Reborn in Type-Moon, My Sister is Aoko Aozaki

Of course. Here is the same text, edited for more beautiful and evocative prose while retaining the original meaning and tone.

Brilliant morning light and a refreshing breeze streamed through the open office window, gradually stirring the sleeping Artoria, who had been sprawled across her desk.

"What... what is this?" Blinking, she tried to push through a daze, a remnant of sleep still clinging to her mind. Artoria rubbed her forehead and shook her head gently. For some reason, the memories of the previous night were a hazy, indistinct blur. She couldn't shake the strange feeling that her head felt lighter than usual, as if a great burden had been lifted.

"I remember I was handling official duties... and then a late-night snack. But now, this..." Her gaze fell upon a chaotic scattering of documents across the floor, and she was utterly astonished. At a glance, one would think some audacious thief had broken into the office. But that was clearly impossible. This was the White City, Camelot. Not only was it shielded by Merlin's enchantments, but the castle was also patrolled by several Knights of the Round Table. Who would be foolish enough to attempt a theft right under her very nose?

"Did I knock them over in my sleep?" Artoria mumbled, uncertainty clouding her pretty face. Just then, a slight sting pricked her right palm. She instinctively flipped her hand over to find a neat, smooth wound that had not been there before. Judging by its clean edges, it was clearly not an accidental scratch, but the work of a sharp object. So...

"Someone really broke in last night?!" The girl's expression shifted instantly. She shot to her feet, anxiously checking the scattered documents, but ultimately found nothing missing.

"What in the world happened..." Artoria's face was grim, filled less with fear and more with sheer incomprehension. If it was a thief, nothing had been taken. If it was an assassin, she was perfectly unharmed, save for the strange wound on her palm. Surely the intruder hadn't broken in just to mess up the room while she slept? But regardless of the motive, for the esteemed King Arthur to have allowed an intruder to sneak in so close would be a significant blow to her reputation.

"It seems I must discuss this with Merlin." Artoria rubbed her brow, a headache beginning to form behind her eyes and a hint of exhaustion on her delicate face. Speaking of which, she found it deeply strange that she had fallen asleep so inexplicably last night, and so soundly at that. Had she truly been so tired these past few days?

As she pondered, the girl began to tidy the disheveled documents. It was then that her eyes caught something new: a crystal ball resting on the corner of her desk.

"Was this here before?" Blinking in confusion, Artoria walked towards it, her reflection appearing in the glistening orb. She saw her own dignified, valiant face, her beautiful sand-gold hair tied back. However, the single, almost defiant lock of hair that normally stood proudly erect from her crown was now only half its length, swaying forlornly in the breeze.

Artoria froze. A moment later, a storm of anger gathered between her brows. She gritted her teeth. "How dare that audacious thief! T-to even cut my hair! Do you think Camelot is a place you can just come and go as you please?!" Her pale hand clenched into a fist, striking the desk in indignation. Artoria had never imagined the culprit's goal wasn't theft, but humiliation.

However, before she could begin to fathom how to catch the perpetrator, the magical crystal ball on her desk—perhaps triggered by some external stimulus—suddenly flared with light. Artoria instinctively stepped back, her face a mask of vigilance. But in the next second, that vigilance shattered, replaced by a horror that seemed to freeze her in space.

It was because of the image now projected into the air by the crystal ball's light.

There, on the document-littered floor, was a mature beauty with a graceful figure, one shoulder bared to reveal a full bosom. She was looking at Artoria with an expression of pure victory, a silent taunt meant only to provoke the jealousy she now saw blooming on the king's face. Yet, what truly broke Artoria's composure was not the woman's triumphant demeanor, but the fact that she was intimately embracing a black-haired boy. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned, and his sleeping face was pure and peaceful. The woman had even buried his face tightly against the soft, high swell of her chest.

At that moment, Artoria felt a string in her mind, pulled taut for far too long, finally snap.

It had broken.

...

"Hehehe, drink up! I can still handle more! Don't be shy, keep it coming!"

"Fou~ Fou~!"

At the castle entrance, Merlin, reeking of alcohol and flushed, staggered through the gates, waving his staff like a madman. On his shoulder, Fou, who seemed equally inebriated, swayed in time to Merlin's strange humming. The guards at the entrance took no notice of the most famous court magician of Britain in such a dishevelled state. After all, with the aid of his illusion magic, unless Merlin willed it, most people would be unable to see him, allowing him to fully enjoy his intoxication.

But his carefree enjoyment was short-lived. In the next instant, an incredibly vast surge of magical energy erupted from within the castle, a torrent so powerful it seemed to pierce the very clouds.

Startled, Merlin walked headfirst into a wall. He tumbled to the ground, then quickly scrambled back up with the support of his staff, looking around frantically. "Wh-what's wrong? An enemy attack?! Has Vortigern revived?! Or has the Star of Destruction descended, and a Beast appeared?!"

"Fou, Fou?!"

Stumbling haphazardly towards the source of the magic, Merlin immediately arrived at the office. He kicked open the door and instinctively called out, "Artoria, what in the..."

His words caught in his throat.

Because inside the office stood the golden-haired girl, her back to him, holding the Holy Lance. She was radiating a heart-stopping fluctuation of magical energy and a killing intent so chilling it froze the air, like a raging red dragon ready to tear the world apart.

Artoria turned, just enough for him to see her profile. Her hair, like shattered gold, moved as if in a phantom wind. The pupils of her holy-blue eyes had narrowed into vertical slits, pinning Merlin with their gaze. Her voice was no longer dignified, but had become a low, turbulent growl like the waves of a deep abyss, so cold it sent shivers down the spine.

And the girl uttered only one sentence.

"Merlin, raise the army."

"I'm going to attack Orkney!"

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