’t underestimate this anti-magic space. After all, it’s the product of over a hundred gold-ranked magicians working together. But everything has a lifespan, and it naturally weakens over time. In about thirty more years, if it isn’t reinforced, this field will actually dissipate on its own.”

Lino inhaled deeply, then issued an order that shocked all of his subordinates—he commanded everyone to evacuate immediately and ensure the information was delivered.

“Mr. Lino! We—”

“This is an order! Leave at once! You must notify the Knight Bureau! Anyone who refuses will be stripped of their knightly status immediately!”

“Th-this…”

Clenching their teeth, the group ultimately obeyed. From beginning to end, Mordred made no move to stop them.

Mr. Lino stood alone before Mordred and the psychic witch. The nearly transparent sword now shimmered with blue light—it was no longer invisible.

“The Wind King… this is a replica, isn’t it?” Mordred remarked with interest. “So you’re this generation’s prison warden? You should go. You’ve worked hard guarding me all these years.”

Lino took a deep breath and said solemnly, “To have the chance to fight a hero from a century ago… I don’t intend to let it pass.”

“A hero?” Mordred chuckled. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”

Lino replied, “No matter how great your crimes once were… a century ago, you truly were a hero of that great war. Countless evil Black Souls fell by your hand. Though I wasn’t born at the time, I believe that without you, that war could never have been won. At the very least, you once saved this world.”

“Is that so.”

Mordred lowered his head, his voice so soft it seemed meant only for himself. “After all these years… you still think you truly won. Hopelessly foolish…”

He suddenly swung the golden sword.

A crescent blade of light burst forth at blinding speed, leaving Lino with only enough time to block—dodging was impossible.

The blue-lit blade shattered instantly. The crescent strike slammed into him, blasting him dozens of meters away.

“Just one strike…”

Grand Knight Lino spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed unconscious.

(End of Chapter)