Grand Foreigner (Overlord\FGO Crossover)

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: Yggdrasil

With a simple glance, Mozart could conclude that Olga Marie's newly casted spell could not truly be called exceptional. Neither in its potency or even in its execution. At least in Mozart's opinion, a somewhat capable magi who practiced magecraft all their lives would not call it that. And of course, as a Servant, a being who surpassed almost any magi of the Association, Mozart could not call her spell skillful at all.

Of course, Mozart, is a Caster-class Servant, will have a higher standard on what he considered 'skillful'. Even though Mozart was not the most prominent of the Caster class, he was still a Servant for whom almost any modern magecraft would seem like a child's effort when compared to what he could create.

Therefore, as her Mentor, Mozart should not have been surprised at all by what Olga-Marie had accomplished. Though seeing the spell heading towards him, he could give it a passing mark.

However, Mozart, instead of doing as logic and common sense dictated to him, just glanced at the Animusphere's spell and took a step forward, putting himself closer on the path of the spell.

"Ha?" Olga-Marie glanced at her sparring partner, somewhat surprised, before her spell crashed into Mozart.

With a flash, Olga-Marie's exploded as it struck Mozart. After which a familiar melody hit Mozart's ears.

Of course, if in Mozart's place were another magi, even another Servant, they would not have heard anything. Unlike Mozart, who is able to weave music itself into magecraft - Olga-Marie could not reach such a level, which is why her magecraft of Orpheus learned from Mozart looked not at all similar to Mozart's.

Still, Mozart swayed in place a little when the spell crashed into him. After which he involuntarily let out a hiss of pain. Even though Olga-Marie's ability with the Orpheus system of Magecraft was not even close to Mozart's level, it was still painful enough to calmly accept it without protection. No doubt, this was the magecraft of Orpheus.

Mozart even allowed Olga-Marie's magecraft to cut into him in order to be convinced of this. Even though it would be child's play to extinguish the spell, and then deal with his opponent with a retaliatory maneuver - Mozart chose not to do so.

Satisfied with what he had found he shook his head, catching the eyes of Olga-Marie, who looked at him with a silent question.

"Enou… , kuh." Mozart tried to talk, but finding no air in his lungs he then tried took a deep breath - only to suddenly feel an unpleasant aching feeling in his chest. He had broken a rib.

"Ha..." - Mozart mentally sighed - "Broke a rib..."

Of course, it was not surprising for a magi to break a rib, if not worse, when they were struck by an offensive magecraft. For an ordinary magi it would not be surprising. But for a Servant to be wounded? It would take a very special and powerful spell or occasion for it to happen. Which is why what had happened should be impossible.

Mozart would not have been wounded by an ordinary spell casted by a normal magi. Mozart was - albeit far from the most hardy - a Servant. The damage was done when Olga-Marie used Orpheus' magecraft, something that Mozart has a great knowledge of, and should be able to withstand better than other forms of magecraft..

And lastly and perhaps most shocking of all, the branch of magecraft that she used... She had only learned not more than three weeks ago!.

"Enough." With a shudder of pain, Mozart repeated one more time, after which he glanced at the still shocked Olga-Marie. She, upon hearing his instruction, slowly came to herself and moved swiftly towards Mozart with a worried expression on her face. Seeing Olga act in such a strange way forced a chuckle to emerge - only for Mozart to immediately grimace from the broken rib.

As Olga reached the wounded Servant, a quiet melody rang out. As Olga demonstrated another facet of Orpheus' magecraft that she had learned, Mozart felt his broken rib snap into place with an unpleasant sound, with the pain he felt slowly draining away.

"Well, Olga-Marie", - Mozart nodded, then smiled, - "Congratulations. You have learned everything I could teach you."

For a second, there was only silence in the small training hall...

"What?" Olga-Marie looked at Mozart blankly, - "Are you serious?"

"Quite", - Mozart sighed and shook his head.

"But... It has been… " - Olga-Marie blinked in confusion, - "It has only been three weeks?"

"Yes", - Mozart breathed out, and mumbled under his breath - "Which somewhat scares me… "

Suddenly, Mozart froze in place, and then hurriedly turned towards the front door.

"Ha?" - Olga-Marie looked at the Caster in confusion.

However, instead of answering, Mozart only glanced at her, and then put his index finger to his lips, showing her the need to be quiet.

"What?" - Olga-Marie looked at Mozart in confusion, but she did have the chance to ask her question, as a figure entered the training hall.

"Ah, there you are, chief!" - The voice that was supposedly pleasant to hear spread across the room and made Olga's insides twirl unpleasantly. The voice sounded too good-natured and friendly that Olga-Marie could understand, without using all sorts of magecraft, how unnatural and refined the possessor of the voice was acting. - "Believe it or not, I was looking for you everywhere!"

"Baal", - Mozart's voice sounded dry, and somewhat hostile before changing completely, turning into the most good-natured of all possible. It seems that Mozart was gifted in acting as well. - "My dear friend, it's been a long time!"

"Mozart…" As Baal's gaze swept towards Mozart, even through the periphery, Olga could see just how Baal's gaze was filled with a certain emotion. An emotion so heavy and unpleasant it makes Olga want to literally wash the feeling it invoked away from her body. It didn't last long though as Baal's face and expression turned into a mask of affability so quickly that an ordinary person would think that what they had felt was just a trick of their mind. "Indeed, Mozart, how long it has been!"

As Baal entered the room, Olga managed to see the figure of a woman wrapped in a purple cloak behind Baal's back.

"Hmm, I see that you're in the middle of training.", - Baal glanced over at Olga-Marie and Mozart with a look of inquisitiveness in his face, only to then shook his head a moment later and smiled, - "Strange, I thought you'd be done by this time…"

Mozart frowned at such a remark. Still he did not show any of the discomfort he felt on his face as he answered Baal. "Oh, we just decided to take a break."

There was nothing particularly strange about the phrase 'I thought you'd be done by this time' - if you think that this phrase was related to a lesson - or the training between Olga and Mozart itself.

However, Baal did not mean it in that way, Mozart could tell.

Mozart could perfectly hear at a level where words and actions meant little in disguising one's intent. His ability could not truly be called a full-fledged mind reading, as there might exist an existence whose intent is nonexist, a void. Or perhaps other alien beings, whose existence is so alien that Mozart's perspective as a human cannot parse what their intent is. Still, such an existence has not yet appeared.

And so, even someone who had perfected their acting skills to the limit, like Baal, could not completely hide their mind from Mozart.

Although, perhaps, for Baal, the more correct word to use would not be 'could not', but 'did not want to'.

And Mozart could perfectly sense that Baal's words meant nothing at all as harmless as it might sound to the common man hearing his remarks.

Mozart smiled, while inwardly, his mind was in disarray. Was Baal responsible for Olga's explosive growth? No… Baal isn't the type of person not to boast of such an achievement, especially either to Ainz or Cainabel. And Mozart would definitely have heard something if Cainabel knows, she isn't the type to hold back her displeasure after all.

About Olga's progress… perhaps the easiest way would be to say that Olga-Marie made a giant leap in her training. An absolutely unnatural leap.

Mozart was certainly well aware that the magecraft of Orpheus was not a magical system that any magi could easily master. After all, if your magecraft is based on an ideal melody created by the God of Music, it would be logical to assume that an ear for music and the ability to play musical instruments were necessary knowledge for any magi who decided to dabble in such magecraft.

And, although a certain level of musical acuity could be trained by any person - there was a certain trait called 'talent' or 'innate qualities', above which it was almost impossible for the untalented to overcome. Therefore, it was absolutely clear to Mozart that from the very start of her studies, Olga-Marie will one day master everything about Orpheus Magic that Mozart is able to teach her. That a time will come after which Mozart will not be able to help her and only experience will let her progress.

Mozart knew that this time would come… But not even he could imagine that such a time would come only three weeks after their mentorship started.

And not because Olga-Marie was so bad that she couldn't even begin to understand what Mozart was teaching her. After all, even if most people can learn an instrument, there are those that are not even untalented, but simply negatively talented in that regard, if Mozart were to say so. A certain dragon's dragonic best friend comes to mind.

Olga-Marie… Olga turned out to be inhumanly good. And that frightened Mozart.

To take in the perspective, the level that Olga-Marie had reached was not particularly high - neither by the standards of Mozart, nor by the standards of other significant magis.

It was quite a feasible and comprehensible level that almost any magi with a similar family tree and sufficient diligence could master… In five years. Perhaps, if the magi would have demonstrated dogged perseverance and a one track mind, more than usual for a magi anyway, - it could be shortened to about three years.

Olga-Marie was able to reach such proficiency in three weeks. Such a thing shouldn't be possible.

Three weeks was the period of time a magi could get an approximate understanding of the essence of Orpheus magic. But not master it.

Anyway without a way of ferreting out the truth from the other Servant, Mozart simply smiled at Baal. Baal smiled at Mozart meaningfully.

Mozart could feel a vein pop in his head form the irritation, Baal knew something about it.

Baal knew something about this phenomenon, about Olga-Marie... He knew - and was choosing to be silent about it.

Even if Mozart himself was a gifted genius who had sold his soul to music, for many reasons, it took him six months to master the same magecraft to the point where Olga is at.

And even if Olga-Marie had reached her peak in this branch of magrecraft and could no longer progress, if one would only compare the rate of their rate of progression up to this point - Olga-Marie surpassed the greatest genius of music by about nine times.

Olga-Marie was a pretty good magi in Mozart's opinion. Not the best, but not the worst either. The most appropriate description that Mozart could describe her level of talent would be 'above average'.

Of course for a Caster 'above average' meant that most magis would only reach such an evaluation only by the age of thirty or forty while studying magecraft all their lives. Such was the strength of the quality education for the 'princess' of the Animusphere family - and the careful selection process in the magical eugenics of the Association.

In Mozart's estimation, when Olga's forty or fifty years old, having reached the very peak of her magical powers, when her development and knowledge accumulated up to that moment could maximally overcome the weakness of her body - she could well have reached the level of Magus rank of Pride. A rank which only the truly outstanding of magis could receive.

However, such a thing by no means could explain the anomaly that Mozart encountered.

After all, after only three week of training, Olga-Marie was now comparable to a full-fledged, trained magi… No, even more than that. If it's only in her raw power and vastness of magical arsenal, she has already surpassed many trained magis.

With her current capabilities, she could well join the ranks of professional Executors, the magis who's focus were in hunting other magis. In other words, the armed forces of the Association specialized in offensive magecraft.

And although, of course, no miracle could help Olga-Marie gain the experience of decades that other Executors of using magecraft. So even so she has the capacity of being an Executor, her full potential was not yet fully bloomed. Still the very fact she had already reached such a point was incredible.

Moreover, Mozart could swear with all his musical soul that before the start of her training, Olga-Marie did not possess any special talent that would explain such a monstrous rate of growth. And yet, her incredible growth took place in front of Mozart himself… in just three weeks.

It was scary. It was mesmerizing.

And Baal knew about the reason. Even if he did not know how exactly it happened, he must have several very good assumptions on this score.

"Oh, chief, I beg your pardon". In the end, after waiting a second to maintain decency, Baal turned towards Olga, after spending that time smirking smugly at Mozart. "Honestly, I just recently learned that you are striving with all your might to increase your magical power…"

"Do not misunderstand!" Baal hastened to add immediately, keeping a smile of the most sincere cordiality on his face that could be presented to a person. All fake as a matter of course.

"I am all for it! Even more than that, I would like to support your desire with all my might! In the end, as you can understand - I myself am delighted with the myriad possibilities of magecraft and would only like to offer a little help in this matter…" Baal finished with a flourish.

"I see…" - despite the fact that Olga-Marie herself opened her mouth to answer - the voice that rang out in response belonged to Mozart, forcing Baal to shift his gaze to the Servant. "I beg your pardon, but it always seemed to me that it would be best for the student to concentrate on one subject, rather than being divided on several… And as her teacher, my evaluation is that Olga still needs to continue training Orpheus's magecraft…"

Olga glanced at Mozart, but keeping in mind his strange actions before the appearance of Baal, she nevertheless decided not to interfere in the dialogue between the two. No matter how much her character now wants to get into the conversation with loud remarks like 'Excuse me! I'm right here actually!'. She could still keep herself under control, if necessary.

"Oh, my friend, but it seems to me that you have already passed on to the younger generation everything that you can!", - Baal glanced at Mozart with a knowing smile.

'He knew,' Mozart exhaled.

It was no longer a guess or a conjecture. It was clear knowledge, Baal knew about Olga's progress.

"And, to be honest, while I would like to 'personally' oversee Olga's training, I personally do not consider myself a worthy teacher." At this moment Baal exhaled sadly, looking at Olga-Marie, and then shrugged his shoulders, - "Alas, a talent for teaching is one of the few talents that I have not acquired in all my long life. However, I would certainly like to help you, Chief - so…"

Baal took a step aside, eventually introducing Olga to the figure behind him… Medea.

The atmosphere and actions Baal did gives the feeling of a fashionable dog show, during which Baal showed off his new pet - trained and taught to give a paw, bark on command and bring slippers.

Olga glanced at Medea.

From a physical point of view, Medea looked as she always does - perhaps even better. She looked quite healthy, with thick purple hair and pale skin - it was impossible to determine anything strange about her with one superficial glance...

However - as Olga-Marie looked at Medea and she looked up for a second.

Medea's eyes were… Pleading. Her eyes were that of a haunted beast.

"Undoubtedly, the chief was able to learn some basic information from me", - Mozart smiled at Baal, - "However, skill grows from practice, and from experience, so…"

"I would be glad to learn from the greatest witch in Greece," Olga-Marie interrupted the conversation a moment later.

Mozart blinked... Then he looked carefully at Medea that he had ignored during his confrontation with Baal, then on Olga Maria - and swore internally.

Baal's smile only grew wider.

"Of course, chief", - Baal smiled, taking a half-step back, then glanced at Mozart, with a barely concealed smirk on his face, to Mozart at least. - "I'm always glad to help."

Mozart swore again.

Baal really did not bother to hide his emotions… However, still this was a mistake on Mozart's part.

Without hiding his emotions, Baal had forced Mozart to concentrate on him, making him ignore Medea's state… At the same time, forcing Olga to shift her gaze back to Mozart, looking at Mozart in confusion when Mozart started grinding his teeth, figuratively of course.

Olga could be cruel and cold... But she was not heartless.

Just one glance from the clearly distraught Medea could make her do exactly what Baal wanted.

Mozart frowned, then immediately broke into a smile, - "Of course, chief. To tell the truth, I would even be glad if Medea took over your training. As I really am not a teacher, but only a humble musician, my mentoring abilities are quite limited."

Mozart glanced at Baal. Baal smiled back.

And although Baal's mind was open to Mozart, mind reading or something similar was beyond Mozart's abilities.

However, he managed to determine one single thought... Because Baal wanted Mozart to be able to hear it.

'One to zero'.

Baal smiled, then glanced at Medea - forcing her to tense up reflexively - before smiling, - "Mozart, my friend… I think our presence here is quite excessive now - so I want to ask you... Do you mind if we leave? I think I have a bottle or two of the best quality wine that I could find that you simply must try."

Mozart smiled back, - "Of course, dear friend…"

---

With Mozart and Baal leaving, Olga-Marie was now left alone with Medea, after which she was surprised by Medea's new demeanour.

After Baal's figure had finally disappeared from the doorway - the witch's previous confident posture immediately turned haggard. Instantly her cloak seemed to become hung on her shoulders, turning the previously resplendent coat into a lifeless rag. However, Medea's gaze, which previously looked almost pleading, changed to another.

Confident, firm and... Vindictive.

"Medea?" - Olga asked with a bit of fear in her voice, but Medea only waved her hand with a dismissive gesture.

"Just a minute," Medea exhaled, then raised her hands to her face and slowly breathed out deeply into her palms. It looked as if she was trying to collect all her fatigue and exhaustion and out of herself. After some time doing that, she took a deep breath sharply and finally looked up at Olga.

"Chief, so, hmm…" - Medea said it in such a voice, as if she had just seen a funny absurdity. However, before she could feel indignant, she smiled in response. - "So you're one of the students of magecraft in this century?"

"You can say so", - Olga nodded, then frowned, - "Why did you look so…"

"Stop", - Medea snapped, interrupting Olga's question instantly, before she had time to finish it, - "Not a word. Not a word about it."

Olga blinked and looked at Medea.

Was she... afraid? No, that was not an expression of fear, rather... Disgust or contempt so pronounced, it is as if she had accidentally stepped on a huge bug with her foot and just now noticed the slimy pulp of insect guts sticking to her boots.

"I am here for your training, not for leisure", - Medea shook her head, then looked at Olga with an attentive look, - "So, hmm…"

"What?" - Instantly, noticing such an appraising look on herself, Olga leaned back, while crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture, - "What, are there any problems with me?"

"None that could not be corrected," Medea exhaled, and then frowned again, "However... Even if Baal said... Still... Yes, definitely, I need to assess your level of ability first."

"Hmm?" Olga looked up at Medea, then frowned. "So, a spar?"

"No," Medea shook her head to the side, after which she smiled.

This smile was not like that of Baal or Mozart.

It was the wicked smile that Olga-Marie was used to seeing.

It was the sadistic smile that would do credit to many of the Clock Tower teachers.

"A quiz," Medea grinned ominously.

---

During their walk after leaving the training room, Baal continued making conversation with Mozart Only to maintain decency, so as not to create an uncomfortable silence between the two and maintain the slight illusion of friends in a conversation, Although Mozart himself, like Baal, were not interested in this conversation at all.

They had already managed to express to each other all the most important things much earlier.

Baal smiled.

After all, to Baal, humans were such easy targets. Humans were prone to sin more than any demon. After all, demons were originally only fallen angels - they were originally incapable of sin. Sin was an invention of humanity.

After all, even the tempting snake did not devour the apple itself. This honorable role was reserved only to man.

Mozart could call himself only a humble musician all he wanted - but even he was not devoid of the sin of pride and arrogance. Relying so heavily on his hearing - and stumbling where he was supposed to rely on another sense.

Baal smiled at Mozart, earning a smile as fake as the smile himself sported.

However, he was not so bad - he did his best as far as possible when put in his position. At least he tried to defend Olga-Marie - and admitted defeat when he had to.

Indeed, in essence, Baal did nothing wrong. Indeed, helping one's neighbor was a virtue is it not? And therefore Baal could say that he was now virtuous.

Leaving a chief so eager to learn the magecraft of one of the earth's greatest magis — and teachers — Baal should have been congratulated on this truly virtuous deed.

However, providing a teacher was one of the oldest services in the world - and like any service, it had a price.

And demons were truly the oldest businessmen in the world.

After all, Baal didn't ask the chief for any nonsense like her 'soul' or even something as mundane as 'money' for that matter. And yet with a simple showing and conversation Baal had received something truly invaluable. After all, something as priceless as 'Ainz's gratitude' could not even be bought with all the gold in the world.

In the end, even when viewed by the most suspectful of people, Olga had indeed received an excellent education thanks to Baal's help. Furthermore…

Baal smiled before casting a glance at Mozart.

It seems that Mozart is still puzzled over what exactly had happened to Olga-Marie... However, Mozart not finding out the truth of the matter was not so surprising. Mozart was smart - but not smart enough to come to the right conclusions so easily with so little information on hand.

The only one who could easily identify the peculiarities of Olga-Marie's situation was Da Vinci - and, alas, she was now far away... She was in the Singularity - along with Ainz.

Baal smiled.

If this was not with Ainz's personal permission, then Baal could not understand anything about his Master.

After all, Medea was one of those people who understood their own destiny and their place in this world quickly and without prompting.

You only need to tell them what needs to be done - and they do it. You simply show them how dear betrayal will cost them - and they correct their plan of betrayal for a more perfect one. You smile at them in a friendly way - and they begin to hate you.

The best kind of fool is the fool who thinks he is the smartest.

But it was even funny - to some extent. Medea believed that through Olga she could reach Ainz. To the powerful and all-forgiving Master, who is able to punish the evildoer demon Baal... Let her think so.

Medea believed that she was moving against Baal - but could not notice that she was moving to a well-defined track.

In the end, as long as she thought she was moving towards Olga, towards Ainz with her own will, she was quite acceptable as a tool. As soon as you just move your hand a little - and it changes its own direction without further prompting, how convenient .

Baal would let her do as she wants - as long as she believes that Ainz will take care of her. Baal knew the truth of course.

Ainz didn't care about her, nor about any of the Servants, even about Olga. Ainz saw them as nothing more than tools - obedient pets, carrying his slippers on command.

If Medea thought she could get something from Ainz, she was seriously mistaken.

Ainz didn't care - it's not like the Servants could see it. When you are blinded by the charisma and splendor of a Higher Being, the shadow cast by it is so difficult to discern...

Ainz didn't mind allowing his loyal lieutenants a little interpersonnel intrigue for his own amusement. And what was funnier than trying to surround Ainz's most valuable tools with his own agents of influence?

It was so easy for Medea to make Olga hate Baal, it was so easy to direct her mind in the right direction...

Baal lightly ran his hand through the air, feeling the outline of his favorite cane under his hand.

The cane, inside which was locked...

Hmm, what was its name again?

Baal smiled, then shook his head.

What he now had at his disposal did not have a name - however, it's not like he needed it now.

Medea, Olga...

Even Mozart could not escape his gaze. After all, now Mozart will be devoured from within by the most terrible enemy of all rational thinking being.

Curiosity.

He will not leave an unravelled question in his mind unanswered. He will start looking. He will think. He will doubt.

And with doubt - is a crack that opens the way to the strongest of minds.

'However…' Baal frowned.

What place was given to Olga-Marie in Ainz's plans? Why was he so worried about her?

Some idiots might consider his actions as a sign of 'human attraction', but Baal was not one of those simple minded idiots. Simple answers have so often turned out to be wrong...

And Baal was only interested in the real answer.

'However' - Baal grinned - 'With such a Master, eternity lies before me to find the answer.'

After all, if Baal made such an effort in a small undercover intrigue against Cainabel, he could only guess what kind of game Ainz Ooal Gown himself was now playing.

---

Noble Phantasm: Speak of the Devil

Owner: Baal

Classification: Anti-Mind \ Anti-Human

Range: 0-99

Rank: C+

The first of Baal's three Noble Phantasms, reflecting the legend of demons capable of confusing any mind with their silver tongue. This Noble Phantasm is not a mind reading or psychic attack, but simply gives the target an irresistible need 'to speak'.

This Noble Phantasm, when evoked, causes the target to speak and maintain a dialogue. The Noble Phantasm however cannot force the target to answer any question if they do not want to - but it ensures that the dialogue does not end until Baal himself so desires.

As a purely combative use, this Noble Phantasm has no power, since it is unable to force the enemy to answer a question to which he does not want to answer or slow their attack when talking However, by forcing the opponent to continue speaking, the target of this Noble Phantasm would inevitably give out some critical information about themselves. Information that can be used by a smart enough and an observant user of this Noble Phantasm. This Noble Phantasm is especially terrifying when combined with Baal's second Noble Phantasm, a 'Contract for Your Soul'.

The rank of this Noble Phantasm received a higher designation due two reasons. First is that the activation and operation of the Noble Phantasm was so stealthy that most Servants wouldn't even notice that they're under its effect. Second is the fact that this Noble Phantasm continues to operate perpetually after its activation until Baal himself cancels it. In other words, even if the target somehow discovers that they are being forced to speak, they will continue to do so, unable to extricate himself from Baal's snares.

There are currently only three ways to defend against this Noble Phantasm:

1) Be significantly stronger than Baal.

2) Possess the ability to destroy magic and / or Noble Phantasms.

3) Have the Hero's composure and courage to keep their greatest secret even in the face of the Emperor of Hell.

 

[snow eternal]

So this story is much farther ahead on fanfic.net, and I've been following it for like 2 and a half years (even if I don't have an account there) l, and I just want to say that the last few chapters have been drastically lower in quality, if your not interested in writing the story anymore don't push yourself till you find some motivation. Or if you are still interested in the story maybe spend longer looking over the chapters.

I just remember re reading chapters over and over because I love the writing but now I just can't be bother to do a re read, and I don't think I'm just losing interest in the story, I still love the earlier chapters.

I'd still recommend it though, at least till the latest singularity

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 76: Battle of London

While slowly going down the slightly cluttered stairs leading to the the vaults of the Mage's Association, Leonardo Da Vinci, as befits the greatest genius of all times and peoples, was currently engaged in such a number of things that it would be difficult enough for an ordinary person to even list, let alone do it.

There are a lot of conjectures - some from the still not disappearing and, perhaps, now forever settled in the mind of Da Vinci, reflections about who Ainz was. The previous two hundred and seventy-two theories have already been discarded. And, judging by the direction of Da Vinci's current thoughts, two more would soon join the discarded pile.

Then there are some idle thoughts about whether Da Vinci should have amused her pride by challenging Archer to a culinary duel or not.

She's also committing a lot of observations, Da Vinci's careful gaze noted the hundreds of details along her way down the vault. From the composition of the underground soil of London, though she has to admit without some specialized equipment it is quite inaccurate, with an error tolerance of about two percent. All the way to the manner with which Jekyll preferred to step carefully on the steps in front of him despite the fact that he could perfectly see quite well in the fairly well-lit stairwell.

Along with many other side activities. From a hand restlessly reaching for a piece of paper, wishing, as if without the knowledge of its mistress, to start sketching the surrounding tunnels. To an involuntary reaction to the sound of a stone crumbling nearby trying to get her feet tangled in her desire to investigate.

Oh yes, Da Vinci was currently incredibly aroused!

Not sexually, well… not anything sexual strictly speaking. Da Vinci herself did not really remember the last time she experienced sexual arousal. Yet, with her eternal craving for exploration, reflection and action - as well as excellent control of her own body and libido - she has not thought of anything so mundane for a long time. Although this did not mean that she would shy away from such thoughts.

Da Vinci was incredibly excited by the prospects that have now opened up to her!

Living in Chaldea was a measured existence, suitable for someone as thoughtful and calm as Da Vinci. But still horribly boring - completely unsuitable for someone as active as Da Vinci.

And although Da Vinci was certainly grateful to Olga for giving her a place in Chaldea and Chaldea itself for the long, quiet time in it's halls. The Singularity, action and the complexity of the task that arose before her made Da Vinci rejoice much more.

Or, to put it even simply. Da Vinci was simply happy to do anything at the moment that required her to take practical action, and not just theoretical inventions and theorization.

Therefore, in the end, no one in their right mind could fault Da Vinci for not seeing the ambush. In the end, her mind was already overwhelmed, her attention was divided, and the ambush that was created was certainly executed at the highest level of stealth.

However, one cannot forget that Leonardo Da Vinci - the genius of geniuses - was certainly a genius. And therefore her step stopped even before even the vaunted Instinct of Arthuria - and, let's say, a certain Saber, warned them about the ambush.

"Stop", - Da Vinci raised her hand at the top, and then glanced at the underground tunnel going forward, dimly sparkling with electric lamps burning not far away.

According to the command, Arthuria instantly stopped - after which Jekyll and Saber followed suit, immediately paying attention to Da Vinci.

Da Vinci, however, did not answer, instead turning her attention to a near and completely inconspicuous section of the wall.

Ten out of ten even the most experienced magi would not notice anything.

But Da Vinci was not a magi, but a miracle in the flesh, the greatest genius and the master of all earthly sciences - at least as she loved to repeat in her mind.

And, one has to admit, her confidence was not entirely wrong.

Of course, Da Vinci did not have any skills that could distinguish a trap at a glance.

But Da Vinci had a skill that allowed her to acquire any other skills - including those that were able to detect almost any trap at a glance.

Less than a second of thought - and Da Vinci broke into a smile.

"Philip!" - Da Vinci's exuberant voice resounded through the underground tunnel without losing its cheerfulness from colliding with the dark walls, - "It's been so long! How many years has it been that we have not seen each other!"

For a second after Da Vinci's exclamation, there was nothing but silence, in which only the soft creak of Saber's metal armor could be heard. It didn't take long for Da Vinci to hear a disappointed sigh and the voice that she, the genius, expected, - "Da Vinci… will I really never be able to surpass you in magical skill?"

"Huh, what are you talking about?!" - Not seeing her opponent, Da Vinci smiled into the void - but still her gaze carefully scanned the surrounding environment.

Da Vinci did not need to look far, behind Da Vinci's back, there was a staircase going upstairs, so there could only be one direction for the source of the voice to appear in. "You are still good - no, even better than you were in life - it took me almost three seconds to see through your disguise!"

"Honestly, I'm not sure if that can be considered a compliment?" The voice sounded loud but still very soft, as if the speaker was trying to be polite in everything, even in his intonation, - "But still, I'm grateful for your flattering words."

A second later, Saber was finally able to hear quiet steps - after which she saw a man appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

However, the fact that the speaker was a man was clear only from his voice, not at all from his appearance. The speaker was not particularly tall, and his thin figure, soft facial features and very feminine appearance made him look very androgynous even outright feminine in the right light. His white robe, similar to one would wear in a laboratory - or medical setting though with more embellishments - that stretched to the bottom of his soles also hid his figure. Completely obscuring the outline of his body further diminishing any masculine figure he might have. His long, gray-blue hair also did not give him any sense of masculinity. On the contrary, it additionally softened the features of the speaker, which made his male voice now seem rather unsuitable for the figure.

Saber reflexively clenched his fist on the hilt of his sword just from being reminded of someone very unpleasant.

The speaker was not perceived as a Servant, but Instinct, a skill akin to foreseeing the future, told Saber that this was not an adversary that should easily be dismissed.

"What revealed my presence this time?" Philip, who was speaking, smiled a soft smile, while addressing Da Vinci. "I'm sure that I had managed to perfectly reproduce the magical disguise…"

"Of course", - Da Vinci smiled generously, - "But this time it was not your magecraft that had let you down. It was simply that the brickwork was particularly suspicious."

"Hm?" - Philip exhaled in surprise, then turned around, completely not bothering with his protection, exposing his back to the enemy - and then looked at the place that Da Vinci had pointed out, - "How vexing…"

After looking for another couple of seconds, Philip exhaled slowly and turned to Da Vinci, looking not at all upset, but still somewhat discouraged, - "I beg your pardon, Da Vinci... But I don't see anything special that would reveal my presence… "

"Judging by its appearance, the bricks there are bonded in a flemish bond, while the rest of the tunnel is bonded in an english style." Da Vinci explained as if bricklaying techniques is something that everyone knows, then smiled, - "However, this is all that I managed to notice - my praise to you for such a clever trap!"

After the explanation, Philip broke into a smile, after which he chuckled softly, covering the lower part of his face with his sleeve.

"You are inimitable as always, Da Vinci", - Philip exhaled, then looked at Da Vinci, - "Indeed, what else should I expect if I oppose you?"

"Oh, do not be sad, Philip, it was indeed a perfectly made trap." Da Vinci smiled back at him, - "I'm sure that it would work against any other Servant - no need to be so disappointed about it."

"Oh, I'm not disappointed at all", - Philip exhaled, then shook his head from side to side, - "It's not shameful to lose to the best after all."

The conversation between the two magi went so calmly and naturally - as if with two friends who had met by chance in the middle of the city, that Saber involuntarily expressed his opinion, - "Who the fuck are you?!"

"That is very rude", - Da Vinci, demonstrating the same casual disregard for her potential enemy as the Servant in front of them, turned to Saber with a slight frown on her face, - "And I ask you not to insult my friend."

"Oh, Da Vinci, it's not worth it to be so, I'm not offended at all." The man smiled calmly in response, and then looked at Saber, - "As for my name - hmm, I suppose, since my friend is on your side there is no point to hide… Though are we close enough to be called friends, hm?"

Philip, just in case, glanced at Da Vinci, as if wondering if he had accidentally offended her now in his own words, but after waiting for the girl's dismissive nod, he continued, - "There is certainly no point in hiding my identity. My name is Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim."

"Literally who?" Saber threw a blank look at the Servant's introduction, which could be seen even behind Saber's full plate helmet.

"He is better known by his alias", - Da Vinci nevertheless explained to Saber with a smile, - "Paracelsus."

The world froze. Saber froze. Arthuria, already frozen, clasped a hand on her blade. Jekyll, for lack of a blade, froze especially strongly.

If any magi of the Association were asked to name three famous magi of the past, the name of Paracelsus von Hohenheim would be named as one of them in ninety-five cases out of a hundred.

It is not every day that great doctors, scientists, chemists, and science revolutionaries of the ordinary world turn out to also simultaneously be great magi, researchers, teachers, and masters of the magical world.

It is also not a common occurrence that someone is born with a natural affinity for all existing elements and types of magic.

Of course, it is not every day the magi who created one of the most important artifacts of all existing magi of the Association - the Azoth Blade - was born.

And, of course, a rarity among rarity that a creator of Philosopher's Stone would be born.

And amongst all the impossibilities, for all these qualities to be present in one person. To be more precise, this has happened only once in the history of the Mage's Association, at the birth of Paracelsus, one of the greatest magi in the history of mankind.

Saber felt an invisible pressure fall on his shoulders, an Instinct for him to lean forward like a wild animal ready to pounce on a threat.

But Paracelsus was calm and relaxed, looking at the agitated Saber. However, this was not disdain or arrogance, as much as ordinary human politeness and friendliness, which he, most likely, would have retained even in the face of the apocalypse.

"Paracelsus, I sincerely wanted to chat with you", - Da Vinci smiled at the man in response, - "Of course, I'm a little sorry that our usual tea party this time would have passed without your favorite fruit basket cakes... But, well, next time, I suppose?"

"Alas, Leo", - Paracelsus smiled affably in response, - "I would also be glad to spend the time talking with you - you will not believe how many theories and discoveries I would like to discuss with you... However…"

Paracelsus slowly spread his arms to the sides, looking at Da Vinci with an apologetic smile, as if it were he who was to blame for the situation, - "Please, do not bear any grudge against me."

"Of course not, Philip!" - Da Vinci smiled at the one, - "You are one of those people who simply cannot be offensive at all…"

After that, Da Vinci turned to the other Servants, - "Now - scatter from here. And fast."

"What?" - Saber managed to sound indignant - before Arthuria grabbed him in an iron grip - and dragged him away sharply, - "Hey!"

Da Vinci turned to Paracelsus, looking at him affably, - "How much time did you have to prepare?"

"A month and a half", - Paracelsus breathed out, - "I was one of the first summoned into this Singularity."

"So…" - Da Vinci thought for a second, - "Twelve elementals, six philosopher's stones and eight traps?"

"Nine traps", - Paracelsus corrected the girl.

"Oh", - Da Vinci was surprised for a second, - "So, you became even stronger in the time I didn't see you!"

"I had a great figure that I was chasing after, after all." Paracelsus looked at Da Vinci.

"Flatterer", - Da Vinci snorted, then exhaled and looked at Paracelsus affably, - "Definitely... I never thought that I would meet you in battle. In a spar? Maybe. But in combat, definitely not."

"Hmm, in that case, can I say that I was able to surprise a genius that was able to predict any event in the world?" Paracelsus smiled gently, saying a half-joke, "Who among us is more flattering in this case?"

"Surprisingly, even after becoming an enemy, your manners did not disappear", - Da Vinci shook her head, then turned her gaze a little to the side, looking into the distance at the depth of the catacombs, - "I suppose there is no point in this case in searching for the reasons for the fog that appeared in the records of the Association now?"

"Honestly, I cannot unambiguously answer your question", - Paracelsus thought, bowing his head a little guiltily, as if apologizing for his inability to answer Da Vinci directly, - "I tried to destroy all the data that I could... But your presence distracted me before I could burn through all the vaults…"

"Paracelsus, you, burning magic research?!" - Da Vinci recoiled from the news in horror, looking at Paracelsus as if at an unknown monster, - "You are certainly out of your mind!"

"Definitely", - Paracelsus exhaled guiltily, looking down, - "I would prefer to do without such barbaric methods, but, alas, my order was very clear…"

"What a pity", - Da Vinci pursed her lips in accusation, then blinked, - "Oh, it seems the Servants have left at a sufficient distance."

"I knew that you were bidding for time.", - Paracelsus looked at Da Vinci, but despite his words, there was not even a hint of irritation or condemnation in his eyes - on the contrary, it contained hidden praise and unspoken words 'that's what I expected from you ', - "But, I warn you... Even if you and I were friends - I will not hold back."

"Philip", - Da Vinci rolled her eyes, - "We weren't friends. We are friends. And as my friend you certainly know…"

Da Vinci broke into a smile that did not shine with her usual extravagant cheerfulness, but with the predatory grin of a wild beast, - "That I will never insult you by conceding a game. And of course, I hope that you will be above and beyond offending me in this way."

"Of course, Leo", - Paracelsus nodded, then looked up.

A second later, two Casters, two friends, two great magi came together in battle.

---

The appearance of the new enemy was first noticed not by Fran, but by Medusa. Indeed, although Fran could perfectly navigate in a city swallowed by smog and easily find any opponent with her abilities - the reason for this was not a unique conceptual ability that turned reality backwards, cutting the fabric of the world with her incredible power, but in something much more mundane and less exotic.

Electricity.

In the end, the mechanical dolls of the unknown enemy were powered by mundane electricity - although much less so than more modern robots… if such a thing exists. Although this was not so important at the moment.

A small amount of electricity was generated by all living organisms, and almost any movable and tangible creature possessed a small electromagnetic field simply by the act of living.

Excluding the new Servant that just now appeared.

Medusa froze. Fran froze.

The servant felt alien to the senses of both of them, wrong, completely different from how it should have been.

"Good day", - The young voice of a very young girl resounded along the empty street, completely audible in the smog that covered London, - "I would really like to make friends with you, but I'm afraid the ending of this book will be too happy for my Master in that case... In case, I ask you not to be angry with me - but I'm afraid I will have to… deal with you."

Medusa shifted her gaze to the speaker.

A very young girl, perhaps ten or twelve years old, dressed as if as a doll in a black and purple dress, whose white hair, woven into two braids, that descended in front of her chest looked strange for her environment of impenetrable gray fog, but at the same time extremely suitable, like a child from a horror book, moving inexorably towards its goal.

However, every honed feeling of Medusa told her that in fact, the speaker did not look at all like how she appears to be.

Medusa did not rush into battle - but at the same time did not allow herself a moment of delay.

Medusa's eyes flashed with dull golden sparks - after which Medusa's pupil extended, and the iris brightened several tones.

"Mystical Eyes?" The speaker paused before looking at Medusa. "Hmm, Illusion Perception? No, not that…"

Medusa frowned at her opponent.

"I would not like to continue neither mine nor your torment", - the girl exhaled, - "Therefore, please, do not resist more than necessary."

Medusa did not want to use the advice offered to her.

"Fran, move away", - Medusa answered that calmly, - "Return to the Master and tell about what happened here."

"I beg your pardon, but I cannot allow such a th8ing." The girl's quiet voice was the answer for Medusa.

A second later, the pavement under Medusa's feet cracked and several dozen hands appeared from the ground. However, Medusa reacted instantly - and even before her mind realized what had happened - her knee crashed into the offending appendages after which she stepped back with a dexterous movement, grabbing Fran by her shoulders.

"Laudable dexterity." The voice of the Servant was not saddened, congratulating or mocking, but placid and unmoving.

Medusa glanced at the spot from where she had hit her opponent before frowning.

From the ground, as if rising to their feet, appeared… Playing cards?

Strange creatures, similar to mechanical golems, whose body has been replaced with playing cards embroidered with the suit of hearts. Two, three, four and five.

The bodies of the summoned creatures completely inorganically turned into human legs, shod in steel boots, and hands in steel gloves holding weapons - spears, to be more precise.

Medusa glanced at the speaker and smiled.

Medusa loved to read, so she could not help catching a familiar shape.

"Would you mind if I call you Alice?" Medusa smiled at the girl.

The girl froze for a second, looking at Medusa, before slowly lowering her gaze, - "This name... Belongs to that 'me' that is alone. That is not my name."

"Then, perhaps, you will tell me your name?" Medusa smiled at the girl, but inwardly she was tense.

The servant thought about it, before lowering her head and shaking it from side to side, - "No... Master told me not to do this, so... If you want - you can call me Alice."

"Okay," - Medusa smiled, then looked at Fran.

After absorbing the Grail, Medusa became stronger.

Much stronger.

Her powers had changed and until that moment Medusa had no chance to test them in battle - so she was afraid to attack now in full force, while Fran was in the range of her abilities.

"Alice, if you value the 'lonely you' so much - in memory of her, let Fran go", - Medusa smiled at Alice, causing her to get quiet.

"It's pointless.", After a few seconds of silence, after which Trump Soldiers took their position around Alice, she shook her head, - "But if it is pointless, then it means that letting her go anyway will not lead to problems… Very well then. She can leave."

"Thank you, Alice", - Medusa smiled, then put her hand on Fran's shoulder, - "Go."

Fran cast a worried glance back at Medusa, but she only smiled. "I'll be fine. Go."

Finally, uncertainly, Fran glanced at Medusa, then at Alice, and nodded briefly. "Um."

Then Fran rushed away, leaving Medusa and Alice opposite each other.

"Your eyes.", - Alice asked confusingly when Fran had walked away, - "I haven't read about them. They are not described in the books. What is it?"

Medusa, however, did not answer Alice's question, only shaking her head slightly from side to side.

"It's a pity that you won't answer me", - Alice, however, exhaled not at all in frustration, - "But your answer would be meaningless in the end."

"Soldiers, go.", - Alice gave the order, waving her hand, but Medusa only smiled. She already knew about all the abilities and characteristics of the summoned opponents - about all the abilities and parameters of Alice - and her real name - as well as the fact that she was one of the strongest Servants that Medusa had met.

Now all she had to do was to demonstrate that she had spent her time just on watching Ainz - and turn her knowledge into victory.

---

The information that his Servants had encountered the enemy forced Ainz to nod knowingly, and yet he chose not to dispatch the emergency response team the same second.

There was a certain possibility that the enemy was planning to deprive Ainz of all his Servants and lure them into a prepared trap and thus leaving Ainz vulnerable, as far they know anyway. So, as long as Ainz's Servants could cope without the help of the reserved Servants - Ainz did not plan to bring the reserve into play. Leaving them instead as possible defenders to protect the mansion, which at the moment served as a kind of headquarters for the Chaldean group. After all, it was not for nothing that these forces were the 'reserve'.

Ainz has enough stories about an army losing the battle because they committed the reserve too early and was baited into a trap that led to their destruction.

However, the appearance of two powerful Servants at once among the enemy was somewhat disturbing.

"Paracelsus..." Ainz frowned and shook his head. The creator of the philosopher's stone, ha... Tabula had read his works, and as usual she would blab about to Ainz. In fact, the strongest creature in Nazarick was inspired by Paracelsus' work, even in name only. And even in his world he… he really had an interesting history.

"Alice..." Ainz shook his head.

His mother had once read those books to him. Ainz couldn't say that they were his favorite books. But in his life, he didn't manage to read much anyway, so in a way, Ainz could say that these were one of the few books that Ainz remembered well.

Although, of course, what he remembered was the children's version, so it is unlikely that he can rely heavily on them regarding information about the Servant...

Ainz shook his head and frowned.

So, the enemy had made his move. However, the fact that only two - albeit strong - Servants were sent against Ainz, and without any support from the weaker, but very numerous forces of mechanical patrols, worried him.

It looked like a trap, but at the same time it could be a test encounter with Ainz's forces in order to determine his strength and his Servants identities and capabilities… In that case, even the loss of several Servants for the enemy was probably forgivable and acceptable and perhaps even expected. But in this case, it makes sense to attack with the weaker and expendable Servants. So if Paracelsus and Alice were the expendable ones… what kind of Servants would serve as the backbone of their army?

Ainz thought about it some more - before a voice distracted him - "Master, we have an intruder."

"Hmm?" Ainz looked up, then blinked and nodded, "So they still decided to attack us here now as well…"

After saying this, Ainz stood up, "Oda, Jalter, get ready for a possible battle", and then headed towards the front door.

If they were planning to attack Ainz right now, it means that they would probably choose their strongest Servants for the attack. And this, in turn, meant that Ainz might also have to intervene in the encounter with the enemy...

However, as soon as Ainz opened the front door, he instantly wondered if he had correctly assessed the situation.

The Servant who approached him walked as carelessly as possible, seemingly not planning to take any hostile actions at all - and as soon as he saw Ainz, he smiled so affably, as if to his old friend - and nodded in greeting.

"My dear friend, I must confess, I already thought that I would not have a chance to meet with you!" The voice of the speaker was both loud and solemn, as if the voice of a theater actor, overflowing with emotions, - "Oh, I want to thank our Lord that I succeeded to meet you in good health and at such a wonderful hour!"

Ainz frowned at the approaching Servant.

A man of medium height, whose hazel-colored hair was disheveled, clashing with his neatly trimmed short beard. The man was dressed in what Ainz could only call a green medieval camisole, over whose hand a brown cloak was slung carrying a small stack of books and moved so calmly, as if he were heading to a tea party, and not at all to a battle, completely without giving the impression of a dangerous enemy.

"Oh, please", Coming a little closer, the man smiled, looking at Ainz, - "My dear friend, could you take these books from me? I'm afraid I carried them for so long that my hands are no longer subject to me - but how sad it will be if I no longer have the opportunity to write a single immortal masterpiece?!"

Ainz blinked in confusion, after which he completely mechanically stretched his hands forward - immediately receiving, literally as a gift, a whole stack of books.

"Oh, I have walked for three days and three nights through an empty city filled with gray fog, hoping for this meeting!" Passing Ainz as if he had met him at least a hundred times and was at least his good friend, the man, Servant, moved along towards Ainz, into the house. "Can thou grant me a little rest - and maybe just a few drops of tea - or maybe whiskey?"

Ainz blinked once more, and then looked at the Servant, "Who are you?"

"Me?" - The Servant blinked, then widened his eyes, - "Oh no, really, neither my syllable, nor my face are now remembered among the people?! Oh horror, oh tragedy of tragedies!"

Ainz, not understanding how he was supposed to react to what was happening, put the books aside and then closed the door behind him.

Apparently, the battle with the enemy was to be postponed.

For a second, Ainz thought about calling the Servants with him - but in the end he decided to ask the more important question first, - "And so… your name?"

"Ah…" - The Servant sighed, then looked at Ainz carefully, - "As for my name, hmm... Do I really ask so much when I pray that the thought of a magnificent gentleman such as myself, whose speech is flawless, and whose appearance is perfect, did the name of William Shakespeare not come to mind first?!"

Ainz blinked and looked at Shakespeare. Shakespeare glanced at Ainz.

"So what about tea?" Shakespeare smiled as he looked Ainz in the eye.

---

Extract from the Secret Archives of the Clock Tower (Wizard Marshal Level and above) "Information about Charles-Henri Sanson, third part of the dossier":

"...The discovery of magical energy characteristic of dragons in the remains of Charles-Henri is still an unanswered question for the Mage's Association.

A careful analysis of Charles-Henri's lineage did not bring any significant results - no genealogical connection between possible links related to anything draconic ever present since the Sanson lineage was established.

However, the fact of the presence of a small, trace amount of dragon magical energy among the remains of Charles-Henri cannot be doubted. Especially strange is the fact that, according to research by the Department of Archeology, the trace is of Scandinavian origin - which absolutely does not fit into any information we know of about the lineage. To this day the source of the draconic remnants remains a subject of discussion and debate among dedicated scientists.

However, an even more disturbing fact is that, apparently, Charles-Henri during his lifetime interacted not only with the secret cults that reigned in France at that time (the Black Witch Sect namely), but, like many, was visited by the vision of 'Death' in his dreams. Moreover, many people associate the appearance of Death in Sanson's dreams with the beginning of his gradual mental degradation. Sanson's madness, in many respects, began with the 'dream' meticulously recorded by him, in which he tried to execute Death itself. Much later, he repeatedly noted that the dreams in which he faced Death continued - and grew even more detailed as his madness progressed. Such events quite possibly contributed to the growing madness of Sanson.

Moreover, there are several testimonial accounts, with several strong evidence supporting it, that the execution of Marie Antoinette, which Charles-Henri could refuse to execute, was also connected with his attempt to 'see how Death itself can be executed'.

Such information is possibly quite important to any prospective Master that works with the Chaldean Security Organization. It is quite possible that should Charles-Henri Sanson be summoned as a Servant, he will not be in the Assassin class, as might be expected - but in the Berserker class, possibly with the Innocent Monster skill. So to any Master that is not confident in handling a Berserker perhaps should stay clear from summoning Henri.

Still, the fact that this is so far the first recorded case in which the frequent phenomenon of 'Encountering Death' influenced a Servant so much as to influence their selves, changing the possible legend and class of the Servant, raises extreme concerns and indicates not only the importance of the phenomenon - but and its significant foreignness due to the creation of a paradoxical and unnatural change in the nature and legend of Charles-Henri... "

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 77: Battle of London?

Medusa exhaled slowly through her nose, concentrating on her opponent's every move.

Alice, or at least a Servant who chose to use that name, looked at Medusa almost emotionlessly. Like a porcelain doll simply artfully imitating human movements without any of the emotions. And although Alice could clearly use her powers to end Medusa - or at least Alice herself might think so - instead of taking any action, she only continued to silently watch Medusa deal with the Trump Soldiers who attacked Medusa incessantly…

Medusa dodged another sweeping movement of a spear. An attack that although an ordinary person would say was performed quite professionally, for a Servant like Rider it was nothing more than a hesitant attack by a novice holding a spear for the second time in his life. With a flick of her wrist, one of her blades pierced through the soldier's card-shaped body, punching a hole in the paper-like figure of the golem. Only Medusa's deft handling of her blade prevented it from travelling further, it seems almost like the golem was indeed made of paper.

The Trump Soldier, who had lost what counts for its head, which in this case is the 'face' of the card, did not fall to the ground. As Medusa dodged the attacks of the other Trump Soldiers, she could see the hole that she had punctured through slowly healing, after a while it was as if there was never a hole in the first place.

After Fran retreated, Alice tried to use five Trump Soldiers to defeat Medusa. However, Medusa had easily dealt with them or rather, incapacitate them quickly enough to leave Alice vulnerable. A situation which forced Alice to create more and more soldiers - resulting in the entire small street to almost be completely jam-packed with Trump Soldiers.

While Medusa could easily deal with even such a large number of weak enemies, at the rate the fight is going, she would lose. Despite the fact that the Trump Soldiers could not hurt Medusa and were themselves weak opponents for Servants, they had an ability that would put Medusa in a losing position.

Regeneration.

Alice's card soldiers regenerated any wounds inflicted on them with ease, regaining their original appearance in just five or ten seconds. Although it might be possible that they were damaged in some way after each regeneration, it is impossible to ascertain because they continued to move and fight just as they were before. And worst of all, unlike Medusa, the Trump Soldiers seemed completely unaware of fatigue.

Well, even within all that, it would still take days for Medusa to show any loss of ability from fatigue alone, if such a thing is even possible to happen to Medusa in the first place. With the unceasing font of Mana that is Ainz, it is unlikely that such a thing could happen.

Still, the way the Trump Soldiers unceasingly charged even when they were being torn to pieces was quite... Intimidating.

In the end, the Trump Soldiers were summoned magical creatures - their summoning and upkeep needed the user's mana - as their regeneration also would probably exacerbate the Mana usage. In the end, a few dozen Trump Soldiers, even if they were weak, with their regeneration, would use as much Mana comparable to using a Noble Phantasm. A low-ranking one, of course.

But the very fact that their cost could be so easily supported in reality, without even a regard should one of them be torn to pieces… Was pretty scary.

At least it would appear so, if Medusa could not see the figure of Alice, hmm... Quite ironic - right through. Though the fact Alice herself did not pay attention to the waste of mana… could only mean that she is a Caster Class Servant.

In the end, if the battle comes down to a simple exchange of blows, and she couldn't get to Alice, then Medusa will lose. Even with Ainz's support and even if she asks Ainz to remove her Mana limits - all she can achieve is a stalemate...

At least, Alice herself would think so. Medusa herself was not sure about it, but the likelihood of such speculation was not zero.

In reality, Medusa could tell that the battle had been going… Going well for her. However, at the same time - Medusa also didn't like the stalemate that she's currently in - albeit for other reasons than others might normally think.

'If she doesn't show any new abilities…' Medusa frowned. 'Then in the future... No, it doesn't matter.'

Medusa shook her head - at the same time moving her head away from a thrust from one of the Trump Soldier's spears - and then with a sharp knee kick threw another soldier away.

'Hmm... I might have to use Bellerophon…" Medusa thought about it for some time, before shaking her head.

If Medusa had not used the Grail, then the thought that she would have to use her main trump card against the enemy at this early stage would cause her some shock. Though more as a surprise rather than anything more serious.

At the very least it would cause her to feel some pressure, that she was in a really serious and difficult battle. But, after her Master had given her the Grail, right now, at worst, the only complaint she could have is that using Bellerophon would also reveal her identity.

Still, because she had used the Grail, for the enemy to know her as 'Medusa', is not a crippling weakness it would otherwise be. Any enemy that would be complacent because they know of her past 'self' would be easy targets for her new abilities.

Medusa breathed out in disappointment, after which she crouched down sharply - and, straightening up, jumped with such speed and force that the rumble of a broken sound barrier was not a surprise.

Alice reacted to Medusa's sudden actions by using some of her abilities. None of her strongest though as Alice also knows that Medusa could not escape from their battle - as long as she doesn't use some of her trump cards - which Alice did not fear. Like any Servant, she knows the limits of her strength intimately- and the Servant in front of her cannot push her enough to approach this border. At least that's what she knows.

A second later, a snow-white pegasus appeared under Medusa's feet - after which the voice of Medusa announced the use of her Noble Phantasm - "Bellerophon."

Alice just looked up at Rider, then opened her mouth, - "Medusa Gorgon... I have read your story. It is a sad one." Alice's voice was not supportive, neither was it mocking. It is rather cold and detached, as if she was just listing the facts.

"It was", - Medusa smiled as she used her daggers as a bridle of sorts and galloped forth. In an instant, like a white comet, Bellerophon crashed with an impact so harsh that nothing remained where the pegasus had struck. Houses, the streets, and the very ground itself turns to ash where the pegasus passed by.

Yet, Medusa had done her best to try and minimize the amount of destruction on London of this time. Even if she could not prevent the appearance of a shining pegasus in its skies, Medusa could only hope that the people of London would take the shining horse as some kind of meteor or even mass hysteria or hallucination caused by the destruction she had caused the city. At the very least she hoped that the changed history wouldn't be too ridiculous..

---

If another magi could perhaps see the spells cast by Paracelsus in a second - then they would have a heart attack. Or, perhaps, they would have fallen on their knees in tears, having seen the most beautiful magecraft in their entire life. Or more likely than not, plot on how to steal the Magi's research, at the very least a Sealing Designation.

Still, Paracelsus was certainly not comparable to a magi of the Age of the Gods. His skills, while great, are not miraculous. The Witch of Colchis, Medea, surpassed him utterly in magical skill. Medea was more skillful in magic than Paracelsus, and yet she is also lesser than Paracelsus.

Compared to the miracles that Medea could create with just her desire and with a movement of her hand, Paracelsus could not compare. Paracelsus was like an artisan who roughly hews stamped figurines, nothing when compared to a great sculptor sculpting meticulously a great masterpiece that will be remembered for centuries after his death. And, of course, one shouldn't think that Paracelsus was bad, he was a genius of magic - Medea was just that great. And yet in some ways, Paracelsus had surpassed Medea.

Indeed, Paracelsus, while not as skilled in magecraft as Medea, was, paradoxically, a more dangerous opponent than Medea. Because while the sculptor is creating a masterpiece, the craftsman has created a thousand handicrafts.

Therefore no Magi would not feel their insignificance when compared to the genius that is Paracelsus. No Magi that would not feel jealousy that their Magecraft is nothing more than paltry tricks for Paracelsus. No Enforcer that wouldn't feel fear when they see the hundred and hundreds of spells that Paracelsus could cast with but a word.

"O' fire," And that was enough. One word from Paracelsus then a dozen fiery flashes covered the sky. Those flashes then turned into dozens of fireballs that heated the air in their path towards Da Vinci. At the same time dozens of columns of fire rose from the ground, hiding Paracelsus behind the all-burning shields. It was a level of magecraft that magis could only dream of. It was not magecraft - it was the essence of magic, clothed in the form of a human.

And that is why it seemed so strange just how calmly Da Vinci looked at the approaching armada of fire which would have devoured her in a flash.

"Amazing", - Leo broke into a smile, then put her glove forward.

Da Vinci did not utter a word - however, in an instant, a wave of cold, freezing, invisible air particles engulfed the entire area. In an instant the blazing fire disappeared, neutralizing both Paracelsus' defense and offense at the same time.

"Oh, you were able to finish the 'All-purpose Matter Analyzer'?" - Paracelsus, in spite of the fact that his magecraft was dispelled so easily, smiled. It is as if he expected nothing else to happen. "Incredible."

A second later, the ground under Da Vinci's feet exploded into a hundred fragments of stone shrapnel. After which a whirlwind of razor sharp wind engulfed Da Vinci. It seems that Da Vinci had activated one of Paracelsus' many traps.

However, the whirlwind of air, rising upward, only slightly ruffled Da Vinci's hair, making her smile.

"Oh, you used your skill" Paracelsus nodded, realizing what had happened, - "Natural Born Genius... And using, hmm… Protection of the wind?"

"You got it right", - Da Vinci answered easily, and then she went on the offensive.

For a moment, the staff lifted from her hand - after which, with one sharp movement, seemed to leave a light whitish trail in the air. A trail of light that immediately turned into a hundred sharp blades that flew towards Paracelsus.

"O' wind" One more word were uttered, and a stream of wind that arose out of nowhere swept away the deadly blades directed towards him, and then lifted Paracelsus into the air with ease, allowing him to look down at Da Vinci, - "Hmm, that was clearly not just an ordinary spell…"

"Of course", - Da Vinci smiled easily, looking at her blades being swept away by the wind that had just appeared. - "It was a trick spell!"

Moments later, each of the blades created by Da Vinci's staff exploded with monstrous force, instantly engulfing Paracelsus' figure.

The attack was unexpected, the blast monstrous, it was a sure-fire hit. A perfect hit that in any other circumstances Da Vinci could easily claim that her opponent was killed.

That is, if her opponent was not Paracelsus.

A rapid stream of wind swept away the dust that had risen from the explosions, revealing the figure of Paracelsus whose body was hidden behind a formless pile of stones seemingly hanging in the air on its own.

"Oh, an earth elemental!" - Da Vinci seemed to be delighted as soon as she saw the group of stones, "Great, Philip! Moreover, I can see that is not a normal elemental. It also has one of the philosopher's stones inside it. How interesting!"

"Thank you", - Philip answered with a smile, accepting the girl's praise, and uttered another word - "O' earth…"

After another second, the ground under Da Vinci's feet opened, seemingly trying to swallow the girl. At the same time the Earth elemental summoned by Paracelsus rushed forward, intending not to allow her to deviate from her fate, to be devoured and crushed by stone.

"Oops, ha-ha", - Da Vinci smiled - after which her body turned into an imperceptible ephemeral smoke, easily passing through the colliding masses of stone and Earth elemental. The great mass of stone and earth passed through Da Vinci without doing anything. A second later, Da Vinci reappeared as the smoke coalesced. - "Huh, that was dangerous."

"I don't believe you", - Paracelsus smiled, Da Vinci, - "The genius Da Vinci is never in danger."

"Right.", - Da Vinci shook her head to the side and shrugged her shoulders, - "But I thought I would offend you if I didn't say it."

Da Vinci raised her glove forward again. With a flash, a storm of electric discharge passed through her fingers. The lightning suddenly burst forward, its passing rending the air like a dragon's roar, Paracelsus was struck, dead center.

"Oh, do not worry, Leo, I will not be offended by such a thing." The lightning that had struck Paracelsus, which could not be called anything other than divine judgement like, suddenly seemed to rush to a single point in Paracelsus' hand.

After the wave of lightning had died down, Paracelsus opened his hand to reveal that he was holding a crimson blood colored gem, a Philosopher's stone. "You really are so superior to me that I simply cannot take offense at the truth." As he finished talking, Paracelsus threw the Philosopher's Stone towards Da Vinci.

If the philosopher's stone that had absorbed Da Vinci's magic exploded now, then at least half of London in this time period would cease to exist as a fact. Da Vinci, of course, could not allow this.

Therefore, instead of throwing herself from the bomb thrown to her, capable of rivaling a small nuclear warhead in its destructiveness - Da Vinci instead rushed forward. After which she grabbed the Philosopher's Stone with her glove.

After another second, a light, almost invisible pink colored film absorbed the stone. And so the explosion that was supposed to take away the lives of thousands was reduced to nothing more than a sparkle inside the small film. As soon as the spark died, the Philosopher's Stone turned to ash.

"Don't insult yourself, Paracelsus", - Da Vinci smiled at the magi, - "You are really good - and if you consider yourself weak - then my title of genius will not be half as good. I am Leonardo Da Vinci, a genius among geniuses. And I like to be just as great against the background of other great people, not against the background of mediocrity who does not value their merits."

"Hmm, well, I will take note", - Paracelsus smiled, then turned his gaze to Da Vinci's glove, - "By the way, how exactly did you do it? I thought that even you couldn't hold on to that kind of power so easily."

"Pseudo-Noble Phantasm, Lord Camelot (Reverse)", - Da Vinci dismissed the words of Paracelsus, as if copying and modifying a Noble Phantasm was an insignificant trifle, - "I once worked on it out of boredom. And wow…"

Da Vinci sighed slowly and lifted her glove, looking at the damage to her glove.

The little finger of her glove was completely twisted and covered with soot, which did not match the azure pretentiousness of the glove.

Da Vinci exhaled - after which, with a quiet creak, as if on its own will, the little finger of her glove separated from the rest. As it fell to the ground the blackened part of the glove turned to crumbling ashes.

"Still, I had not yet finished the prototype and now…" - Da Vinci sighed and looked at Paracelsus a little disapprovingly, just a little bit, - "The analyzer broke..."

"Oh…" - Paracelsus froze in shock. As he exclaimed in surprise, the air currents that had lifted him to the air, slowly lowered him to the ground. He was now very close to Da Vinci. Once he was on the ground, Paracelsus looked at Da Vinci guiltily, - "I beg your pardon... Maybe I can fix it somehow?"

"Ah, do not worry, I still wanted to modify it anyway. Making another one is no trouble.", - Da Vinci instantly brushed aside the words of Paracelsus. - "But you are really good. I was planning to use it in case you used your Noble Phantasm."

"Oh, thank you, I'm flattered that you came up with a whole special counter against my Noble Phantasm", - Paracelsus smiled at Da Vinci affably, - "That's really nice."

"Paracelsus, stop it", - Da Vinci rolled her eyes, - "You are one of those people against whom I would not dare to fight without a plan."

"You have a plan to fight against everybody.", - Paracelsus chuckled quite a little knowingly, as if referring to some kind of inner joke known only to the two of them.

"Aren't you perceptive...", - Da Vinci shook her head, then looked at the earth elemental who continued to stand beside her, and hit herself on the forehead, - "Oh, yes, that's right, the battle!"

"You just stopped because you felt that the Frankenstein Monster was running past us." Paracelsus smiled, looking at Da Vinci.

"Your attentiveness can sometimes be annoying", - Da Vinci grudgingly raised her eyes to the sky and sighed, - "So, let's continue?"

"Let's continue", - Paracelsus smiled, after which the monstrous bulk of the stone elemental rushed forward, allowing Paracelsus to move away from the enemy, - "And I do beg your pardon…"

Da Vinci's glove crashed into the elemental's hand, after which, violating all laws of physics, the elemental staggered from the collision. However, Da Vinci was not happy about this, only rolling her eyes to the sky, - "When you apologize too much - you start to annoy me even more…"

---

Bellerophon's blow swept away the card soldiers like a… a House of cards.

Still, even when she used Bellerophon, Medusa could not destroy the soldiers to a state from which they could no longer regenerate. And even if it did, Alice would simply summon new ones. However, Bellerophon's strike was able to provide Medusa with exactly the necessary few seconds in order to break through to Alice, through the encirclement of the Trump Soldiers.

Medusa was sure that it would not have been difficult for Alice to take Medusa's blow. Just as it would not be difficult for her to fight personally. Alice was not defenseless. Not at all.

However, Medusa also knew that Alice would not do it. Because 'Alice' was not Alice. She was not the 'protagonist'. The Alice that was in front of her did not participate in the action described in the books.

And therefore, when Medusa's fist encountered an obstacle, she was ready for it.

However, her entire speed was only a fraction of an instant ahead of the creature's own blow.

"And as in uffish thought he stood," - Alice's voice was emotionless, reading the lines, - "The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,"

The monstrous creature that appeared next to Alice exhaled - and then roared with such force that Medusa felt her body being pushed back from the sonic boom.

Force, wild and suffocating, striking with the power of dozens of blows fell on Medusa's shoulders, forcing her to strain only in order to resist.

"Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,", - Alice's voice finished the quatrain, - "And burbled as it came!"

The monstrous creature roared again.

It was a nightmarish creature, as if someone took the body of a giant and replaced his head with a stone mask decorated with primitive but frightening symbols, granting him disproportionately small wings, as if made from tree branches, and arms and legs, ending in huge gloves and boots made to look like the bark of a tree.

Medusa sensed that the creature's power was simply abnormal, surpassing any Berserker she knew, surpassing even Hercules in it's raw crushing power.

Medusa smiled, after which her eyes sparkled with dull golden sparks again.

However, the monstrous creature, the Jabberwock, did not charge forward as Medusa expected. Instead, Alice took a step forward, glancing at Medusa, making her tense.

If she decided to fight on her own, the matter could get seriously complicated...

"What do you mean - 'was'?" - Alice looked at Medusa carefully with a sense of curiosity.

"Hmm?" Medusa frowned at Alice's non-sequitur question.

"I said that your story is sad", - Alice said measuredly and calmly, - "You said that 'it was'. What do you mean - 'it was'?"

Medusa froze for a second, assessing her next step, then exhaled and smiled, - "I say that my story was sad, but now it is not."

Alice looked at Medusa attentively, - "You returned to the past and changed it?"

"No", - Medusa chuckled at the ridiculous idea involuntarily, and then carefully looked at Alice, - "I just think that my story is not so sad now."

"Why?" - Alice stared at Medusa, expecting an answer, - "You were raped by Poseidon, after which you were cursed by Athena. Of course, there are different versions of your legend - but this is the legend with which you were summoned, isn't it?"

Medusa froze for a second, at the reminder of her horrible past, then breathed out, - "This... Yes, what happened then was… Saddening. However, it's all in the past, and now that sad past no longer weighs me down."

"Hm?" - For the first time during their entire battle Alice showed human emotion for the first time. Confusion."You are the Servant, Medusa Gorgon. The finished book."

"For the Servant Medusa Gorgon, it is indeed really a complete book.", - Medusa answered calmly and looked at Alice carefully, - "But that is not me. I am Medusa, Servant of my Master. I continue to live and change."

Alice slowly looked up, - "Here... How?.."

"Yes, that's right," Medusa smiled back, thinking about her Master.

The past cannot be changed. And there were really many terrible things in her past. Things that were done to her, and things that she did herself. There were too many tragedies to count.

And Medusa accepted them in the end. She accepted herself for who she is.

Therefore…

"You are strange, Medusa Gorgon", - Alice slowly turned her eyes, - "The book of this world has come to the end... There are only a few sentences left until we reach the epilogue... However - I would like to know more about you."

"Perhaps at the end of the Singularity, if you come to Chaldea," Medusa smiled at Alice.

"Chaldea…" - Alice blinked.

She shouldn't have known what Chaldea was. Even a Servant, when being summoned into the world, could not receive such knowledge...

However, there have always been exceptions to any rule.

And so Alice smiled, - "It would be like a dream from which I would not want to wake up…"

"It can become a reality", - Medusa smiled kindly at Alice.

"Perhaps", - Alice exhaled, looked at Medusa, then turned around, - "We're leaving."

"Hmm?" Medusa blinked. Of course, such an outcome is one that benefits her. But for some reason this outcome somewhat… upset her.

After all, she planned to use her abilities to the fullest to deal with her opponent. After all this is the first chance she got after receiving the grail to go all out... However, to find that the battle has to end so abruptly… Perhaps she's been hanging out with Cu Chulainn too much?

Medusa exhaled. It's a pity, but in the end, it was better that this fight ended this way. Having to restrain herself from destroying the city would limit her capability too much. Who knows maybe the next she has to fight it would be in a deserted wasteland and she can go all out without having to worry about changing history too much… Maybe it would just be corrected as a meteor impact?

Alice, after she was sure that Medusa was not chasing her, let out a sight. After which a massive book appeared in her hand that was at least half the size of her body - and probably weight.

Alice exhaled and looked at the book, - "Meanwhile…"

---

"As it was possible to understand from my story, this is the end goal of my Master's plan," Shakespeare exhaled and leaned back on the back of the sofa, looking at Ainz.

Ainz frowned at him.

First of all, Shakespeare said that, at the moment, he was under the control of a command spell and could not directly reveal the identity of his Master. However, he still brought books containing information that could clue in Ainz on his identity.

As it should be in this case - the pile of books that Shakespeare had brought was resting next to Ainz - waiting for Da Vinci's perusal. He trusted Da Vinci's metal capabilities to discern the enemy's identity much more than his own.

Ainz wondered how exactly he could remove - or even bypass the command spell placed on Shakespeare.

He knows for sure that Charm Magic would definitely not work. The command spell was worded in such a way that it physically deprived the Servant's ability to talk on a certain topic, and not due to their own desire or disposition towards the Master.

Of course, he could have tried to literally remove the spell from Shakespeare with his Dispel Magic, or perhaps even directly going into his mind and memory to search for the information. Nevermind the fact that using spells of such a high level would require him to discard his body first - it could also affect Shakespeare himself.

Without any practice… and the severe lack of test subjects, Ainz is not really confident in his ability to control memory and to invade another person's mind. At least not without risking damaging the mind of the Servant or some other side effects. As Ainz has learned with Medusa's sisters, Stheno and Euryale, such a thing might be more permanent than he would like.

He also cannot risk using too strong of a Dispel spell, as it might even dispel Shakespeare's existence. As a summoned spiritual being, Shakespeare is definitely in danger of being dispelled by some of his higher tiered spells… Never mind the fact that he would disappear, Ainz was unsure of the more esoteric effects some of his stronger might have. What if he somehow deleted Shakespeare's existence entirely? Who knows what kind of effect that would cause.

In other words, it was a risk that Ainz was reluctant to take in the current situation when Shakespeare was a potential ally.

"And yet," Ainz breathed out, "Why did you decide to betray your master and help us?"

"You can not betray someone to whom you were not loyal to in the first place.", - Shakespeare smiled, - "And, in the end, it is not about loyalty, but the story my master is creating. The story in which the hero wanders in the dark until his sad predictable end, without even ever knowing the identity of his opponent… What kind of BORING story is that!? It is barely a third-rate tale whose only good point is subverting the expectations of the reader! I just wish that in the end I was not a participant in such a third-rate story - but of a great masterpiece that I could add to my list of works - not a tabloid novel that I would be ashamed of for the rest of my life."

"Ah, I see…" - Ainz nodded.

'My head hurts from trying to understand his speech' - Ainz resisted the urge to massage his temples.

"I understand", - Ainz nodded. He really did, kind of, caught the rough message of Shakespeare's speech... Something about wanting to create the conditions for a good scene that he could be proud of.

In other words…

'He's a Chuunibyou' - Ainz sighed, looking at Shakespeare. It's another one…

Usually, of course, chuunibyous was only concerned by their desire to pretend to be something like a demon king or something like that… But to desire not to aggrandize yourself, but instead to create conditions for the reenactment of some of your own fantasies...

Ainz remembered the NPC locked in Nazarick's treasury and shook his head. Oh yes, Ainz knew a thing or two about chuunibyous.

"What do you want in return?" Ainz looked at Shakespeare carefully.

"Me?" Shakespeare looked at Ainz in surprise, then smiled, "Nothing but a great story. A hero fighting an invincible enemy at the end of the world with its fate hanging in the balance. What could be more exciting and dramatic than the death of a hero and the death of the world intertwined into a single plot? Let this masterpiece be short-lived - as at the same time, it will become eternal. Indeed, a great creation, which I will admire until the end of my - not so, unfortunately, long - life."

Ainz exhaled.

Many times Shakespeare mentioned the invincibility of his Master and the inevitability of the end, But every time, as soon as Ainz asked a question - Shakespeare would brush Ainz's question aside, justifying himself that he's under a command spell...

Although Ainz was absolutely sure that the command spell did not capture so much of Shakespeare's memory and mind that it would not allow him to answer Ainz's question.

However, Ainz did not consider it necessary to risk a possible ally just to satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps, Shakespeare really could not answer Ainz's question. Checking it using some kind of charms would definitely ruin Ainz's relationship with him...

Ainz thought about it some more while looking at Shakespeare flailing about and talking about some kind climax, and then sighed while looking at him.

"Oh!" - Shakespeare, out of nowhere , instantly got up, - "I just learned that my dear friend is heading to the Master. I should hurry - the discovery of my betrayal does not fit into my plans so much... Let my life be short - but I do not want to shorten it even more!"

"Of course", - Ainz nodded to Shakespeare, then stood up and glanced at him.

Was Shakespeare an ally to him? Was he his opponent?

Ainz did not know what he should expect from Shakespeare...

But…

'For some reason, I'm sure nothing good will come of it.' Ainz was strangely sure of this.

---

Extract from "An Analysis of Legendary Dragons, The Art of Fighting Them and Its History":

...The most common interpretation of pre-Christian legends about a champion's victory over the dragon most often refers to some kind of victory over death, the ritual of growing up, or with the ritual of 'rebirth' and the 'acceptance of a new life'.

In particular, the 'dragon' often personifies the traditional ritual of marriage that is practiced in some more tribal communities, 'bride kidnapping'. Because of which a victory over the 'dragon' is often interpreted as a victory over death, as the return of a beloved, or, in the end, as gaining some kind of 'treasure' for passing the test.

'Fighting a dragon', in this case, could be interpreted as fighting against a rapist. Which is why it is almost impossible to find in Western mythology a positive interpretation of the dragon as far back as pre-Christian times. After the spread of Christianity - which additionally connected the image of the dragon with the image of the Serpent-Tempter, the Devil - the image of slaying dragons became an image not only of doing a good deed, but also of opposing the Devil. As a result of which, for example, the legend of the dragon-slayer - Saint George is widely known and revered.

However, in view of the early policy of the Christian Church, who is forced to interact with the traditional beliefs of the pre-Christian peoples of Europe and their drive to integrate the pagan beliefs than in later times - it is not so difficult to see the reason for the similarities of the stories about with that of the hero Siegfried, a hero whose story is very muddled in the first place. After all, the benefits of sharing such a commonality for the early Christian churches cannot be understated.

One of the most blatant examples of such an effort, is the way Siegfried's battle with the legendary dragon Fafnir were transposed in such a way as to 'cross' the stories of the two legendary heroes. In particular, it was done by 'moving' the dragon Fafnir to France (The Orleans region in particular), where the battle of the dragon slayer would take place. While there exists a version of the story where and Siegfried were somehow the same person, the more 'mainstream' version of the story however has them both working together.

Both being heroic dragonslayers sharing a common goal, they worked together to bring down the tyrannical dragon. Of course in the retelling of the story the heroic Siegfried lost to the dragon and required the aid of Saint George in healing the curse that was placed on him by the dragon. In an almost predictable manner, it required both of the heroes fighting together to defeat the dragon.

One part of the story that shows the clear influence of Christianity, a part where, demonstrating a great similarity with Christian folklore and the legend of the Devil, Fafnir takes the form of a human (all the while demonstrating demonic rather than classical dragon features). An action which prevents Siegfried from striking a killing blow.

Then, in an almost obtuse telling of a propaganda, George reveals the dragon essence of Fafnir to Siegfried (likely an interpretation of 'opening the eyes' of the pagans to the teaching Christianity), allowing him to strike his blow, destroying the dragon at the cost of his life. An end that symbolizes the death of the pagans and their rebirth into Christianity.

An end that is extremely characteristic of early Germanic and Scandinavian Christian mythology…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: Assassin

When a person hears the word Assassin, they usually imagine a figure wrapped in a dark cloak, a face hidden under a mask. They imagine an invisible figure wielding hidden weapons, a figure with an anathema for open combat, and a prediliction for covert murder.

Most of the assassins in the real world, on the contrary, avoid that image with a fervor. A hidden assassin is not really that hidden when they look like an assassin after all.

So as it is with the assassins of the Assassin class that could be summoned by a Master in the Holy Grail War. The Servants of Assassination also varied wildly in appeareance and choice of weaponry. Among the Assassin class Servants there were an assortment of Servants, ninjas, magi, heroes and even goddesses.

In other words, the chance that a summoned Servant, even from the Assassin class, would fit the image of a classic assassin was very small.

And yet, Hassan-i-Sabbah, the leader of the Hashshashin, also known as Hassan of the Cursed Arm, fit this image down to a t. Perhaps it is apropos for the codifer of the word itself to be so stereotypical.

Assassin wore a black tattered cloak that hides the features of his body. A bone white mask that hides his features. Small dark daggers, or dirks, many of them hidden in the many varied folds of his long cloak used for assassination or throwing weapons. And, of course, outstanding stealthiness noted by the A rank Presence Concealment among his skills made him an almost perfect illustration of the word 'Assassin' which would be imagined in the minds of ordinary people.

The only thing that strikingly stood out from his image of a cold-blooded murderer, without a shadow of doubt, was his mind.

Of course, there were many debates and preconceptions about what kind of a person a contracted killer could be. A cold genius who is remote from human society, who sees people like cattle. An embittered and petty avenger, distraught with anger. Or an unpredictable maniac, whose goals and motives are as mutilated as his view of the world and reality.

"I hope the Lord Mage will find my reports useful." It was with such thoughts that the terrifying figure of Hassan slipped out of one of the many ventilation hatches dotted around Chaldea, this one leading to his room. As he entered his room in a manner befitting his class, he then headed towards the nearby table where he kept his notes. Inside a hidden compartment of course.

On the large sheet of paper, several lines of writings were written in neat handwriting. A series of numbers and letters written in ciphers that were insignificant for an outside observer without the correct key, which for Hassan himself, however, represented a very clear and simple record.

"The ventilation access above the main reactor room is too unprotected." Hassan neatly noted to himself, and then reached with his only working hand for a regular ballpoint pen to write down his findings. - "The bolts are almost all rusted, and if the enemy has anyone with even a modicum of infiltration capabilities… "

Hassan of the Cursed Arm spent most of his time in Chaldea doing threat assessments.

Although any Servant of Ainz could complain about being left out of the Singularity in Chaldea, and that their downtime was boring, Hassan was not one of them.

Boredom grows out of idleness and idleness is wasted time. Lost time is unrealized opportunities, and unrealized opportunities are mistakes. Idle hands are the devil's playthings after all

Hassan-i-Sabbah was not completely devoid of a certain amount of pride in his merits and in his days as the leader of the Hashshashin, and therefore endeavoured not to make any mistakes.

Of course, Hassan was not a robot - he also needed rest. And if anyone were to ask Hassan, he might with some embarrassment admit that he usually spent perhaps more time than a normal Servant resting.

After all, he could spend four hours a day sleeping, which is incomprehensible to a Servant who does not need sleep at all!

Still, to think that he could now be in meditation for half an hour more than he was able to during his life! And even more, for two full hours a week, he could afford to relax in his arms with a book or even in a conversation with Serenity! He truly is living in indolent luxury.

Hassan shook his head, trying to ward off such embarrassing thoughts from his mind in order to concentrate on his work.

While Hassan did not spend much time on completely unnecessary luxuries, such as rest. An activity which, he himself believed, he spent in vain due to the lack of need for rest and the extreme ease of his current work - Hassan was engaged in useful activities.

While indeed, there was no end to the things that needed to be done in Chaldea. They just suffered a massive reduction in their number of staff after all. There's not a lot of those that a Servant could do. At least not without some esoteric knowledge on how some complex magecrafts works. Barring certain exceptions, a certain white-haired Servant comes to mind, Servants are more suited to the battlefield rather than anything else.

Of course. Servants, legendary figures coming from across time and humanity, do not lack the breadth of skills to be useful to Chaldea in all sorts of ways. It's just that the current roster of Servant the Lord mage possessed are quite lacking in that regard. Perhaps it is caused by Lord Mage's current preoccupation with saving Humanity?

After all, while it is unlikely that he needs them, Lord Mage would definitely want to have more helping hands in handling the Calamities, or Singularities as the Director calls them. Two heads are better than one after all. Frankly speaking, Hassan believed that anyone who spends more than an hour with his Master could easily come to exactly the same conclusion that he comes to in regard to the Lord Mage. That he's an ineffable being.

Still with the resolution of the calamity practically assured, perhaps the Servants should think of what they would do after it?.

Of course, to be honest, Hassan himself was not so sure what exactly would happen after the resolution of the Singularities. And more importantly, what his Master's plans were for the world when it would be brought back from the ashes. Nevertheless, even with that, there were still issues that needed to be taken care of in any case.

That is why Hassan decided to do a survey of the ventilation, security and fire systems of Chaldea. At least enough of so to point out each of the possible ways to destabilize or sabotage them. Which, of course, Hassan did periodically as a matter of course. He then would draw up detailed reports that he would send to Olga-Maria's table with some regular frequency. The boss herself would then begin reading the reports. However, she would usually only respond with a nod with a sage air of an understanding leader and added the need to correct the problems to her list of future affairs.

Hassan was pleased with this result - since, regardless of the outcome, his activities in Chaldea were useful and productive, unlike some other Servants who preferred to spend their time on useless pastimes.

So, nodding to himself after he jotted down his latest findings, Hassan paused for a second, glancing at the list of Chaldea's vulnerabilities he had found, and exhaled as he headed back towards the vent, intending to check any remaining vents he hadn't checked yet.

And just at the moment when Hassan himself was ready to go on the execution of the mission personally entrusted to him by himself, the Assassin's trained ear caught a quiet knock.

Hassan froze.

Although the location of his private room was not a carefully concealed information, virtually no one ever visited his room. In the end, Hassan was not the most social of Servants - and moreover, it was difficult for Hassan even to imagine which of all the people or Servants might need to meet with him in person.

Therefore, for a second, Hassan felt an inkling of interest in the identity of the unknown visitor...

After that, as if deciding that a quiet and polite knock would not help them achieve an audience with the owner of the room, the unknown visitor exhaled - and with a crushing bang the door to Hassan's room was busted open. Only a miracle allowed the door to stay on its hinges. The opened door crashed into the wall, which rudely allowed Hassan to determine the visitor even before he could hear her melodious, but contemptuous voice, - "I spent so much time looking for a rat rummaging through the vents - but, as it turns out, I just needed to look in their room..."

The insult passed Hassan's ears as easily as water bending around a stone, forcing him to calmly look at the unwelcome visitor. "Cainabel"

"The one and only." A second later, in the aisle of Hassan's room, a fluffy dress that fully covered their legs appeared, then long hair falling almost to the very ground. With a flourish and easy grace, Cainabel entered Hassan's room.

As soon as Cainabel found Hassan's gaze, her expression turned into a smile, - "Good afternoon, Hassan. Long time no see."

"Not as long as I would have prefered," Hassan replied calmly, looking at the bloodthirsty vampire.

If someone tried to find common points between Cainabel and Hassan, then the unfortunate person having to interact with both would have spent a lot of time without coming to anything better than 'both Servants have the same Master' or that 'both Servants stayed in Chaldea'.

Hassan's mind could not come up with a possible reason as to why the vampire would search for him, therefore he carefully looked at Cainabel, and asked. - "What do you want?"

"Oh my, how curt." Cainabel snorted, smiling amusedly at the face - or rather, at the mask of Hassan. After a while, she turned her gaze to the modest, mundane table in the corner, on which the records of the state of Chaldea that Hassan was writing rested, - "Are you busy with something?"

"Yes", - Hassan replied succinctly, - "I'm investigating the ventilation systems in Chaldea. To help the Lord Mage."

And although Hassan was definitely not a magus in his past or in his current life, anyone who saw what happened would consider it an act of true magic.

It seemed that for Cainabel, one mention of her Master's name was ten times more dangerous than any True Magic. Cainabel's face turned to express an expression of fright for a second. It seems that she is greatly worried in case her actions could cause any difficulty in carrying out Ainz's plan. It took some time before she could school her expression back to a modicum of normality.

"I see." After another moment, Cainabel's shadow swayed abnormally. In a display of magic, several shadowy creatures like bats flew out of her shadow, seeping through the ventilation grill. "There, my familiars will do it, you should be free now."

Hassan blinked, then nodded. "Okay."

It was easy to assume that Cainabel would try to claim Hassan's achievements for herself, but Hassan was not worried if such a thing were to happen. In the end, if he wanted some preferential treatment or some kind of reward from his Master, he would ask his Master for a task to match the rewards. Hassan would not stoop to do such underhanded deeds behind Ainz's back.

Still, in the end, he was only concerned with completing the task, and not due to expectations of rewards. So, if Cainabel could complete his task for him, moreover, with higher efficiency and speed - Hassan could only nod at that, and then start looking for a new occupation suitable for him.

"So", - Cainabel exhaled after a second and looked at Hassan carefully, - "I need you to find the two Sisters-Gorgons."

Hassan glanced at Cainabel, expecting an explanation. "Hm?"

"After their… 'conflict' with my dearest Master."Cainabel acted the quotation marks with her hands, "They acquired a wonderful, but annoying ability to determine both my location and my desire to meet with them… And use them to great efficacy in avoiding me."

"I don't know how I can help you with this," Hassan answered politely, but coldly.

At Hassan's cold, Cainabel just rolled her eyes, as if annoyed that she would have to explain something stupidly obvious to Hassan, - "You will find them and delay them until the moment I come."

Hassan blinked at the girl's commanding tone. "Technically speaking, I can do it. But I need a reason why I have to follow your instructions and do this."

At these words, Cainabel just glanced lightly at Hassan, - "It is necessary."

Hassan just looked at Cainabel, unconvinced.

Of course, Hassan knows that Cainabel, one amongst a very small group of people who knows his Master's past very intimately, would not be stupid enough to do something that is against Ainz's wishes. She would not have dared to kill Ainz's Servants, even those who fell out of favor with Ainz. Mostly out of fear of possible retaliation rather than for any other reason. But still, she would not commit such a treacherous act. It is unlikely that she would even dare to injure them without the official permission of the Master.

But for the Sisters of Medusa, no physical pressure was required. Although Hassan practically did not maintain contact with the other Servants, with some rare exceptions, it was difficult even for him not to notice the current state of the Gorgon Sisters.

Even a slight emotional and mental pressure was enough to make them hush in fear or even provoke a panic attack. Cainabel was more than capable of such a thing. And, worse, she did not hesitate to bring any other Servants to powerless anger or tears of resentment even when they are in a much more stable mental state… Never mind the nervous wreck that is the Sisters.

However, as if reading Hassan's very thoughts, Cainabel shook her head, - "I am not going to push and press them… even more at least. No, I need to discuss something with them - and, by the way, with you too, a couple of very important things."

"Ho?" Hassan involuntarily raised one eyebrow - or rather, made a gesture similar to that of people whose face has not been cut off in the past.

Cainabel and a serious conversation, with the Servants...

Slowly but steadily, a sense that he's missing a crucial piece to this puzzle arose in Hassan's mind..

"This is about Ainz… " With a quiet realization, everything fell into place abruptly.

Although the magic of mentioning Ainz's name served as the strongest command spell for Cainabel, it also worked for Cainabel's sake as well. Since, to the Servants, the mere mention of the Master's name could reinforce Cainabel's words and intents, serving as an incredible seal of assurance on her actions, and confirming the veracity of her intentions.

By mentioning the name of her Master, Cainabel simply would not have dared to do anything that would impugn on her master's honor. Hassan could not imagine the terror that he would wrought upon anyone that dares to do such a thing. And if it had been enough for the Gorgons to feel safe enough in their Master's presence, perhaps it was also the best proof that the matter that she wanted to discuss with the three Servants was serious.

"Okay", - Hassan nodded, and then looked menacingly at Cainabel. - "But you have to explain to me what exactly is the matter."

"Did you cut off your ears along with your face too?" - Cainabel rolled her eyes, - "I said that the conversation concerns us all."

'This proves for sure that she is not under some kind of Mind Control at least.' Hassan exhaled, then nodded. "Okay then, it will be done."

---

Cainabel exhaled irritatedly.

During her long life as a goddess, she had managed to get used to the completely natural idea that certain privileges were given to beings of her level.

Yes, maybe she never managed to reach the uppermost pantheon of strength and power, after which her name would become a curse and blessing on the lips of peoples and heroes. But Cainabel still got used to the fact that some features of her existence differed from ones that are inherent in creatures 'of low origin'. And therefore having an unpleasant reminder of her current position for Cainabel, was unpleasant.

For example, the need to wait for the go-ahead to do something. Like a marathon runner standing at the start line, waiting for a signal from the umpire.

If Cainabel have her full strength, in her full might, she would not wait, but simply force her way to the Gorgon sisters. If necessary, immobilizing the latter with magic.

Although, if Cainabel had been in any other situation, then she would not have engaged in anything like this. She would not be looking for the Gorgons, whose usefulness even as human shields or a footrest was questionable. Neither would she be thinking about plans, nor communicating with someone so insignificant as these 'Servants'. At least their name is appropriate to their station.

But, as it usually happens, these were only abstract reflections on abstract topics that had nothing to do with the objective reality in which Cainabel found herself at the moment.

After all, unfortunately, it was in this situation that Cainabel was obliged to think, talk with the Servants and even humiliatingly wait for a signal from Hassan. As if he had the power over her in any way - and not at all the inferior being that he is.

And therefore, no matter how much bile and contempt Cainabel had at the moment , she had to wait, like an obedient dog, waiting for the master's signal.

Although, of course, Cainabel would kill anyone who dared to point out the similarity of such comparisons.

But, fortunately, the wait did not last particularly long - and after only a dozen minutes she felt how the restless blood of the Gorgons on the periphery of her perception calmed down a little. Either they were deceived by the words or actions of Hassan - Cainabel did not care what exactly - - and so with the Gorgon Sisters' skittishness abated, Cainabel headed towards the three Servants.

In any other conditions, Cainabel would have laughed at how easy it was to manipulate Hassan to do her bidding. She had only needed to mention the name of his Master and the importance of the meeting that she wanted. However, it could not be said that Hassan was wrong, Cainabel was not so stupid as to not understand what it means to invoke Ainz's name in the current environment.

After all, even if she were to assume that Ainz really disliked the Gorgon Sisters and that their murder could be excused by Cainabel somehow, evoking and desecrating Ainz's name definitely cannot be reasoned away. Therefore, Cainabel was absolutely serious about not defaming the name of her Master with her words and actions...

However, this did not mean that she would be sweet, friendly and completely truthful. After all, as long as the three 'Servants' are mollified by her actions, then it's all good.

Simply true 'enough' so as not to defame her Master and not create a negative reputation for him. Even if she is not entirely 'open' about her intentions.

And therefore, for a second, before entering one of the many completely ordinary rooms scattered across Chaldea, Cainabel made an evil grin - before completely wiping it off her face.

The first thing that appeared before her eyes was a room so ordinary and gray that even trying to describe it would be completely boring. Which is followed by the back of Hassan, who turned to the sound of the door opening, looking at Cainabel - and, in the end, the two sisters- the Gorgons.

Whether their luck was divine or not, in those moments when they both managed to avoid meeting with Cainabel, was absolutely irrelevant now, given that for the moment their luck was definitely out.

However, Cainabel also perfectly understood the limits of permissible insolence in the current situation, and therefore instead of a more cheerful - from her point of view - greetings like 'I remember that one of you is a rotten piece of meat and bones, but I forgot which one' - Cainabel limited herself to a dry, - "Finally, I got to you."

It was worth giving the two sisters their due, they were able to feel Cainabel's presence a little earlier before she appeared before their eyes. But it was also worth noting that, having lost the opportunity to retreat, they showed their most pitiful features.

Stheno - or was it Euryale? The two sisters were almost indistinguishable from each other, huddled in the farthest corner, as if a child who is running away form a terrible monster, almost resorting to curling into a fetal position for protection. They were both clasping their knees, looking at Cainabel with an unblinking gaze, frozen in pupils frozen in fear.

Cainabel refrained from laughing in a completely non aristocratic way at the realization of how much Ainz's actions - whatever they were - damaged the girls' mind. Betrayal, huh? That trembling piece of meat and naked fear that remained in the Servants made them incapable of not only betraying Ainz, but even experiencing any emotions other than fear. Excellent.

However, the second sister - Cainabel was always confused how to tell them apart - nevertheless managed to overcome the trembling part of herself that was now shouting in her ear about the need to run to the other end of the world, forgetting and leaving everything that was dear to her and took a step forward towards Cainabel. - "What do you need?"

Cainabel would like to rip out the Gorgon's tongue, it seems that no amount of terror would scrub out the impertinence of these so-called 'goddesses'. Still, in the current situation, doing so was naturally out of the question. So, with great effort, Cainabel was able to restrain herself, answering, perhaps in the most friendly tone that she could create in her life. - "You can relax. If I wanted to kill you, none of the tricks that you used to avoid me earlier would have saved you."

And, of course, Cainabel didn't lie. And, of course, the Gorgons understood this.

Cainabel involuntarily grimaced at the thought of saying something that Baal would approve of. But sometimes even in his senseless desire for complexity for the sake of complexity itself obsessed mind, some good phrases existed. 'To make a lie true - add one quarter of the truth to three-quarters of the most vile lie' was it?.

"What do you want from us?" - Perhaps one of the sisters could even have said what she had just said confidently. If it had not been for the fact that her voice trembled at the last moment, when Cainabel's gaze met the Gorgon's.

Cainabel breathed out, - "Do you think you can help me with something?"

The Gorgon swallowed their viscous saliva, realizing the essence of what was said, before Cainabel's gaze touched Hassan for a second, then returned to the sisters.

"I will speak briefly and get to the point.", - Cainabel sighed, then glanced at Hassan, - "Let's just say - I fully understand why you are avoiding me."

After these words, a soulless piece of meat, which once bore the name Stheno, maybe, twitched in the corner - after which Cainabel sighed.

Although it was somewhat ridiculous to compare Cainabel and Ainz, at a certain, primitive level that the Servants could feel, they were similar in some way. And whatever happened at that fateful moment in the Singularity that traumatizes them so fiercely - the fear that settled forever in the hearts of the Gorgons made them fear anything remotely similar to Ainz in any way.

This, by the way, was somewhat of a positive. As it meant that they also avoided Baal as much as they avoided her. Cainabel would definitely know if the sisters had come in contact with that scheming devil.

"I was not ordered by my Master to solve personal problems in Chaldea as a psychiatrist either, but the situation is such that you would rather go to the service of some Dark Lord than to your own Master." Cainabel chuckled, - "I can't say that I don't understand your reasons… Or that I would not have done the same in your place - and in my own… Anyway, the point I'm making is that you yourself understand that you will not be able to escape from Ainz. There is no escaping Death."

The two Gorgons flinched in sync, causing Cainabel to grin inwardly.

"This is the first problem that you face." For demonstration's sake, Cainabel raised her hand, holding out one finger, and then the second, "And, as far as I understand, you were very seriously unlucky to somehow fall out of favor with Ainz. This is your second very big problem."

"Any creature with two brain cells to rub together usually understands that crossing the Master is a very bad idea. At least you were lucky enough not to earn Master's disfavor." And here where Cainabel laid out the hooks to her scheme. "Though I must say that my lord is merciful and forgiving, he's quite merciless to his enemies. A very short list that, by a huge misunderstanding, also contains your names."

Of course, Cainabel understood that if Ainz considered the Gorgon sisters as his enemies, they would not only be killed, but also removed from all parallel worlds and stories in such a way that even a retroactive change in the world could not return them to reality. And perhaps even to the point that the very memory of their existence would disappear from the minds of all entities of this universe and all the parallel ones. Even after experiencing a grain of Ainz's capabilities, the Servants barely understood how deep the gap between them is and how radically different the concepts of 'enemy' were for him and for them. It was on this misunderstanding that Cainabel planned to build her scheme on.

"And to be honest, I absolutely do not care whether or not you will be killed or not." Another portion of the truth, while greatly exaggerated. "However, I am a loyal Servant of my Master. The Master's prosperity is my prosperity. And so I came here to offer you a deal."

"Hassan", - Cainabel turned to the silent Assassin, - "This also applies to you. Fortunately, you are lucky not to become an enemy of my Master - but I think you will also be interested in what I want to tell you about."

"The fact is, my lord, of course, is a genius, powerful beyond any understanding, but, to my great regret, he is not devoid of shortcomings." Cainabel almost choked on delivering the last largest lie that she could tell. Ainz, having flaws, haha… "He trusts people and too easily forgives them for their past sins. I am an example of the latter. Baal is an example of the former."

"I think that if I were to tell you that I knew Baal even before the summoning, you won't be surprised," Cainabel chuckled, "However, the matter also concerns what I knew about him. Baal is a demon, you know that."

After waiting for an uncertain nod from the speaking sister of the Gorgon - and the moment when the sister huddled in a corner stopped trembling, Cainabel continued - "And I know that lately, strange ideas have begun to appear among people that demons have their own moral code, or a unique code of ethic… This is a load of fucking bullshit. Demons are evil - and I tell you this, and I am more than aware of my own moral compass."

Cainabel smiled, continuing to mix in truths with lies in swallowable proportions, - "If we are talking about who can destroy the most things in one action from the two of us, then I will come out the winner in this competition. I will not lie, destroying a city because of a bout of bad mood is not that rare of a pastime for me. However, Baal, he is far more dangerous than me in the long run." While downplaying her abilities almost caused her to grit her teeth, it's all for the sake of ousting Baal in the end, so she will endure.

"If I would say that my personal plan in the long run is to subjugate a small country and provide myself with a life of luxury, then the goal of Baal is the destruction of humanity. Not out of necessity, but simply out of a desire to inflict as much pain and suffering as possible on this world. Because all demons are assholes."

"And while my pious and merciful Lord believes that Baal can succumb to persuasion and eventually come to some kind of peace agreement." Cainabel for a second felt funny at the thought that Baal could deceive Ainz, but she continued her spiel without changing the expression on her face.

"But his nature is such that Baal will inevitably betray Master in the end. And if killing someone like you for Ainz does not involve any risks, then killing Baal will turn most of this planet into a scorched desert. That is definitely not a part of my plans to provide myself with a luxurious life."

"Killing him now would be ideal, but unfortunately - my lord is merciful, and therefore he is blind". Cainabel sincerely hoped that her words would not reach her Master's ears. "And therefore killing Baal - at the moment - remains unacceptable. However, this does not mean that this is all that can be done right now." She grinned inside, with the hooks cast, now she can reel in the catch.

"I believe that Hassan will not need more clarification from me" Cainabel glanced at the Assassin, then at Euryale - and even at Stheno, or the other way around, who have finally slowly stopped trembling and let go of her knees. The sisters looked at Cainabel carefully.

Cainabel then continued. "So, this is what I'm offering. You will help me… Prevent Baal from achieving more than what he already has. And I, in turn… can ask my Master to give you another chance for a quiet life."

Cainabel smiled at Euryale… or Stheno. Emotions flashed on the Gorgon's face - confusion, interest, fear, however… what is most important…

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Euryale asked.

'Caught' - Cainabel expression spread inwardly in an ominous smile. Well, ha, while Baal was a master of planning, it was difficult to oppose him in terms of intrigue… However, one should not forget Cainabel's favorite way of doing things, with which she often dealt with all the previous problems in her life.

Simple, straightforward force.

'Well, Baal, did you think that you alone can play this game?' - Cainabel chuckled internally - 'Okay, sucker… Let me teach you a lesson and tell you a secret of what I managed to learn during my days as a goddess.'

---

Noble Phantasm: Lord of Blood

Holder: Cainabel

Classification: Anti-Human

Range: 0-99

Rank: C

The first of the three Noble Phantasms of Cainabel. A reflection of her legendary status as the Elder Blood, which was lost after Ainz Ooal Gown defeated her, and her mystical control over all blood as the true ancestor of all vampires.

The original rank of this Phantasm is A++ (Anti-Army), however, after losing the status as the Elder Blood, Cainabel is no longer able to target thousands of targets, which is why this Noble Phantasm is currently a strictly single-target ability.

However, even greatly diminished, this Noble Phantasm is strong enough already. Since Cainabel is able to use blood for many things - her own regeneration, strengthening her magic or to attack, its deadliness is not to be underestimated.

In addition, this Noble Phantasm can also control the actions of the target, literally seizing control over all the blood of the target - including the one that is inside the target's muscles. It can also be used as a fairly strong offensive Noble Phantasm, since, ignoring the target's external defensive abilities, it is capable of forcing their target's own blood to attack its target from within - bursting like stakes from inside the body, instantly boiling, or even tearing the target's heart or brain in an unstoppable tide.

However, Cainabel's favorite way of using this Noble Phantasm is by ripping out all the blood from the victim's body, leaving only an empty, dried shell, while absorbing all the blood of the target strengthening herself.

However, having lost her absolute title of the Elder Blood, the power of this Noble Phantasm has significantly weakened, which is why at the moment there are several ways to cancel out its effects:

1) By not having blood at all or to not rely on blood as a means of survival. It is the main limiting factor of this Noble Phantasm. Servants or beings whose existence does not rely on a physical body and or those with a mechanical body, logically, are not subject to the effects of blood control at all.

2) Have protective abilities that defend against external influences. Conceptual abilities and magical rituals of protection that do so are also effective against this ability. Although armor and outer barriers are completely useless.

3) Have perfect control over your own body. As an example, it was thanks to this method that Altera could resist the influence of Cainabel's first Noble Phantasm. She, as a Servant that has perfect control over her body thanks to the Natural Body and the Crest of Stars skills, are immune to the effect of Blood Control.

4) Be significantly stronger than Cainabel. At the moment, Cainabel has met only one existence that fits the description. Fortunately for her, it is her own Master.

 

[snow eternal]

Seriously, Ainz is powerful and all that, stronger than a number of Servants in fact, but he's not anywhere near Nasu top tiers like Goetia or the Alien God.

Click to shrink...

This is Ainz as a servant if all of his in game feats happened, or even the stories people would tell about him if he lived in a real world and did the things he did in game.

In this story ainz literally conquered all of existence and killed an unkillable reality eating god, and then he became a servant with the abilities to do that.

Overlord ainz would get his ass handed to him by servant ainz, it wouldn't even be a fight.

Game ainz beat the world enemy because it was an endgame boss and he was supposed to be able too

"real" ainz's fought an impossible to kill being and then killed it.

Idk if that's a good explanation or not but it's the one I use to hand wave the feats, also I don't read this because I want FGO content, I read this because I want ainz solving problems either by accident or with overwhelming force, because it amuses me.

It a bit like one punch man, if he doesn't one punch it's not really one punch man, if ainz doenst cheese a win by spamming items and spells it ain't really ainz

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 78: True King?

While there are several possible views on the true nature of Servants, whether they are just spirits taking on an imprint of human legends, or are they really the legends themselves walking the Earth again their power is not a matter of debate. No Magi would be insane enough to think that their capabilities are in any way comparable to a Servant. While the truth of the matter is only known to very few very insular Magi families, and the Wizard Marshall, but nobody is crazy enough to ask, few magi would argue that Servants are not in a certain way legendary, with abilities and stature in accordance to their vaunted position.

And yet, when they would be asked to describe a battle between two Servants, few of even the most imaginative magi would be able to describe it more vividly than a 'battle between two Servants'. Perhaps their lack of imagination is quite the condemnation against the current Magi society when they had birthed such unparalleled creative minds in the past. A sentiment that would probably be shared by the two combatants currently clashing.

The battle between Da Vinci and Paracelsus truly could not be called anything other than a clash between legends.

Great magus versus great magus. Genius scientist versus genius scientist. Hero versus hero.

Paracelsus had summoned an earth elemental, into whose core the legendary Philosopher's Stone was enthroned. The golem was installed with a catalyst of such power that many modern magi would sacrifice everything to get even just a sliver of it without hesitation. With it the golem was comparable in strength with a Servant of the Berserker class. While his movements and attacks did not shine with particular grace or a polished style - simply an expression of raw, uncouth power, a single graze would pulp a Servant. According to all logic, even the most powerful Servants would not take any a blow from such a strong opponent lightly.

And yet, Da Vinci, which, according to all the stereotypes about the Caster class, had very unimpressive physical parameters, even for a magus, simply put her hand against the blow of the huge elemental. When the elemental's fist impacted Da Vinci's, contrary to all laws of physics, the great bulk of granite staggered and creaked as its body began to crack. The elemental then took a step backward as if it was pushed. Then, beginning from the golem's fist, it shattered into dust-.

"Hmm..." - Paracelsus carefully examined Da Vinci's movements, taking note of even the smallest details - "So... Hmm, it looked like she had redirected all the kinetic energy from the elemental's impact on her hand. In the moment of impact she had instantly collected it, and then directing it in the opposite direction. An excellent strategy - an earth elemental that absorbed the philosopher's stone was not an opponent who can be easily defeated using normal attack vectors. Turning the golem's own strength, equal to his toughness, against itself is the simplest and most logical possible action. "

Such an elaborate observation and theory crafting did not take even a tenth of a second in the mind of Paracelsus, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Satisfied with his observation, his mind becomes fully focused again on tactical plans and a mind that collects and creates great spells with the most complex of details on the go.

"O' wind!" The tornado that rose could easily become the main topic of news headlines in national newspapers for several weeks, if not months, but for both sides it was nothing more than a distraction. "O' fire!

A moment later, the rising vortex was entwined with fiery sparks, turning the raging tornado into a fiery inferno, devouring everything in its path - after which it fell on Da Vinci.

A moment later, a weightless whitish haze rose around Da Vinci, like a small cloud of steam. The vortex that collided with it, as soon as it tried to swallow the smoke screen, crumbled, as if it had lost all its cohesion, turning the fiery tornado into nothing more than a hot wind that passed in a wave in all directions.

"Hmm..." - Paracelsus was distracted for a second by thinking as he summoned another elemental. "'Destruction of magic'… That is a very rare skill for a Servant to possess."

Destruction of magic was really not a skill that even the most famous of Servants could have easily possessed. In fact, even Paracelsus had a hard time remembering which Servant actually had them. But perhaps he really shouldn't really be surprised that Da Vinci had it.

Da Vinci's greatest strength truly lay...

Well, if Paracelsus were to speak honestly, Da Vinci had too many traits that could be called her 'greatest strength'. Fastidious preparation, boundless intelligence, patient attentiveness, an endless well of magical skills, and that's not even talking about her Noble Phantasm. But specifically, in this case, Paracelsus was referring to a specific skill she possessed, Natural-born Genius.

Without going into the nitty gritty detail of the mystical background of this skill and all of its features, the simplest way to describe the skill would be that 'as long as an ability is attainable by human mind and effort, it can be obtained by Da Vinci without any effort'. Such was the power of the Genius of Geniuses.

In other words, it means that although a specific ability could only be obtained by very specific and limiting conditions Da Vinci could use it. Abilities that could only be obtainable from the possession of a certain object, or the performance of certain legendary feats Da Vinci could use it. Barring skills that are obtainable only from conditions of birth, like Divinity, as long as a skill remained 'attainable for a person at least in theory' - Da Vinci could use it.

Therefore, an ability like 'Magical Defense' or 'Destruction of Magic' could be obtained by Da Vinci literally at the snap of her fingers when Da Vinci needed it, and discarded like unnecessary ballast the moment after Da Vinci no longer needed it.

In other words, in addition to dozens of descriptions of Da Vinci, each containing the word 'incredible', Da Vinci was and remains one of the greatest Servants in the anti-Servant class.

It was difficult even to imagine what Servant could compete with Da Vinci in the amount of counter-abilities and counter-tactics that they could easily put on the battlefield… Perhaps Gilgamesh - which, however, had little to do with his skills.

But Paracelsus noticed how, after a moment of hesitation, Da Vinci evaded the elemental's blow, instead of taking it on directly again. After which she struck a sharp blow on the elemental - which, contrary to all logic, sent the stone giant on a long flight.

However, no matter how overpowered her skills is, Da Vinci was still not invincible. Even such a powerful ability had its own limitations. Limitations, which Paracelsus knew quite well.

Truly, the double-edged sword of friendship…

The first limitation is that Da Vinci, although she could instantly manipulate any skill she received or discarded with great mastery, still wasted mana and would be taxed mentally when she used it. Not so much that it would matter in any conventional battle between Servants that would last minutes at best.

Still, as humble as Paracelsus is, he still regarded himself as slightly stronger than a regular Servant, as much of a paradox as a 'normal' Servant is. So he was confident that he could hold out long enough that even Da Vinci would fizzle out a little from the constant juggling of skills and constant maintaining a dozen different abilities that she was not familiar with.

The second limitation of this skill was that Da Vinci's body could only accommodate so many skills at the same time. Which is why, being in a dangerous position, when her opponent could also use a wide arsenal of attacks and abilities - which did not happen often, but still happened, as, for example, in the case of Paracelsus - Da Vinci was forced to carefully select her set of abilities she would use at the moment.

And the third danger for Da Vinci, of course, was the limited strength of her skills. Yes, the abilities she received were already monstrously strong, easily comparable in power with ordinary A rank skills, but if her opponent used abilities of an even higher rank - Da Vinci was forced to either evade, remembering her extremely unimpressive physical parameters, use additional abilities, or obtain duplicate skills aimed at strengthening each other. In the end whatever method she used it would contribute to the depletion of Da Vinci' reserves.

And so now, after half an hour in pitched battle, Da Vinci looked a little shaky in her breathing, her hair was disheveled, and her glove was scratched in several places - and it had already lost three fingers.

But still… Da Vinci was and remains one of the strongest Servants of the Throne of Heroes.

Therefore, while Da Vinci had just taken a step on the path that would ultimately lead her to defeat, Paracelsus himself was tethering on the edge, beyond which lay his destruction.

Paracelsus was the greatest magus, fighting on his territory, possessing dozens of the greatest catalysts in the entire history of magic, the help of a dozen elementals and a month and a half of preparation.

And Da Vinci was Da Vinci.

The outcome was a foregone conclusion from the very beginning.

Paracelsus inhaled.

It could not be said that he was completely exhausted and ready to collapse at Da Vinci's feet at any second, or that he was out of options, he still had mana left and a couple of trump cards in his sleeve. But even if he would exhaust all of it, it would only be enough for only one decisive, last, desperate attack.

Paracelsus exhaled.

His Noble Phantasm... This was his last and most powerful trump card. But, against Da Vinci... It was not necessarily useless, no, but the greatest power of his Noble Phantasm will not work on someone who embodies more than the great scientist's Noble Phantasm itself.

And, of course, if Da Vinci answered him with her own Noble Phantasm, then Paracelsus would lose. There is a zero chance of him winning that exchange.

If he sacrifices all of his reserve now, he will lose. If he drags out the battle, he will lose.

Da Vinci was truly a genius of geniuses.

"Do not be upset, Philip", - Da Vinci smiled, looking calmly into the eyes of Paracelsus, - "Maybe next time you will be lucky!"

Paracelsus smiled at the friendliest address to an enemy that could be imagined, - "Only if I do not have the misfortune of fighting with you again."

Paracelsus took a step back, reaching for the useless blade hanging from his belt all this time...

Before he felt a familiar Servant appearing by his side.

"Hm?" - Paracelsus was distracted by the girl who just appeared out of nowhere. "Alice?"

"We are leaving", - Alice's voice was cold and firm.

Paracelsus glanced at Da Vinci. In between the moment that he addressed Alice and did not look at Da Vinci, her demeanour had changed dramatically.

Although for Da Vinci the battle with Paracelsus could not be called easy and by no means frivolous - both opponents were truly trying to kill each other after all - until the moment that Alice had appeared Da Vinci looked at ease, relaxed and calm. Da Vinci had interacted with Paracelsus easily, naturally, and without any tension in her demeanour. However, as soon as the girl who seemed to appear hardly older than twelve years old, Da Vinci's entire demeanour changed.

Da Vinci's entire body, even the way she positioned her hands, was now screaming about how focused she was on the newly emerging opponent.

For a second, Paracelsus felt a slight prick of resentment from how strikingly different Da Vinci's reaction to him and Alice was - but he easily drove these thoughts away from his mind, knowing that he was in a completely different weight category than Alice or Da Vinci.

"Of course", - Paracelsus relaxed, then looked at Da Vinci, - "I beg your pardon, Leo, we will have to finish everything another time."

"Of course, Philip", - Da Vinci smiled back at him - but her gaze continued to focus on the new Servant. "But it would be better after you find yourself in Chaldea. I would prefer to end this match at the negotiating table."

"Me too, Leo", - Philip smiled at the girl, then looked at Alice, - "Then let's go…"

---

Mashu did not quite understand what purpose she had in this Singularity.

After the duties were distributed to the Servants, Mashu was given, perhaps, an honorable, but somewhat redundant in this situation, role of the base guard. A last line of defense, a role that was supposed to be crucial, and yet quite redundant in this case.

Of course, under normal conditions, having a Shielder in this role would be logical. Considering that, according to his own words, Andersen did not know how to fight at all, and therefore needed protection, Mashu's role was the best suited for her. And yet Mashu knew that a fight where her power was needed would be one where she couldn't contribute at all.

First of all, Mashu did not quite understand what the need for additional protection of the headquarters was, if Ainz was also present at the headquarters at the moment.

Secondly, after Ainz refused to send Jalter and Nobunaga out of necessity, they also stayed in the base. So Mashu did not quite understand the necessity of her presence while next to significantly more experienced and powerful Servants.

In other words, Mashu felt a little useless in the current situation.

'Therefore, it is necessary to go to the Master. he will save me from loneliness…'

Therefore, Mashu needed to go to the Master… Mashu stopped in her tracks and shook her head. Galahad's laughter echoing in her head made Mashu grit her teeth.

"You have absolutely nothing else to do?" - Mashu exhaled through her nose, addressing her 'roommate'.

'There's not that many things I can do while I'm stuck in your head… ' - Galahad answered Mashu while laughing - 'No, of course there are some. Things that I can try to do, something else… However, I think you will not appreciate it that much.'

Mashu pressed her lips into a thin line, after which, imagining a quiet serene field in front of her, she tried to calm down.

A glade full of beautiful flowers… She is standing in the middle of a flower meadow...

'BAD THOUGHTS!' Galahad pretty much screamed from inside her own head. 'STOP RIGHT NOW!'

The beautiful picture of a flower meadow in Mashu's mind was instantly dispelled by the internal screams of Galahad, forcing her to groan internally.

"What's wrong now?" - Mashu looked at the sky in resignation.

'Bad memories of one very bad person' Galahad gasped in response, and then fell silent for a second. 'I do know that he can wade into dreams, but can he do so with idle thoughts…? Anyway, just in case, don't imagine any more flower fields! If you never do it again the better!'

"Who are you talking about?" - Mashu asked Galahad a question, but he suddenly went silent.

'In any case… ' - Galahad unconvincingly tried to segway into another topic.

"Don't try to distract me!" - Mashu tried to return to the previous topic of discussion, but was interrupted again by Galahad just bulldozing into another topic of discussion.

'So what are you going to do about the Master and the harem gathering around him?' Well Galahad's question definitely made Mashu forget what she was trying to ask. She immediately choked and tried to blubber about these and that while shaking her head.

'Oh, come on, stop with your usual antics. Just be honest with yourself, you are in love.' Galahad rolled his eyes - and he did it so naturally that Mashu for a second forgot that Galahad did not have eyes in his state and he could not roll them for physiological reasons.

"What are you talking about Galahad! I don't feel anything for Ainz! Well, I do feel something… But not like that! And if so… then not about this, and if about this, then in a different way... "

Mashu barely resisted only by a miracle from not blushing to the very tips of her ears, but in the end she was still able to resist from immediately rushing to make excuses to Galahad.

Well… Maybe… If you think so… After all, what does 'being in love' means? How can such a thing be objectively determined?!

'I hear all your thoughts, Mashu. Even the hidden ones!' As if a ghost from a cheap horror movie, Galahad left a comment to Mashu that caused her to shriek in horror.

'I, perhaps, am talking about things that are none of my business… '

"Yes, you are!" - Mashu immediately retorted, but she did not succeed in knocking Galahad out of her mind.

'Still, I can't understand why you are so desperate to drive away thoughts of falling in love with Ainz.' Galahad sighed.

'Of course, maybe he is strange for a… Groom. But if you are not afraid of his essence - and you are not afraid, I know. From a logical point of view, he is a very rewarding match… Maybe overly so."

"I… " - Mashu froze for a second.

On the one hand, it hurt and was even shameful for Mashu to admit to anyone about her past and her secret worries. But at the same time, was there a point in trying to hide any information about herself from a part of herself? Therefore… she decided to share with Galahad her worries.

"I was created… " - Mashu breathed out slowly - "As a designer child. Not too far from a homunculus in essence. And homunculi… their lifespans are not very long."

'How long?' Galahad asked the question calmly.

Mashu sighed. "I don't know… At the current rate I'm going. According to Roman maybe a year…? Or maybe even six months?"

Mashu exhaled. Ha, it was always saddening for her to think that she was born for such a short life… But Mashu was still happy.

Even if her life was short, she had still managed to enjoy it to the fullest. She had gone on the adventures she could only dream of! She had experienced a myriad of joys, discoveries, laughter, and even very exciting battles! She even fought a Kaiju! Everything she could ever dream of...

'STOP! Stop, stop, full stop!' - Galahad instantly recoiled and shouted in Mashu's head, not giving Mashu the opportunity to even begin to plunge into her sad melancholy.

'Where is the problem with you being with Ainz?' Galahad asked with a lot of confusion.

"What?" - Mashu asked the question into the void, after which she felt hurt for a second - "I'm dying!"

'I don't see any special problems with that?' Galahad sighed in Mashu's head. - 'Your Master seems to be the embodiment of Death… Or have I misunderstood something? He revived that Tsundere Director of yours, asking for another five hundred years of life seemed paltry in comparison.'

Mashu blinked. This idea… did not occur to her…

'Let me guess.' - Galahad breathed out - 'Are you so obsessed and taken on faith that you will soon die that you didn't even think to even ask your very powerful Master something so simple?'

Mashu blinked. That is… Um… Khem-khem…

'Silence in this case is a sign of agreement, Mashu.' - Galahad sighed - 'Mashu… I thought you were a pretty smart girl.'

"I don't want to ask Senpai for anything more!" - Mashu tried to object to Galahad, but she was cut before she could ramble on.

'Oh, so you think that Ainz will refuse to save his Servant with whom he went through so much, because… Why, actually?' Galahad raised one of his eyebrows - metaphysically that is.

'Or do you think he will be angry? You know, I think Ainz will be more angry with you if you don't tell him about it.'

Mashu froze for a second.

Galahad was patiently silent.

Mashu was silent.

Galahad was silent.

Mashu continued to be silent...

Galahad could not resist. - 'Mashu, sometimes you are so terribly stupid…'

---

Jalter silently watched the return of Arthuria. Watching her move step by step, not paying attention to the other Saber trying to walk surreptitiously next to her, or to Jekyll trailing behind her. Jalter assessed the way Arthuria walked.

Arthuria paused her step for a second in order to catch Jalter's gaze - just for a second - she then continued to move forward, ignoring her. However, Jalter perfectly noticed that Arthuria looked at her, after which, with a slight chuckle under her breath, she turned around and started heading deeper into the house.

The relationship between Jalter and the other Servants was… Not the most interesting topic, actually. Servants, being fundamentally different beings, differing not only in character or mentality like normal people, but also in the mythological background of their actions. Even the time of their lives, were most often so different that it was more difficult to find Servants who communicated with each other well, rather than the opposite.

And therefore it was somewhat strange that Jalter and Arthuria still maintained a certain, albeit small, contact. Not to say that it was completely positive…

There was something between Arthuria and Jalter that could be called rivalry from a certain angle. Nothing like what Hector and Achilles have between them, but just some dissimilarity, and at the same time similarities, which grew into a certain sluggish conflict.

They are two Servants garbed in black armor, even their casual wear are somewhat alike! They both embody the 'dark side of the personality' of the heroic archetype of a noble warrior and savior. A dark mirror of holy and God-chosen heroes. Two witches, two Servants associated with Dragons… The similarities go on and on.

And yet they were as different as day and night. Cold stoicism of a tyrant against the unbridled fervor of a fanatic, indifference against hatred. The one who sacrifices against the one who was sacrificed.

No, Arthuria and Jalter were not at all similar to each other and they did not interact too much. And yet there was still some kind of hostility between them...

A conflict that is somewhat more serious than a croissant-eating competition. And in other conditions, Jalter and Arthuria would most likely exchange a couple of glances...

No outright hatred and no words. A strange and incomprehensible confrontation that does not go beyond and yet does not disappear.

Why did this hostility arise from Arthuria?

It was difficult to guess the answer to this question, but she knew the reason why this confrontation arose on her part.

Similar and different at the same time...

Was Jeanne Alter afraid of her own kind?

Yes. She was afraid. Not afraid of a stronger enemy, but how one can be afraid of something that they themselves cannot understand?

Perhaps Jalter was simply afraid of Arthuria precisely because they were so similar and so different?

After all, what could Jeanne Alter hold on to if not her own image and self? And how could one not be afraid of something that was so much like themselves and yet at the same time - diametrically opposite?

Perhaps, in other conditions, looking at the approaching Arthuria, Jalter would have felt something unpleasant, like a prick that pierced the hand for a second - not much pain, but for some reason it was especially unpleasant...

However, this time.

"You've returned quickly", - Jalter threw a snide comment over her shoulder, without even turning around, - "Looks like your fighting abilities were not so great, ha…"

Then, not listening to the answers from the irate Saber, Jalter grinned, then continued walking.

However, now she did not need to clash with Arthuria. After all, she now had something that Arthuria could never take from her.

Well, if she decides to arrange a rematch for the eating contest, ha, then Jalter will be happy to answer the challenge.

---

Shakespeare was currently standing with the other Servants of his 'side'.

"Oh, I understand now why I didn't give any of my heroes the ability to travel instantly." - Shakespeare breathed out. - "No matter how many wonderful opportunities to demonstrate the heroism of the hero and the evil of the villain, its effect would be lost, if the hero can teleport instantly. After all, with that ability, one has gotten rid of the hero's path and journey, leaving only the beginning and end..."

"You are back." A cold voice that is cold enough to freeze all the flames of Hell, making even Shakespeare, who is accustomed to ignoring all the rules of etiquette and titles, frown, resounded in the chilly air.- "But as far as I know, none of the enemy's Servants was killed."

"I beg your pardon, my King," Paracelsus was the first to kneel before the speaker, "However, I was unable to defeat Leonardo Da Vinci in battle."

"Hmm?" The voice of the King - or is it the Queen? - Shakespeare was in doubt about the use of that particular title - for a second showed interest - "Leonardo Da Vinci? The Great Genius as a Servant?"

"Yes, my King." Paracelsus' voice was soft and respectful - as if it was not a burden for him to kneel before someone… As a matter of fact, in Shakespeare's own opinion, Paracelsus was the type of person who did not hesitate to kneel before anyone who asked that of him.

"It was exactly Leonardo Da Vinci that I fought. It was too much for me to defeat, especially in a Caster's class… However, for some reason she is now in the body of a girl."

"It's not a big problem," Shakespeare chuckled inwardly at such a clarification, and then looked at the King's particular appearance in front of him.

"What about the others?" - The Servant's gaze moved to, hmm... Alice.

"Medusa", - the girl's voice was calm, but not so much cold as simply emotionless.

"She had used her Noble Phantasm in a battle with me. However… I cannot vouch for this conclusion with absolute certainty… Something in her does not correspond to the information about Medusa that I have."

"Hmm." The King's voice was cold, as usual. Shakespeare was actually already a little bored with the Servant's pretentious-detached manner of communication, - "I will pass this information on to the Master."

Shakespeare almost laughed, not at all like a gentleman, at these words. As if the Master had anything to do with what was going on in this world at all or that he cared at all!

"Shakespeare.", - however, the voice of the King finally returned Shakespeare to the real world, - "I do not remember the moment when I would give you the order to advance against the enemy."

"Certainly, my King", - Shakespeare smiled in response to the King's cold, dead tone - "After all, there was no such order!"

"I see…" The King's voice was cold, as usual. How boring. - "So, you won't even try to justify yourself in front of me?"

"I beg your pardon, my King." Shakespeare was polite, but something in his tone, or maybe in the unconscious movements of his hands, gave him more of an air of a royal jester. Despicable and mocking, but, at the same time, untouchable.

"However, as I was not given the opportunity to see what plan I dared to violate with my actions, I have to humbly apologize for the discomfort. But at the same time, I can assure you that my actions were useful and fully corresponded to the wishes of my Master!" Shakespeare finished with a flurry.

The mention of the Master made the King frown, just as Shakespeare had expected. How boring.

King, another King, and then after that five more Kings… Really why are Servants so obsessed with their Kingship! The 'King of Magic', the 'King of Inventors' or even something as useless of a title as the 'King of Storms'! And every single one of them is so proud of their title - although their title is useless when everyone is around the King… How boring.

And every King wants to be the King, not only to be called so, but to act like one. The so-called King in front of him definitely wanted to execute Shakespeare on the spot. For betrayal and violation of orders… or some other thought up reasons.

However, all that Shakespeare needed to say was that he 'acted without violating the Master's plans' - and the 'King' would give up without a fight and can do nothing. Indeed, what will the King do against the Master, against the King of Kings? This farce is so boring.

"I will turn to the Master for advice regarding your punishment," The annoyed voice of yet another King made Shakespeare smile - not hiding his emotions and disdain at all.

Indeed, she would turn to the Master… As if he did not know about Shakespeare's actions even before he did them. As if the Master gives a damn about his Servants, their petty actions and accomplishments. As if they were not just pawns, unnecessary for the central action, created only to create an 'atmosphere' for the main action...

How petty the King is when he loses his crown... How much he wants to be the King again - and how he fights to death, in his hands the greatness trying to keep...

Shakespeare exhaled - he knew that the Master would not punish him for anything and the King would have to bear the jester's mockery again. Kings trying in vain to keep even a shadow of a semblance of control on their 'court'... How droll.

Oh, it seems, that he again had strayed into a completely different syllable! Shakespeare should have looked after himself better - now was not the time for that, no, no!

"In that case", - The King's voice sounded again, - "If the enemy's Servants are strong, hmm... We may have to use more resources than we currently do."

Shakespeare smiled. But the time will come, it will definitely come...

---

Historical Analysis of the Factography On the Life of Elizabeth Bathory:

Elizabeth Bathory, perhaps to this day, remains a fairly well-known factual mystery of history. A conundrum where the more facts are 'known' about her, the more mysterious her life turned out to be.

It certainly didn't help that her history is so mixed with legends, myths, hearsay, and even outright lies that it is almost impossible to tell history and fiction apart. It is to the point that it is almost impossible to irrevocably assert even the most innocuous part of her life as historic fact.

In particular, even the most famous, widely known and 'factual' story about Elizabeth, of the ritualistic murder of young peasant woman, are proven to be lies. And yet everyone 'knows' that Elizabeth Bathory killed countless virginal young women and bathed in their blood to maintain her youth and beauty. Even the 'Iron Maiden', a torture implement often attributed to Elizabeth Bathory, is later proven as a hoax and historical forgery that had no working counterpart in real history made to drum up excitement about some museum.

Worse, a story by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla, written much much later after Elizabeth's death, further muddied the water. Written twenty-six years ahead of Bram Stoker's Dracula, the alleged 'father of vampire prose' popularized the theory that Elizabeth was a vampire. It didn't help that the vampire 'boom' made such misinformation almost the 'accepted truth'.

In particular, in the same way the people around Elizabeth did, after the death of Carmilla, alleged 'life testimonies' about her 'vampire nature' popped up like mushrooms. They talked about Elizabeth's 'inhuman beauty', about her participation in a 'cult of Witches', about her 'struggle with her human part' (possibly a reference to the mental illness of Elizabeth Bathory and the possible splitting of the personality?), about her not only clandestine murders of peasants, but also the open destruction of peasants at the direction of the 'Witch'.

Even her death was shrouded in ostentatious legend. It is said that after the destruction of her human part - whatever this means - Carmilla was poisoned by a peasant girl who had been sent as a sacrifice. She had drunk poison before Carmilla drank her blood, dying due to the poison she had inadvertently drunk.

It seems that the story of Elizabeth would have even more unbelievable details added in the future…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 79: True King

Hans Christian Andersen was remembered primarily as a prolific writer of fairy tales and written stories.

Secondly, though only known to people who interacted with Hans personally, for his bilious and quarrelsome character. Which leads logically to the fact the second point was reliably made aware of to very few people. In other words, a very limited circle of people were aware of his character as a person, while many more people were aware of his creations.

And therefore it was not so difficult to reason out why Hans' temporary dwelling was filled to the brim with a significant number of books. Some books that he still loved to re-read, lots of books that he really regrets reading to the end due to his curiosity and several large piles of unfinished manuscripts.

Still, it was impossible to separate the two facets of Andersen. Hans's writing talent and his petty, absurd character. And therefore, while bending over another manuscript for a prospective story, Hans did not think about how he would perfectly finish his current work.

Instead, Hans Christian Andersen's thoughts were much more prosaic.

"This is complete shit." Hans grimaced at what he had written.

In its very essence, every book, in addition to the primitive textual component - beginning, middle, and end - has a mental and sensory component.

In every book there is a protagonist, there is a character, there is an image, there is a thought, there is a question and an answer.

Hans' current story contained everything a normal story would need. Names, characters, events, images, and all the ingredients that would make a story. All but the most important thing was missing.

The question and the answer. The conflict and the resolution. The most important essence of a story.

Hans believed that there was a question in this book, but it's not one that is answered. It was a question the author asked of his own creation.

What for?

What is the reason for the characters' actions? Such a question has been answered in the text. An endeavour easily accomplished by a writer of Hans' caliber.

What reasons do the characters' have to seek their goals? This, of course, was also planned in advance and answered in the text. A paltry exercise in imagination and planning, child's play to one such as Hans.

Why did the author write this book? Hans pursed his lips. Unfortunately, he did not have an easy answer.

He was not touched or moved by a single line from his current endeavour. The characters did not touch his soul. Their motivations, threadbare. Their struggle, monotonous. The plot and their twists did not delight him. The prose, insipid. The twists, guileless. Worst of all, the silly puns and the jokes in the text did not make him laugh.

Taken in its totality, fundamentally, Hans' current endeavour was a waste of time. And the book, written aimlessly and emotionlessly, in the end, was not only meaningless, but also harmful in its essence. It is a verbal stream of manure splashed into reality, spoiling the paper, which could be used in any other, much more rewarding activity.

Hans' pen froze in the air, hanging over the manuscript in hesitation.

Should he cross out the last few pages completely? Cross those uninspired pages with an ugly black cross, and then write new ones? Perhaps if he were to do so he would be able to find the spark in what exactly he lacked in his creation? Or, perhaps, it was worth it on the contrary, to continue what on? Hoping that the blind creative pursuit in the end will give him the divine spark that will give his creation life?

"Why am I doing this?"

Andersen was frozen in indecision for a second, hesitating whether to scrap his work or to trudge on hoping that a flash of inspiration would salvage the drivel that he had written. Before he could decide, a terrible rumble that made the whole house shudder knocked the stool out from under Andersen's feet. Yes, he grumbled, his stature in his current body left much to be desired. His lack of vertical reach forced him to work at the desk while standing on a stool. The stool that just had just been knocked over, which caused Andersen to fall to the ground.

For a moment the very short Servant tried to figure out what had just happened. A moment later realizing that an unknown coincidence of chances and circumstances had just knocked him out of his creative trance caused him to flare up with anger and righteous fury.

"What the fuck?!" Andersen got up from the floor quickly, while spewing bile and frothing anger, accompanied by a verbose amount of curses. After he spent some time spewing forth the most colorful of curses, he pulled up his vest and dusted off his hair. A little cloud of dust seemed to puff out of the diminutive Servant. - "What idiot dared to distract an author from his work?!"

Deciding to investigate, Andersen headed towards the door leading out of his room. Descending the stairs carefully, Hans's gaze was presented with a scene that he should have expected.

Of course, who could create so much noise in this dead world, except Da Vinci? At least without destroying the house to the ground, which was the prerogative of other Servants, such as Saber for example.

Da Vinci, Andersen's recent and rather unpleasant acquaintance, was in a disgustingly cheerful mood. Although Andersen himself could also notice, not without some gloating, that in addition to the usual cheerfulness in her voice, there was also some fatigue. Though even with the weariness that he could detect, she was literally almost galloping in place from the emotions, or perhaps mania, that overwhelmed her.

Moreover, Andersen could vouch that Da Vinci, who managed to return unnoticed from the battle, was also the cause of the rumble that had toppled him over. Andersen could see her rampaging around the room where Jekyll kept his radio, oh look there it is on the ground. Leafing through the books on the table where Jekyll's radio was in the past , Jekyll is currently crying in the corner, in her enthusiasm she moved around the room like a hurricane, destroying the entire room where Jekyll had kept his possessions.

Well, it's not that the radio was at least in any way useful, but the very thought that Da Vinci in his madness caused such chaos caused an evil grin to appear on Andersen's face.

A grin that could not help but lead into a sarcastic question. - "If even in the empty head of a walking porn illustration there were thoughts that was important enough that it made her interrupt the work of the honorable author, why not share your ringing stupidity with the world in order to give at least a little pleasure to the busy people whom the empty headed broad had pulled away from work."

"Oh?" - Da Vinci found Andersen's eyes instantly, - "Who let the child in here?! Where are the parents?!"

"You are repeating yourself,", - Andersen, however, refraining from reacting to the simple provocation reacted calmly, it helps that Da Vinci had used that insult before. "Or have the great 'genius' now unable to come up with anything new? What an insult to the title of a great inventor!"

These words hurt Da Vinci much more, but before she could retaliate, Ainz intervened in the mud slinging match.

"Andersen, Da Vinci", - Ainz's voice was calm and almost soothing, - "Please, could you leave your verbal skirmishes for a while?"

Andersen gave Ainz an almost contemptuous look and was clearly going to ignore the advice of Ainz's- however, Da Vinci, surprisingly, seemed to instantly lose interest in Andersen, turning away.

"Ainz, maybe it is prudent to call all the Servants here?" After she stopped paying attention to Andersen, Da Vinci turned to her Master.

"Of course," Ainz replied calmly, after which Andersen noticed for a moment a strange emotion flashed in Ainz's eyes, "And if indeed what you had discovered was so incredible, could you explain it in simple words… So that each of the Servants understands, of course."

---

Ainz's plan failed miserably.

However, on the other hand, it also worked perfectly. And so Ainz was not sure if he should now curse his lucky stars or his bad luck. And therefore, just in case, he cursed both features of his existence.

After all, he had hoped that Da Vinci would decipher the secret messages given by Shakespeare. A task that the Servant had performed perfectly. However, Ainz also had hoped that it would take Da Vinci at least a day or two. Shakespeare had after all brought with him a whole stack of books, each of which was as thick as a decent reference book - and was written in such a purple prose that just looking at them would give Ainz a headache.

Therefore, when Da Vinci, after Ainz's request to deal with what was given by Shakespeare, and then sorted out everything in about a minute - Ainz sharply felt his insignificance.

In the end, when Da Vinci started flipping through the pages of books, the first thought that appeared in Ainz's mind was the thought that she was looking for pictures in the text. However, looking at Da Vinci's face, which simultaneously became both more serious and joyful - however could she combine it - as she flipped through the pages, Ainz realized that it was completely different.

And therefore, when Da Vinci, after quickly flipping through all the books brought by Shakespeare, said that she had acquired some kind of important information, Ainz immediately realized that whatever the information was, he could not easily perceive it. And so he had thought of a brilliant plan to solve this conundrum.

'We need to call all Servants and explain to them all in simple words so that they understand everything!' - Brilliant plan, why didn't Ainz use it before?

However, when all the Servants of Ainz and the Servants of the Singularity gathered in the same living room, Ainz felt just a little bit cramped, being pressed from both sides by Mashu and Medusa.

Worst of all were the looks that the other Servants occasionally cast at him. Jekyll's embarrassed peeks, and Fran's or Saber's unreadable face as they stare openly. If it wasn't for the need to interact with Da Vinci, Ainz would clearly have preferred to give each Servant some other duty and be left alone. Of course he couldn't do that because he had ordered them to gather in the first place.

But, alas, the reality in front of him was unchanging. And therefore, trying his best to distance his thoughts from Medusa's soft body clinging to him, and Mashu trying her best to mush her body as close as possible to Ainz's, he tried his best to lose himself in Da Vinci's explanation.

"So", - Da Vinci began by looking around at all the Servants present, and then smiling. - "I will say right away that I could not find any specific information about the identity of the enemy from Shakespeare's books."

"So that asshole deceived us?" - Jalter's voice was the first to express the widely believed idea..

"Yes and no", - Da Vinci shook her head, - "There was no specific information in the books, but there was information of a different type, informative in a different sense and also extremely entertaining. So, who knows about the ritual of the Holy Grail War?"

At this statement, all the Servants present looked at each other - and Ainz understood why. Even he received some rudimentary information about such an event after his summoning, not to mention the Servants, the original inhabitants of this world. So Da Vinci asking such an obvous question looked really stupid.

"What about the history of this ritual?" Da Vinci asked the next question, making sure that everyone present knew that they were about to discuss the Holy Grail War and that the first question was not a fluke.

And, unlike the last question, this time not a single Servant gave a definite reaction.

Ainz thought about it for a second trying to recall that dizzying moment when he first appeared that seemed so long ago now.

The information he received about the Holy Grail War was a rather vague information in his mind, something like a general concept. There were Seven Masters that summoned Seven Servants, they then tried to kill each other to summon the Holy Grail, like the one that Ainz now kept in his inventory, because the Holy Grail supposedly is able to grant wishes...

And, of course, Ainz did not know any information regarding the history of this ritual.

Therefore, Ainz looked at Da Vinci with interest - and as he thought, he was not alone.

"I must admit that the ritual of the Holy Grail War did not attract me in the past as a possible topic for study - and, apparently, it was a mistake.", - Da Vinci smiled, - "The fact is, that judging by the information that I managed to get from Shakespeare's books, the Servant summoning ritual used in the Holy Grail War was… not designed specifically for it."

"Hmm?" - This unspoken question was spoken out loud by Mashu, - "What do you mean?"

"I will not say that the information in the books was so glibly written out that I would be able to have a hundred percent confidence in what I had managed to discover." After such an uncharacteristic admittance, Da Vinci frowned a little, as if from an unpleasant toothache - she really did not enjoy admitting that somewhere in the world there was information that she had no access to. "However, in short, the Ritual for summoning Servants actually has little to do with the ritual of the Holy Grail War."

"Hmm?" This information was not particularly unexpected for Ainz, due to his not strong understanding of both the rules of this world and the events taking place in this world, but Medusa reacted much more eloquently, "What?"

"In simple terms, the ritual of the Holy Grail War was indeed developed later, and then the ritual for Summoning Servants were tacked on.", - Da Vinci breathed out, - "However, knowing this, here the question arises… If the fight for the Holy Grail was a later addition - then what was the point for Summoning Servants in the past?" Da Vinci reasoned out with a little bit of apprehension.

"And judging by the information that I was able to glean from the books - the answer is simple and at the same time extremely worrying", - Da Vinci paused for a second, as if to create an eerie atmosphere.

Ainz frowned. He literally felt that the conversation slowly began to move in the direction Ainz disliked as much as possible.

"The Seven Servants, according to the original ritual, were not called to fight against each other,", Da Vinci explained - "The Seven Servants were supposed to be working together."

Ainz felt a picture slowly forming in his head. A very unpleasant picture.

"Moreover, if we correlate this information with some other… worrying facts." - Da Vinci suddenly became serious, "I can assume that the original ritual of Summoning Servants was not created by Humans."

Ainz could hardly restrain himself from shouting out something stupid, like 'and suddenly, aliens are involved!' but he nevertheless restrained himself. Definitely, in this crazy world, aliens were just the right addition!

The thought of Altera, however, slipped to the edge of his mind, forcing Ainz to exhale slowly.

Although yes, aliens...

"It was a ritual created 'for' Humanity, not by them." Da Vinci sighed, "Seven Servants, seven greatest heroes of Humanity, fighting together against a common enemy. In other words, if we speak without extraneous details, it is the ultimate defense mechanism of humanity. The Servants were summoned to defend Humanity."

"Ho?" Ainz blinked, then glanced at the Servants around him.

No, of course, there were real monsters among them that could easily destroy all humanity in battle. But not all Servants summoned by Ainz and ones that he has only met were so… imposing. Actually, barring some exceptions, most were quite weak.

"However, it cannot be said that the Servants summoned by Chaldea or by other methods and the Servants called by the world itself as its last line of defense are the same." At that moment Da Vinci exhaled, - "In the end, the power that their 'container' can hold is just incomparable.. The seven greatest heroes, seven defenders of humanity. Servants - and yet something more, something 'grander'. Grand Servants."

"Grands, huh?" Nobunaga's voice brought Ainz back to reality a little, "So the best of the best."

"Exactly so", - Da Vinci nodded, - "Grand Saber, Grand Archer, Grand Lancer, Grand Assassin, Grand Caster, Grand Rider and Grand Berserker. The Seven Greatest Servants, the power that they possess is not something that can be compared to an ordinary Servant.."

"That is… worrying " Ainz said this time.

"Definitely", - Da Vinci sighed, - "Information about how strong the Grand Servants are? Absent. Who is and who can be a Grand Servant? Is also missing. The roles of the Grand Servants, motives? Complete zero. In fact, the existence of the Grand Servants themself is still not something that I can unequivocally confirm. However… the information I do have, made their existence something that I could not disqualify either." Da Vinci ended her explanation with a sigh.

"The Seven Greatest Servants, embodying the full power of their Class, an entire legend that stretches through the entire history of the existence of the seven great archetypes of heroes. In other words - Grands."

Ainz thought about it. And for the first time in his entire life in this new world - he thought hard.

So the Grands... The Grand Servants, the Greatest Servants of All. How powerful are they?

During his adventures, Ainz encountered various types of Servants. Most of them?... Hmm, in order not to offend anyone, the best way he could describe was that they were 'not invincible'. However, at the same time - some of them were not weak at all.

Still, the strongest of them were weaker than Ainz, significantly so. However, they were not separated by a completely unbridgeable chasm. Their blade could still reach Ainz if he were to underestimate them.

For example, Altera was defeated easily by Cainabel mainly due to her lack of physical protection and the lack of diversity in her arsenal of skills and methods of attack. However, other than that glaring weakness, her physical capabilities were not bad even by the standards of a hundreth-level player.

Another example would be Da Vinci. She possessed negligible physical capabilities, because of which any competent high-level archer could kill her with one shot from afar. However, her intimidating ability to acquire any skills at will, rebuilding her build in a second to almost anything would be an unpleasant surprise for any player hoping for easy prey.

And, of course, Noble Phantasms remained extremely interesting, dangerous, and sometimes, very disturbing abilities. For example, Serenity's infinite poison was nothing more than just an unpleasant trifle for a high-level player. However, say, something like Jeanne's sword was more than dangerous for a confident player with a vulnerability to fire, like, say, Ainz himself. If he did not compensate for his weaknesses and did not study his opponent before the fight, of course.

And nothing to say of Megalos. Which was, given Ainz's teleportation and his wide array of arsenal, not the most terrible enemy… But not weak either. Not weak at all, in fact to a player who failed to diversify their arsenal, a death sentence.

He was the first enemy that could injure Ainz. A slight injury, so insignificant that Ainz would not have noticed it back in YGGDRASIL. However, he was able to overcome the difference between Ainz and the Servants, albeit for a short time.

In other words, what Da Vinci had managed to find worried Ainz somewhat, as it showed that the opportunity to meet with the Servants or entities who were not in any way weaker from Ainz was still there.

Especially if Grands, the greatest of Servants, were included in the general equation.

Ainz frowned. After all, he was not a strong player. Moreover, Ainz believed that in most cases in YGGDRASIL itself, even if you count his tactics, strategy and unique abilities, he was at the very bottom of the high tier of players. Taking into account all possible training of Ainz and his inhuman supplies of both consumables and divine tier equipment, the number of which was such that Ainz could cover himself completely from head to toe - perhaps the lower rank of the TOP-tier of players... And that's all.

If we take the strongest players of Yggdrasil, like Touch Me, then Ainz had no chance against them. In the past, he never managed to defeat him in a duel after all.

Of course, if you take into account Ainz's Noble Phantasms and how much Ainz's strength had changed and improved in the new world, then one could say that he was much, much, stronger than in the past. However, even so, the Servants were not weak, and if you take into account the Grands...

At that time, Ainz felt some concern about the situation.

"Who were these 'Grand Servants' supposed to fight against?" Andersen's question pulled Ainz out of his thinking cycle, forcing him to pay attention to the world around him.

"What?" Da Vinci turned to Andersen.

"If initially the Servants were to be called up as the last line of defense of humanity, then a question logically arises", - Andersen looked at Da Vinci seriously, - "From what they had to protect it from."

"This question haunts me, too", - Da Vinci then began to frown after hearing Andersen's words.

Ainz sensed his anxiety slowly starting to grow...

---

The King was bored.

Frankly, he hoped that his opponent would already deal with the Servants, the chaff, by this time. But at the same time, the King was somewhat elated that at least his opponent was careful. Slowly studying the Servants, he seemed to be trying to determine the future step of the King, to find a suitable strategy for decisive victory over the King. It certainly flattered the King - but it also made him somewhat bored.

The King's gaze fell languidly at the Servant who was running about their business, making him almost sigh.

Why couldn't the Servants be better? Why did they make the King so bored?

The King did not like to be bored. And although his mind could withstand millennia of inaction, when his plan finally entered an active phase he absolutely did not want to remain inactive.

However, at the same time, something as stupid and hasty as personally appearing to one's opponent prematurely was stupid. As if he was running at the call of his opponent, like an obedient dog. This could not be allowed.

But at the same time, idleness did not please the King at all. The idleness forced him to look abstractedly at how the Servants swarm in their mud. The occupation is as boring as watching the grass grow - and just as useless.

The King raised his hand up - then snapped his fingers. The Servant he was observing correctly understood his command - after which a moment later the Servant's figure appeared in front of the King.

"Master", - The Servant's voice was cold and detached, but at the same time respectful. At least the minimum honors were observed, the King sighed.

"I'm bored" The King replied simply to the suplicating Servant, after which he turned his eyes away from the Servant without interest, realizing that she would listen carefully to his voice no matter what he said, - "What are your future plans for the enemy?"

"Master, I decided to switch to observation tactics." The Servant answered him calmly, as if reporting to his commander, - "An analysis of all enemy Servants is required, for which I decided…"

"I'm not interested in the details." The King sighed, and then looked behind the back of the Servant, looking at the monstrous figure of the machine in which the Grail was enclosed, - "Are there any living people left in London?"

"Of course, Master" The Servant replied calmly, - "Although the fog caused a significant number of casualties among ordinary people - and almost all the magi of the Association were killed during the destruction of the Association itself - most of the population of London is alive. Although it is to be noted that most of them are locked in their homes. At the moment, all mechanical dolls were ordered to ignore them, and also not to patrol the food warehouses, so hunger…"

"Start killing the people in their homes," The King replied succinctly.

"Master?" The Servant's voice did not falter, but she still looked up at the King.

"As I said, start killing people in their homes. Start where the casualties will be greatest. However, don't kill everyone. Let go of every fifth person and let them escape."

"Master?" - This time the Servant's voice was more lively, though still almost emotionless. - "However, in this case, the enemy can easily detect…"

"I have given the order," The King shifted his gaze to the Servant, - "And I do not remember the moment when I have decided to ask for your opinion."

"Of course master.", The Servant just bowed her head before the King, - "However, the other Servants…"

"I don't care whether you decide to let them go or kill them," The King also answered disinterestedly, after which, completely losing interest in the Servant, he turned away, "Do as you're told"

"Of course, Master", - Servant replied calmly, - "It will be done."

The King only sighed in boredom.

He could only hope that such actions would slightly diversify the situation, it definitely can't be more boring than just doing nothing at least.

---

Historical Analysis of the Factography of the life of Elizabeth Bathory, cont.:

...However, all that have been discussed in this report so far concerns only the image of the historical figure that the public possesses. A point of view which obviously has little in common with the real story of Elizabeth Bathory. Although, perhaps it is to be expected that the recounting of the Countess' life would be so distorted, the life story of Elizabeth Bathory itself is full of incredible facts after all. Many of which are more like fiction than reality.

In particular, there is many historical evidence which indicated that Elizabeth Bathory's childhood was spent in France. A baffling finding as she was a Hungarian Noble. And although the relationship of France and the Kingdom of Hungary during that time might not be so hostile as to make the finding impossible, it still didn't mean that a young noble, a female one at that, would be so easily allowed to stay in France during her childhood. And yet there is much evidence that supports such a conclusion.

Although there is still no official confirmation of such a finding. It also didn't help that during her stay in France is also when she supposedly made acquaintance with the heiress of noble blood 'not from these lands'. Elizabeth then subsequently spent an indefinite long amount of time, in particular, traveling through the territory of France with her newfound friend. The fact that the origin of the Noble acquaintance Elizabeth had befriended was later reported was of an Orient descent, made the story even more fantastical.

In general, although such findings have not been officially confirmed, it is well within the framework of the possible. However, the latter legend that said the heiress of noble blood later turned out to be a were-dragon, as well as the fact that over the castle of Csejte, where Elizabeth Bathory met her death in the end, that people witnesses a flying white dragon flying in a rage. - is, of course, remains nothing more than myth.

Unfortunately, as with the other stories about Elizabeth Bathory, it is not possible to find a specific indication of the reason for the appearance of this rumor. However, as with Elizabeth Bathory herself, a possible reason for the rumor was the personification of the Devil and Dragons in Christian mythology. As there was seemingly no end to the rumors that Elizabeth was secretly a dragon herself, it was not a large leap to make her mysterious friend to have Draconic features as well.

There was almost no end to the rumors about Elizabeth Draconic features. Testimonies written well after the death of Elizabeth Bathory said that she hid dragon horns under her hair, and a dragon's tail under her wide dress. Things that definitely belong in a section of mythology. Likewise, such 'testimonies' is also attributed as the source of the myth that the Countess possessed 'terrible voice'. Which, unambiguously, was originally meant as an allegorical description of 'a voice that is associated with evil' - and was subsequently reinterpreted as the Countess possessing an terrible ear for music and her tone deafness.

In the end it is difficult to expect an unambiguous historical assessment of the personality of Elizabeth Bathory when her existence was so shrouded in mystery. So much so that even in a rather serious historical chronicle, one that the author would not recommend the reader to read, Elizabeth Bathory was repeatedly described as the 'rebirth' of a minor goddess of the Roman Pantheon, Elizabeth. The goddess, Elizabeth, was the patroness of mediocre singers of the Romans, whose small cult was an accidental curiosity originating at the turn of the first and second centuries around Corsica. How a 16th Century Hungarian Noble, as shrouded in mysticism as she is, was in any way connected to a Roman goddess is a mystery.

In particular, perhaps it was the last bit of trivia that contributed to such a curious rebirth of interest about the 'terrifying voice' of Elizabeth Bathory...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: Lock, Stock and Some cheating Servants

To the Servants staying in Chaldea there were no heart pounding battles for the salvation of mankind. For these Servants there were no missions, the completion of which was the only thing that separated Humanity from imminent death. There was no terrible enemy around every corner, no shadowy masterminds plotting to undermine existence, except for Baal. One could even say that it was ordinary and almost boring for the Servants staying in Chaldea.

For Hector, he just couldn't get enough of the fact that it was so!

Hector was one of those people who preferred to enjoy the lack of work, rather than try to find a new occupation as soon as they finished the previous one. That is why Hector enjoyed his quiet life in Chaldea as much as he had never enjoyed anything else in this world.

Do you want to sleep until 2 pm? No problems!

Do you want to spend all your time playing console games? Wonderful!

The Master gave no instructions to his Servants before heading to the Singularity? It sounded like carte blanche for wonderful days full of laziness, rest and relaxation!

Therefore, Hector, waking up on his bed after a perfect ritual of an afternoon nap, was in a mood so wonderful that nothing could bring him out of his good-natured state.

Rising from his bed, Hector reached for the jeans that he had haphazardly thrown when he took his nap, then, having straightened them out, pulled on a shirt dangling on a chair, buttoning it a little later. Of course, as a Servant, he could use other ways to dress himself, faster too, but Hector was not one of those Servants who preferred to walk around constantly in his combat form. Besides it's not like Chaldea would miss the article of clothing stored in the many filled warehouses of Chaldea, Hector was only glad to take advantage of the hospitality of his new home.

Straightening his clothes, Hector yawned, then scratched his chin which had time to grow a small stubble. He then took a lazy glance into the mirror hanging next to his bed. Yep, that's what Hector with all possible sincerity looked like!

Hector, after a little reflection, noticed that his hair is a little disheveled. No problem! Just a little smoothing with his fingers and he's good to go. Smiling at his reflection in the mirror, the reflection smiled at Hector in response, giving him new strength that he could spend on the thousands of exciting activities that are now open to him!

Indeed, Hector was not exaggerating when he said that thousands of possible options for his further pastime were opened to him!

Slashers, shooters, sport games, flying simulators, arcades... The list was virtually endless!

Therefore, deciding not to waste his time anymore on useless pursuits - but to assign it to the most important business of his entertainment - Hector got up from his bed, and then moved out of his room.

Outside his room, Hector, as expected, did not encounter anything unusual. No Masters running after each other trying to win the Shiny Big Golden Cup, no Servants who for some reason decided to arrange another deadly duel, no apocalyptic monsters that threaten human civilization...

Hector almost shed a tear at the realization of how closely Chaldea, in his personal vocabulary, fit the definition of Paradise to a t.

"Oh, Hector!" A voice rang out from afar, causing Hector to turn to the speaker, and then smile in recognition.

"Ah, Norman" Hector was in a unique position among the Servants of Chaldea, he was the most approachable. And as he spent all his time in Chaldea, short as it is, among the various comforts of Chaldea, it is no surprise that his laid back nature, along with his usual activities, allowed him to get along with the various Chaldean technicians. - "What, are you going to the computer lounge again?"

"Alas, my free time is nonexistent." Norman was, of course, a plain middle-aged man with his head already touched by bald patches. With his thinning, black hair and blue uniform of an ordinary service staff, he looked like the most ordinary of a person.

"You're lucky that you are a Servant", - the technician smiled, - "We humble technicians have to work twenty four seven…"

Hector smiled, - "Don't worry, I'll rest for you all!"

In response to his nonsensical remark, the technician just rolled his eyes and then exhaled, "Okay. Anyway I'll have to go, there are some problems in the command center that need fixing again… Why the surveying equipment kept being on the fritz is beyond me."

"Then good luck to you", - Hector smiled at the technician, after which he watched his retreating back.

Hector, despite his status as a Servant, which usually was an existence that existed on an unbridgeable distance with the technicians, barring some exceptions - was able to get to know the service personnel of Chaldea quite well.

Yes, they were not great heroes, whose power was capable of crushing mountains and cities, but they were the linchpin that kept Chaldea functioning. Not possessing the kind of strength that would allow them to lightly walk through the Singularities with fire and sword as a huge road roller, but still they are the one that allowed the Servants to travel across the Singularities in the first place. The force that supported Chaldea, in which the Servants could rest before their future battles. Their continued existence was the thing that gave Humanity a chance for survival.

Of course, to the Servants, each of whom bore a great legend behind them - a huge mark in history, and in their arsenal - magical artifacts that could change the course of human history - the ordinary workers were not of interest and were usually ignored. The Servants, existence that is quite far removed from normality, would not be able to think that the normal people of Chaldea did no less than the Servants themselves for the salvation of mankind. Still, if Chaldea's staffs started to interact with the Servants more, perhaps the rift would be bridged.

In the end, Chaldea's working staff were usually just afraid to approach the Servants in any way. Quite reasonable, realizing that the Servants could all break an ordinary person in half with their bare hands solely out of negligence. Not to mention the huge differences in their psyche and ways of thinking. It is quite easy to imagine a Chaldean staff provoking a Servant's anger by accident, it would be like cutting grass with a scythe, the offender would probably die before even realizing what had happened.

However, Hector, whose daily activities often intersect with the resting workers playing in the break room or on lunch breaks, was able to overcome this barrier and therefore was tacitly considered the 'Servant who's ok' among the Chaldean staff. Though, it could not be said that such a title really flattered Hector - but the fact that he generally preferred to maintain good relations with all people was undeniable.

Therefore, Hector, unlike even Archer, who was loved for his amazing cooking, but whom the staff still preferred not to interact with, was quite familiar with almost all the workers of Chaldea. Except the one technician who seemed to possess divine providence, which allowed him to elude Hector's gaze every time just a second before their acquaintance would become inevitable. It was perhaps time to think that not only Servants possessed special abilities in Chaldea… ?

In any case, with a shake of his head, Hector, still beaming with good-naturedness, went ahead to the computer longue, continuing to reflect on the most difficult question for him since his summoning.

Sports game or a shooter?

---

The fact that Hector would not be able to play any games today as long as he did in the past days - Hector realized even before he approached the rest room he had chosen.

"So, there is Poseidon, and I shit you not - he turned himself into a ship!" - Drake's voice came through the walls, reaching Hector's ears. - "The funniest shit I've seen in my life!"

In response, a much quieter laughter, but only compared to Drake's, rang out, after which Hector heard many other laughters coming from the lounge room he was about to enter.

Hector sighed - where there is Drake, then there was alcohol. If there was any amount of alcohol, there would be a lot of it. If there was booze - then no one will let Hector play calmly. And Hector, to be honest, although he liked to drink a couple of cans of beer sometimes - he was not much of a drinker. And with Drake being there, unfortunately, it was impossible to do otherwise.

But on the other hand, Hector was not one of those people who would have escaped in horror from a drunken Drake. All the more, there was just something funny about watching drunk people act out. So after a few moments of contemplation - Hector opened the door, looking at all the occupants of the lounge room chosen by him.

Of course, the first to catch Hector's eye was Francis Drake. A lady with an outstanding figure, it was no wonder that she would be very eye-catching. A figure favorably emphasized by a red jacket, and with no less red cheeks. Drake was holding a glass in her hand with some kind of liquid in it. Rum, at least that is what Hector believed Drake would have chosen as her preferred drink.

Hector's attention was then taken by the blue haired Cu Chulainn. Of course, who else could appreciate Drake's company more if not another drinker and party lover? Cú Chulainn's staff lay in the corner, covered with his fur cape, so that now anyone could appreciate his athletic figure, covered only by a black, almost transparent shirt.

The third occupant of the longue was Nero. Unlike Cu Chulainn and Drake, who preferred not to waste their time on trifles and drink strong alcohol with merriment while somehow not spilling their drinks, Nero acted regally. With a wine glass held in her hand, she interacted with the others with a smile and laughter. However, the blush on her cheeks still made it clear to Hector that she was not completely sober.

And the last person that was gathered in the longue was Archer. Unlike the others, who seemed to enjoy their time drinking, he kept his usual serious mask on his face. However, with Hector's experienced eyes, he could see that Archer was also enjoying his time. At least, judging by the four empty cans of beer next to him, Archer at least had participated in drinking. Though how plastered he would be with only four beers is anyone's guess.

At the very least, for a second after Hector opened the door, Archer tried to look presentable and hide the cans of beer. Drake's shout showed him the pointlessness of such an action though, - "Hey, Hec, come in!"

"As I see", - Hector looked around the room, - "You certainly didn't waste your time."

In the middle of the longue there was now a table furnished with chairs, at which the four Servants were seated. Judging by the amount they had drunk, they just started drinking. Well, they're having a good time, apparently telling stories from their lives. Not exactly a friendly get-together - however, given the natural charisma of the Servants like Drake and Nero, as well as the influence of alcohol, it already looks like more than just colleagues having a drink after work.

"We rejoice in every day we have lived!" - Cu Chulainn then raised a toast, after which he raised his cup, - "Cheers for a new day!"

After an impromptu toast, Cu Chulainn and Drake were quick to empty their glasses to the bottom. Archer and Nero also joined in - but a bit more restrained, only taking a couple of sips from their drink of choice.

Hector was definitely not one of those people who interfered in other people's festivities - and therefore closed the door behind him so as not to embarrass the Servants celebrating inside the longue with the look of any passers by.

Taking in the atmosphere in the room, saturated with alcohol fumes, Hector chuckled, then moved to the only remaining seat.

"Sharing stories?" Hector looked around at the Servants around him.

"You don't know how many tales I have from all of my voyage!" Drake grinned at Hector.

"My stories are better, these are stories about empireishpil… imperisha… about me ~ umu!" Nero butted in Drake's boast, but it was not real anger, but rather something to preserve the atmosphere between friends, which made Drake burst out laughing with a deep, hoarse laugh. Whether Nero did it on purpose or not - Hector did not know, but he still appreciated the gesture.

"Stories from my life huh", - Hector shook his head approvingly, and then looked around, - "But are we just drinking... No one has any cards?"

In other circumstances, Hector would also not mind just drinking with friends, but unfortunately, Hector was at the moment still very much sober. So without alcohol to grease up conversations, he wanted to play something. The memories of how Ainz used his skills to defeat him in the game were haunting Hector, so he wanted the practice. In the end, he decided on a little experiment.

"What are you planning?" Drake was the first to look at Hector approvingly.

"No one has a desire to play poker?" - Hector looked around innocently, - "Or someone does not know how?"

"Ridiculous, there is no such gambling game that I would not know how to play!" - Drake burst out laughing instantly, and then looked around those present.

"I'm in ~ umu!" - Nero joined the conversation next.

"No questions asked," Cu Chulainn nodded graciously.

And only Archer asked a logical question, - "But, we have nothing to bet."

Hector froze for a second. Indeed, poker without bets was virtually pointless, however…

"I'll put my Golden Doe on the line!" - Drake answered first, and then looked around, "What, no one will ante up?"

"I want it!" - Nero answered instantly, - "I bet... Hmm... A beautiful song for the victor!"

"It is impossible to put what you do not possess!" - Cu Chulainn after a second dodged an empty can of beer thrown at him, - "I bet... Damn, what could I bet... Okay, damn it, I bet my runes! No, wait…shit!"

Hector smiled, - "So the bets were anted up…"

---

A deck of cards was found instantly - in the longue there was even a brand new one, unopened, which was only a plus for Hector, that took on the role of a dealer. Standing at the table, he concentrated for a second, after which he looked around at all those present, who were scattered from each other.

So now he only needed to concentrate on the game... And on the players.

Hector's gaze touched Nero, who happily sipped her wine from the glass, ignoring the others. Then Drake, watching Hector's face closely. Then on Archer's face, watching Hector's hands as he shuffled the deck. And then on Cu Chulainn, who tapped his foot slightly nervously, shifting his foot here and there slightly each time.

Hector broke into a smile, then began dealing the cards.

First, two cards were given to Nero, who glanced at them and, expression turning into a satisfied smile, put them aside.

Then Drake, who did not even reach for the cards, preferring to knock over some more rum.

Archer also did not reach for the cards, only glanced interestedly at Hector, while Cu Chulainn grabbed his cards and only took a short time to look at them.

"Considering the number of players - we will do without the blinds", - Hector smiled, - "In the end we are all friends here for a friendly match, right?"

The Servants had no objection to this.

"Then, if someone is stopping me from putting on my perfect voice and my magnificent singing ~ umu!" - Nero threw a disapproving glance at Cu Chulainn, - "Then... I put the title of the... First Senator!"

"Why not the title Emperor?" Cu Chulainn glanced at Nero, forcing her to frown.

"Know your... ~ umu!" - She could not finish the complaint before taking another drink of her wine, forcing Hector to smile, and then looked at Drake, - "Drake, you won't look at your cards?"

"I believe in the heart of the cards!" - Drake grunted, - "And that I'm lucky, I have bet the Golden Doe after all!"

"Archer?" Hector glanced at the guy who also never looked at his cards and smiled.

"I bet…" - Archer thought. He didn't have many things that he could pony up as a bet - it's not like he's getting paid for his job after all, both of them… However, with his mind a little confused by alcohol, his decision making skills were a bit impaired. - "I bet my mantle. Sewn from a holy shroud, so no one should have any problems with this."

"Okay", - Hector nodded, then turned his gaze to Cu Chulainn, who was looking at his cards, unconsciously running his fingers across the table, - "Cu Chulainn?"

"Using my runes as a bet.", - Cu Chulainn exhaled, - "I hope, teacher never knows about it."

Hector smiled. He had already figured out the tricks all four are using, but… How boring an adult would he be if he passed up the opportunity to snap youths on the noses? Plus, it was an important experiment. After all, Ainz was using his powers for amusement - why couldn't Hector do the same?

"The Flop" Three cards were drawn from the pile. Hector drew and flipped the cards slowly.

Jack of Hearts. Ace of Hearts. King of Hearts. The situation that had recently been a friendly one instantly heated up. Three cards of the same suit, almost creating an improbable hand… Was there a call for a royal street flush? Which player did Fortuna smile upon?

Hector smiled, then looked around the room. Before the draw, the Servants, who had played quietly more from idleness, have now become much more attentive.

"I'm raising", - Nero was the first to answer, keeping a satisfied smile on her face, - "The title of vicar of any province to choose from, except Italy and Rome. With the right for taxation."

"A title of honor is, of course, not bad…" - Archer answered bluntly, - "But the administration of the Roman provinces in the modern world can be… difficult."

"They will not resist the ruler appointed by the Emperor.", - Nero rolled her eyes, as if she were talking about something obvious, - "Besides... You can always 'persuade' them ~ umu! Only by peaceful means of course."

Hector breathed out - who knew that there was so much excitement in Nero?

"I see.", - Drake grinned, - "Then, since we can bet on titles, ha... Then I call - the title of admiral of my armada! With the right to control the fleet, there are no restrictions!"

Archer was next and, unlike the others, hesitated for a second before sighing. "Call. My Infinite Sword Forge on demand... Not on a permanent basis - but... Say, any hundred swords of your choice."

Hector chuckled and looked at Cu Chulainn, who was slowly mumbling words to himself.

"Okay…" - Cu Chulainn exhaled and looked up, - "Then from my side... All the knowledge about runic magic that my teacher taught me!"

Hector chuckled. "The stakes are huge!" Hector smiled as he dealt the turn.

The next card was the Ace of Clubs. Hector looked with interest at Nero.

"Raise, two more provinces under your control ~ umu!" Apparently, Nero was confident in her hand - and was not going to give up just like that, absorbed in the thrill of the moment.

"All the treasures on my ships.", - Drake easily answered in kind, then grinned, - "And half of all my treasures in the future."

Hector smiled - Nero could afford to lose what she did not possess - but Drake… Drake however, was one of those people who risked everything without any displeasure.

"Then..." Archer frowned. Also, like Drake, he still has not seen his cards, but Hector was not particularly worried about this, - "Hmm... A thousand? No, okay, ten thousand swords."

The eyes of those present were then focused on Cu Chulainn, who slowly sighed, and then looked around everyone present with a confident look, - "Well, since it came to really big bets, then... Hmm, I'm no stranger to being a dog - so… All-in, I bet myself!"

Hector chuckled - however, into the drunken minds of those present, no one was surprised by such a move. Indeed, the main reason why the Servants were so weakly related to the society of ordinary people was just how different their way of thinking is.

"In that case," Hector breathed out, "The last card, the river."

The Queen of Hearts. The perfect combination of cards is on the table. From the Jack of Hearts to the Ace. Only one card was needed to hit the largest possible jackpot.

Hector exhaled, then smiled. "The final round of betting."

Nero blinked, then looked at the table and looked at Cu Chulainn, - "No."

"Check," Drake replied, then knocked over another glass of rum.

"Check," Archer replied mechanically, then looked at Cu Chulainn.

"What, I'm already in the game", - Cu Chulainn grunted, not looking up from a new mug of alcohol.

Hector smiled. "Well... Showdown?"

The first to display her cards was Nero, Hector smiled at that - "Nero."

"Four aces." Ace of Diamonds and Ace of Spades.

Hector smiled. "Not bad indeed. Drake."

Drake just idly turned her cards over.

Ace of Diamonds and Ace of Spades.

Cu Chulainn choked on his whiskey. Nero choked on her wine. Archer choked on his beer. Drake choked on the rum. Hector smiled.

Nero's cheating was beautiful - after all, her Imperial Privilege allowed her to deal any card to herself. However, Drake's Luck meant that she would always get the best card. Even if it wasn't possible.

In other words, there were six aces on the table - and two of them were not real. The only question was, whose?

"That's such a strange coincidence", - Hector exaggeratedly cheerfully rubbed his chin, - "We have six aces from one deck…"

Nero and Drake looked at each other.

In the end, Drake always got the best, even if it wasn't possible. Nero could not help but get the best - the benefits of being an emperor.

"Well, no way to find out the cheater", - Hector exhaled sadly and looked at the two girls, - "Apparently... You two are disqualified."

"What?! No! Umu!" - Nero looked at Hector in horror, but Drake managed to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Sit down," Drake grinned, then turned her gaze to Archer.

Archer turned significantly pale after Nero's reaction and Drake's eyes continued to wander around the table. Hector even knew why.

After all, everyone cheated in this game. Including Archer.

Using his perfect vision, reflexes, and projection magic, Archer made sure he got the best possible hand in his hands. However, Archer couldn't have known that Drake and Nero would also want the best.

"Archer", - Hector looked at that, - "Maybe you will reveal your cards too?"

Archer exhaled slowly, then turned the cards over.

There were now eight aces on the table.

"Alas, Archer also suffers disqualification," Hector chuckled, then turned his gaze to Cu Chulainn. "Cu Chulainn?

Cu Chulainn was silent. Hector sighed. "Cu Chulainn?

"Disqualification," Cu Chulainn sighed languidly, then turned over his cards. Ace of Diamonds and Ace of Spades.

Drawing with your fingers from stress, mumbling to yourself... Did Cú Chulainn really think that Hector would confuse him using runic magic with a nervous tick?

"Oh my, it seems that we have ten aces on the table…" - Hector exhaled theatrically, then looked at everyone. - "How to determine which of them are real? Who is really that lucky and who should be the winner?"

After another moment, Hector, enjoying the look of confusion of those present, smiled, - "Nobody. All of you are disqualified."

A moment later, with a real magic trick, Hector pulled two cards out of his sleeve, - "The two aces were in my hands all the time. Two more on the table. And you all decided to take the chance to get some more, hmm... Not very sportsmanship behavior."

"Wait…" - Drake suddenly came to understand, - "That is... You cheated from the very beginning?"

"Hmm?" Hector blinked.

"So you are the biggest cheat in this game?" Nero glanced at him with a heated glare.

"No, wait, you yourself…" - Hector tried to justify himself, but was interrupted.

"So you originally decided to cheat everyone in order to set us up?" Archer looked at Hector with steely eyes.

"No, wait, that accusation doesn't make any sense at all!" Hector tried to justify himself...

However, he was indeed right. Servants, especially under the influence of alcohol, were indeed difficult to understand individuals. Hector reacted immediately and dashed out of the longue

"Hold him!" In an instant Cu Chulainn's shout ringed out.

As Hector ran out of the break room, Hector thought that his non-combat Tactics skill test had gone well. It's just… Judging by the rumble behind Hector's back, the situation threatened to move from a non-combat situation to a death or life struggle very quickly.

---

Name: Hector

Ability: Military tactics

Ability Level: 50

An ability that allows one to determine the approximate level of the enemy, as well as some of his most powerful and dangerous abilities. An indispensable ability for commanders and scouts.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 80: London

Ainz inhaled and exhaled slowly, after a few repetitions he was finally able to calm himself down from Da Vinci's theorizing. Feeling the dread slowly crawling over his spine again, he tried to watch the sun setting to calm himself down again. At least the sight of the setting sun over a smog filled sky was a familiar calming sight.

At the very least all of his Servants, at the moment, were not bothering him. If they were not following any of Ainz's somewhat random instructions, then at least they had at least found themselves something else to occupy their time, leaving Ainz alone. Or at least the most alone he could be with another Servant around.

Ainz glanced at Jekyll, who continued to try his best to fix the mechanical innards of a, for Ainz and his perception of time, ancient technology, the radio.

Ainz, to be honest, had managed to completely forget that the radio was once an actual object, and not just a separate type of communication. That it was a thing people care for and not just a specific name for some network streams with music and periodic conversations that people can listen in to.

Not that such knowledge was so important to Ainz that he had to spend some time ruminating over it. He was simply somewhat swept away by the realization of how different the world he remembered was from the world that he was currently in. A gap of time of only three hundred years or so.

In the previous Singularities, Ainz did not have such ponderings. Be it Renaissance France, The Age of Sails or Ancient Rome. All the previous Singularities' existence was separated from his perception of 'his' world by an imperceptible wall marked 'the past'. Finding himself in a world that was at least somewhat similar in his perception to his 'real' world, and at the same time so very different was an experience. The realization that Ainz really was in the past and not another world entirely came to him very unexpectedly.

"Ha..." - Ainz exhaled mentally… and physically. - "I wonder… Will I find myself one day in the future? Or maybe the world that is even closer to the present?"

Would Ainz end up in the 2000s, or maybe even during World War III in the future? It was a difficult question, because it concerned his very understanding and perception of his current mission.

After all, as Ainz already understood and realized, his influence on the world could be very significant, perhaps even somewhat excessive. But did that mean that Ainz shouldn't do anything that could influence the world at all - or that he needed to be careful about influencing the world?

For example, certain changes in the world, apparently, were already inevitable. However if, theoretically speaking, Ainz in this Singularity left some notes about his future knowledge on the desk of the… Who ruled England nowadays? The King? Or the president? Oh, well whoever leads England is not really the point!

It's just that if he left a note for whoever it was that leads England, in which, say he wrote about the way to develop nuclear weapons? Or, perhaps, the timeline of events that would lead to the impending world wars? All three of them. Could he have prevented the horrors that fell upon humanity? Or perhaps if he did so it would have made it even worse?

Ainz was not even really sure how his actions in this world could affect the future - and the past - and the Servants… Let's just say that things are very complicated right now.

After all, Ainz, in the past, just wanted to help with the Singularities out of a desire to repay his debt to Touch Me. Then after a while it was a game where he could collect some very rare one in a kind collection. Then he became involved because he wanted to help Olga-Marie. Then… And then what?

Ainz sighed as he thoughtfully watched Jekyll twist some mechanical levers on the radio.

Whether he would fix the Singularity or not was not a matter of particular difficulty. No one could have guessed what awaited him around the corner, not to mention the new variables like the Grand Servants that just have been introduced into the general equation. But, if he assumes that he can somehow sort out the Singularities, what is he going to do next?

Yes, Ainz would take on the Singularities as they come and deal with it with the utmost caution and preparation. But the Singularities would be solved eventually. So the question of what he would do in the future arose as the future approached the present. After all Ainz is pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to die of old age, and if he could Da Vinci would probably do something to fix that.

If he were to assume that the world he found himself in was 'his' world of the past, what should Ainz do in the future? After all there has been no indication that this 'world' is anything but the world of his past. Perhaps the Magic and mystical elements, but then the mystical side of the World has a handle on that pretty tight, and there's no way an ordinary salary man like himself would be able to pierce the veil of secrecy.

So what is he going to do in the future that would inevitably come? Should he prevent the World Wars? Ainz has read and been badgered by his guildmates about Time Travel and paradoxes enough to not bother trying. He also is currently working for an organization whose purpose was to safeguard the History of Mankind, having to stop himself from disrupting the Human Order is so cliche that he could see it happening. Ainz doesn't think that Olga would be too happy if he were to create more work for her.

Wait for YGGDRASIL to be created? Well if he were to do his job well, that would inevitably happen, so there's not really much effort needed to be done there. Wait for the moment when his friends are born in this world? Again unless he screwed up somewhere magnificently, should happen naturally in the future.

Though when they inevitably meet again - who can guarantee that they will be the same people with whom Ainz once was able to make friends with? Who can guarantee that Ainz will find common ground with them again? Wouldn't the hundreds of thousands of his previous decisions no matter how infinitesimal they may be not lead to a completely different world in the end? What if one day he meets Genjiro in the future, and he turns out to be a teacher at the local magic academy? And this is not to mention the fact that Ainz felt extremely mixed emotions and very apprehensive about the idea that in this world he could one day, purely theoretically speaking, meet with himself…

Thinking of the innumerable future possibilities , Ainz's head began to ache - so he had to distract himself by massaging his temples.

"A lot of things to think about?" - Jekyll's voice rang out after a second. Ainz turned his eyes to see Jekyll putting the upper part of the radio case back on the panel and began to twist it.

"Perhaps too much." Ainz exhaled, then changed the topic so as not to plunge into the black hole any further. "Speaking of which… Is fixing the radio really that important under the current conditions?"

"Hmm…" Jekyll exhaled at this thought, then shook his head and turned to Ainz, who was sitting on the guest sofa, "There is little hope of this radio connecting with anyone else really. Even if there are other survivors, at the current time, the radio network is the prerogative of only the scientists and magi. And considering what happened to the Association…"

After that, Jekyll froze suddenly and shook his head before continuing, "Anyway, I go on air every day. Who knows, maybe one day there will be a reply. It worked with you after all."

Ainz nodded graciously, and then glanced at the radio. "By the way, I never wondered, but... How does it work?"

"Hmm?" Jekyll blinked, then looked at Ainz in complete surprise, "You don't know?

"Oh", - Ainz blinked. It seems that the idea of his supposed omniscience is coming into play again... - "Hmm, I have never seen such... Device."

"Oh, yes, of course," Jekyll nodded, mentally concluding that Ainz had never seen such 'non-magical' analog devices, or, perhaps something that is so 'primitive'. "Well, without going into the nitty gritty details. A high-frequency signal is created on the transmitter, on which an information signal modulating the carrier frequency is superimposed…"

"Oh", - Ainz blinked, what is he talking about? Judging by the ease with which Jekyll began to start talking about it, the information he wanted to convey to Ainz was simple. Only, Ainz was still lost in the words 'high frequency signal'. Is this that 'Hertz' thing?

"Hmm, I get it," Ainz coughed, then tried to quickly interrupt Jekyll, fearing that by allowing Jekyll to give him the information, he might ask Ainz to answer a couple of test questions, as if testing him as a strict teacher. This is like talking with Da Vinci all over again. Only his suppression of emotions helped Ainz to cope with the irrational panic quickly arising in his gut.

"Hmm... I... Yes, I understand how it works, I just never saw this device in action, yes, definitely."

"Oh, is that so?" Jekyll broke off the stream of incoherent babble instantly, not even surprised that Ainz actually knew how the radio worked. "Then there's nothing difficult if you want to try operating it. You just need to turn on the receiver and…"

"... ke Smith, Second Lieutenant in charge of the British Admiralty Defense, Whitehall, London! Right now, a Devil-knows-what-shit is storming the building and we are asking for support from anyone that can hea... " A moment later a voice crackled from the radio, causing Jekyll to blink in surprise.

"Well, it's definitely working," Ainz remarked to himself.

Jekyll reacted, however, in a completely different way, instantly rushing to the radio, - "Copy. I hear you! Dr. Henry Jekyll responding, what is happening?!"

"A Doctor?!" - At the other end of the radio, a man's voice was heard, - "Who let... Ah, to hell with this! This is Jake Smith of... Oh my god they've broken through!"

"What's going on?!" Jekyll's scream rang out in the living room, forcing Ainz to look tensely at the radio. After a couple of seconds of eerie silence, the radio crackled alive again.

"Oh, Jekyll, baby!" A new voice crackled on the radio. The voice, a high and even a little squeaky voice, sounded barely restrained from turning into laughter, - "I thought you were already dead! But, truly, the child of tabloid literature could not resist such an allure of poor writers. Returning from the dead. Feh, what a cliché!"

"Who are you?" Instantly realizing that the speaker was clearly not on his side and knew too much for a simple passer-by, Jekyll asked a question.

"Fu, doctor, what happened to the famous manners of a British gentleman?" The voice on the other side of the radio was cheerful, as if it could barely refrain from saying a joke.

"Immediately asking the name of a stranger, what bad manners! You should first take me out on a date, while spying on my Master. Then we would take a walk under the moonlight, while you try to kill me with a huge large-caliber rifle from a distance of two million three hundred sixty-two thousand one hundred ninety-five and a half barleycorn? Where is the romance, Dr. Jekyll?"

"What?" Jekyll blinked in surprise and confusion.

"You Brits really do have such a strange system of measurements that even a native don't know a damn thing about it yourself, huh?" The voice on the other end of the connection then suddenly burst out laughing. After a minute of non-stop laughing, the other person continued, - "I-I mean, ha-ha... It's about two kilometer. Just for the sake of helping a dear British friend, I decided to translate it. A broad gesture of help from my side to the enemy by the way!"

Then the voice fell silent for a second, as if it was turning away for a second, and then returned to the conversation, - "Okay, that was a joke, do not be offended too much. A little offense is understandable, I understand. The art of comedy is subjective, after all. Still, some caution is warranted as some people don't even like it when I cut off their head - what impudence. And I even prepared my best, sharpened scissors for a quick cut, what an injustice…"

"Who the hell are you?" Jekyll asked the question again, slowly clenching his hand into a fist. "And what are you doing in the Admiralty?

"Well, doctor, I already explained to you, no? It is indecent to ask a Servant their name at the first meeting!" - The speaker was obviously having fun, answering Jekyll, with ridicule and some measure of insanity. "And what I'm doing here? Well, I grow flowers!"

"Stop spouting nonsense!", - Jekyll clenched his hand into a fist, and struck the table. "You are killing people!."

"But no, I do grow flowers! I mean I have already killed all of them, so you were wrong!" - The speaker barely restrained himself from bursting out laughing at his own joke, - "And in general I kill people in the second place! First, I grow flowers! And the dead people are there just to fertilize them!"

"You bastard," Jekyll could barely restrain himself from crushing the radio receiver..

"Again wrong, doctor, ha-ha!" The Servant, who spoke in response, laughed, - "I never had a mother, so I cannot be an illegitimate son!"

Jekyll was frozen in indecision upon how to respond to such an answer. Clearly Jekyll was no longer able to properly continue the dialogue, so Ainz was forced to step forward, pushing the doctor back a bit.

"Who are you, what are you doing now and what are your plans," Ainz's voice was calm. Although the speaker's behavior could be annoying, the death of people he didn't even know the name of did not affect him in any way. Oh he did know the name of that one person James something? Still, his death is no skin off his back so Ainz was able to conduct a dialogue calmly.

"Oh?" The voice sounded surprised by Ainz's voice. - "Well, wow, we have Big Daddy himself! Well, even my Master loves you and spent the whole we're around talking about you! So you can just imagine how much I just adore you! You know what, the big boss likes talking about you so much that it felt like we already know each other quite well! Just for you, you can call me Mr. M." What followed is five minutes of the sort of dithering and squeeing that teenagers do when talking to their crush. Ainz wasn't really sure on how to respond, so he simply stayed silent. It didn't take long for the crazed Servant horrific rant to be over.

"Now I'm talking to you - and when I finish - I'll go kill people dead. Well, alive ones. Dead people are difficult to kill. So you have to look for new ones."

"I see.", - Ainz replied calmly, after which he asked a question, - "Why are you killing people?"

"Pft, what a stupid question!" - M, who was talking, snorted, - "Because I like to kill people of course, silly! Wow, what an unexpected answer, what a deep motivation! Feel my deepest moral philosophy growing out of a terrible mental childhood trauma!"

"And?" Ainz asked another question.

"And because I was allowed to," - The servant seemed to be rolling his eyes, - "that should be obvious, no? Of course, if I had not been allowed, I would not have been doing this, but I am absolutely loyal to my beloved Master! I am literally burning with my desire to serve him faithfully!"

A second later, as if in an exaggeratedly caricatured pantomime of a clown, the Servant sucked in air noisily, as can be heard to the static of the radio. - "What…! Oh no, I'm really on fire! Sorry, our conversation has to end here! Sorry, but I urgently need to start running around screaming about how much it hurts me to be on fire! Bye Bye!"

After the harsh sound of an object hitting something, the radio was completely silent, leaving only Ainz and Jekyll staring at the now silent radio. But, soon Ainz rightly realized that trouble does not come alone.

"Ainz!" Da Vinci's loud voice made Ainz look at the approaching girl, leading Fran, trying her best to look as inconspicuous as possible. The shy Servant looked calm but at the same time clearly extremely nervous, not knowing where to put her hands, when Da Vinci was dragging her around - "We've got bad news…"

---

Right now, Ainz was presented with a dilemma. Just now he had received information that the Admiralty was under attack. On the other hand, right now, on the other side of London, somewhere in Victoria Park, Fran was able to identify a huge cluster of automatons, probably doing the same thing.

Da Vinci, in turn, was able to confirm that in both cases Servants were present among the attackers. However, any further information remained shrouded in gloom.

How many Servants? How strong were they? What is the identity of these Servants? Unfortunately, Da Vinci could not determine such things, the fog spreading across London literally squeezed the mana out of Da Vinci's magic. Of course, developing a spell that could break through such an effect would only take Da Vinci a couple of hours. A couple of hours that Ainz didn't have.

However, Fran, in turn, could confirm one thing. Both groups of enemy Servants had monstrously powerful sources of electricity in their ranks.

And this complicated the matter somewhat since Ainz could not accurately predict what in this case this information meant. Does it indicate the level of the opponents' strength, their abilities - or was it just a random phenomenon that had nothing to do with the Servants?

In other words, in the current conditions, rather than intercepting these unknowns, Ainz would prefer to establish a tracking system for the enemy Servants. After which, after studying the information that he could get, go into battle already having ample information on hand. However, such an observation would take time, which in the current conditions was sorely lacking for Ainz. At least if he wants to minimize the future distortions that would inevitably appear.

Yes, he was not that worried about the lives of ordinary people, but he was worried about the consequences of their death. The situation was similar to a hostage rescue - only in this case, the hostages were going to be killed every second that Ainz hesitated.

And although, of course, Ainz could have hoped that sooner or later the enemy would get tired of doing such tiresome things, judging by his recent interaction with the hostile Servant via the radio, the likelihood of such a development happening was very unlikely. And if the enemy kills too many people, who knows what will happen to humanity. Causality and history will be so grossly violated, that the way the World will rationalize such a major disturbance would be very drastic indeed.

Ainz frowned as he reflected on the situation.

It was not even a trap. A trap suggested that the trap creator would at least try to disguise that he was creating one. No, it was an open invitation in which Ainz would be provoked into a reaction, a quick response. But to what ends?

Perhaps the enemy simply wanted to drain Ainz's forces in this way? Forcing him to spend his resources protecting people before finishing the battle with one major blow? Or was it an attempt to study Ainz and his Servants capabilities through the battles? Maybe the enemy was calculating and trying to find Ainz's weaknesses for a subsequent crushing blow?

Ainz exhaled tightly and then closed his eyes.

He could not just not try to rescue as many of the survivors as possible. But at the same time, stupid hasty decisions would not help anyone… Especially if the trap were not composed of just Servants. Even Da Vinci could not vouch unequivocally which of the opponents Ainz was supposed to meet and destroy in the incidents.

And time continued to move inexorably on, forcing Ainz to think faster and faster.

"Da Vinci, have you recovered fully?" Ainz glanced at Da Vinci, making her chuckle.

"I am the greatest genius of all." Da Vinci rolled her eyes, but Ainz did not fall for her bravado.

"My question has not been answered." After Ainz's terse reply, Da Vinci exhaled, then slowly looked away.

"For most battles, yes," Da Vinci admitted slowly, "However, if I run into someone like Paracelsus again…"

Ainz shook his head. Yes, he could replenish Da Vinci's mana instantly, but at the same time it was a last, extreme measure that could damage Da Vinci's body. Besides, even for the omnipotent genius of magic and science, the problem of fatigue is not only physical, but also mental and moral. The depletion of such resources she suffered while battling Paracelsus - was still quite sharp.

In other words, Da Vinci could not participate in a new battle so quickly after the previous one. Which is a shame, since Da Vinci was one of Ainz's strongest and most reliable combatants. If she couldn't fight, ha...

"Okay", - Ainz nodded, - "I will go personally."

"Hmm?" Da Vinci gave Ainz a slightly surprised look, followed shortly by Jekyll - and probably Fran, before she started smiling. "Try not to destroy London in the process."

"Wait a minute, since when does a Master fight on the front lines?" Jekyll tried to interfere with what he assumed is a suicidal plan - but one expressive look sent from Da Vinci silenced him.

"However, it won't work for me to be in several places at once - and if there are too many Servants among the opponents…" - Ainz shook his head, - "Well, in that case, the overall plan will look like this…"

---

"Why am I, like, doing this at all?" A dashing loud voice echoed down the street, surpassing the loudness of even the hum of mechanical creatures continuing to break into houses, the crackle of broken doors and the screams of people, - "I'm like, so pissed! Like, I am damn golden pissed! Really!"

"It is impossible to be 'golden' pissed, idiot." Came a response that was much less loud, but much higher in tone and feminine sounding. - "Although I agree with you for once. I can't believe that a devoted housewife such is me is being forced to participate in the mass murder of people ~ micon…"

"Damn, it's just so infuriating, it's totally bullshit!" The loud male voice answered the girl before moving, - "Damn, I want it all to fail! Like damn, what the hell…"

"How strange - I hear you speaking, but I hardly understand it." The familiar voice of Arthuria, cold and calm, spread along the empty street, forcing the two erstwhile speakers to turn around.

Two Servants familiar Servants were standing on the roof of a tall building sandwiching the narrow road, separated by only a couple of tens of meters.

On one side was Arthuria, whose cold aura seemed to make the already chilly London evening even colder. Next to Arthuria was Saber, whose face was just as hidden as all the days before.

On the ground were two Servants. One was a girl who was wearing completely inappropriate clothing for such chilly weather - a light kimono barely covered her very appealing forms. Her blue clothes contrasted well with her pink hair. The two red fox ears, directed upwards, made her appearance even the more exotic.

Next to the fox was a man, whom it was impossible to call otherwise than a macho. His huge muscles threatened to tear his white shirt and black pants apart. With his shirt's top two buttons unbuttoned, and a short haircut of golden hair and black sunglasses completed the image of a fujoshi's seme bait completely.

"Wow, we have a beauty here!" The macho man hollered towards Arthuria that had just appeared.

"W-what did you call Fa… Arthuria?!" Which turned out to be a perfect provocation in the helmeted Saber's point of view.

"Huh?" The man instantly turned a glance towards the armored Saber, then blinked, - "Well, like, I just said. I called her a beauty…"

"Bastard!" Instantly Saber lunged forward towards the muscly Servant. Arturia just had enough time to sigh, before jumping after the red Saber. Only once before had she seen such fanaticism in her life before.

However, she seemed to be just unable to remember who it reminded her of.

---

Rising from his seat, the Servant stretched. What a fun time! He managed to talk on the radio with the respected Dr. Jekyll himself! And before that, kill a bunch of people! And after that he killed some more!

The Servant could hardly refrain from breaking into a song - life was so good for him now. But, of course, it would be better if not for the bullet that just pierced into his body, making him instantly bend over in pain.

"Oh, come one, what the hell!" The Servant instantly straightened up to look in the direction of the one who had just attacked him, - "What about saying hello?!"

"I don't want to defile myself by addressing you one such as you, clown," Nobunaga's voice was cold and distant, as always. In contrast to the still smoking musket in her hand, which appeared out of nowhere - and, a second later, also disappeared into nowhere.

"A Clown?" The man looked around himself, - "I don't see a…"

His flawless body with pale skin. His purple hair, so flawlessly styled in curls. His lovely hat. His twisted horns rising upward. His white mask is on his face. His red and blue motley outfit...

"Oh yes, that's right! I'm a clown!" The clownish Servant agreed with the observation of the girl, and then straightened his hat, not paying attention to the bleeding wound in the stomach, - "But if i were one then I must be a great one!"

A second later, a new musket appeared in Nobunaga's hand... And a second later, a sharp pain pierced her hand - forcing Nobunaga to unclench her hand.

"Ha?" Nobunaga looked at her hand, on which a long cut had suddenly appeared, "What?

"Oh, it seems that the main act of our circus program has begun!" - The clown smiled, looking straight into Nobunaga's eyes. All that Nobunaga could see was unbridled madness. "This is my favorite, you know. The deadly main act of this show!"

---

"Hmm?" The voice of a man, a low baritone echoed across the wasteland, - "You can not hide from me, it's useless. I can smell the electric field that you create. Still, it is an entertaining picture."

A second later, Medusa, realizing that her presence had been detected, in one continuous movement moved in front of her potential enemy.

The man made a wonderful impression of a gentleman with his inherent stateliness. Thoroughly styled shoulder-length dark hair with the ends turning into gray and with two eye catching teal fringes framing his face. Dressed in a blue and white jacket, over whose shoulders a blue cloak with white fur lining was draped. Although, of course, the one detail of his appearance that would catch the most attention was the bronze glove worn on his right hand. Between its bronze fingers sparks of electricity continued to periodically crackle.

"Oh, a beautiful young lady." The man's stately voice spread across the wasteland, - "It's sad that you decided to become my opponent. But if you back down - then I swear that I will not pursue you - consider this my personal promise."

Medusa did not answer these words, only reaching for her two blades and the chain that connects them.

"Is that your choice, then?" The man correctly interpreted such a sign of aggression. - "Pity."

A second later, a huge lightning bolt struck down from the sky, literally vaporising the place where Medusa was standing.

"What a pity, what a pity…" The man, convinced of his victory, turned to return to his, ahem, how unpleasant it was to say this to him, 'ally'. But a moment later his peripheral vision noticed the movement of Medusa, forcing him to tilt his body a few degrees back.

"Oh, you survived…" The gentleman's expression expressed interest, - "But you still want to fight with me... To the highest degree I do not recommend this course of action, you will lose."

Ignoring the remark, Medusa tried to hit the man again. However, as if predicting her movement in advance, the stately man simply bent his body a few degrees to dodge the strike. After which Medusa had to jump away from the lightning that struck her previous position.

"Well, as I understand it, I won't be able to dissuade you." The man exhaled, looking at Medusa with some sadness, and then shook his head. "I'm very sorry, but my conscience is clear. I did warn you…"

---

Ainz looked at the Servant in front of him.

"So. It. Is. You. Who. Wished. To. Stop. Me." The voice of the speaker was chopped, low, and sounded as if it was distorted by mechanical interference. It was as if his voice was produced by letting off steam from slightly opened valves, - "Commendable. But. I. Do. Not. Feel. Any. Strength. In. You. Step. Back. When. It. Is. Not. Too. Late."

Ainz swallowed.

"I. Not. Will. Chase. You. This. World. Doomed. No. Need. To. Fight. You." The speaker was slow and unhurried, watching Ainz with his one red glowing eye.

Ainz exhaled.

"So you are…" - Ainz blinked again, - " A Mecha?"

The Servant opposite Ainz was a robot. It was very tall by human standards - it stood more than two meters high. The metallic figure towered over the idyllic environment of an Industrial Age London. Its mechanical armor was only vaguely similar to a human figure, its disproportionately massive cylindrical head looked at the world with a single red eye, and a three-fingered hand held a huge club, whose pommel looked more like a giant staff. The weapon was large even for the massive figure of the robot, whose mechanical parts continued to rotate even now.

"I. Am. The. Embodiment. Of. My. Dreams.", - the Servant replied to Ainz calmly, - "This. Is. Not. A. Robotic. Platform. It. Is. My. Body. After. I. Looked. Into. The. Future. That. Have. Not. Yet. Happened"

"So… You are a mecha." Ainz smiled.

The Servant fell silent slowly before steam escaped from his mouth, a movement reminiscent of a sigh. "Yes."

"Excellent", - Ainz smiled.

In the last Singularity, he had hoped that he would be able to fight another mecha!

---

"The plan is this." The voice of Jalter was unusually cheerful, - "We stab and maybe burn the enemy until they die, and then we move on to another. Questions?"

"Em, Jalter…" - Mashu looked at the Servant, then at dozens of robots that, noticing the approaching Servants, stopped breaking into other people's houses and at the moment were heading towards the both of them at their fastest possible speed. - "Are there any more parts to this plan of yours?"

"Whoever breaks the most will get candy from Ainz!" Jalter grinned.

"Uuuuuu!" - Fran supported Jalter's exuberance as expressively as she could.

"Jalter, I don't think that…" - Mashu tried to cut in, but...

"It's too late, the battle has begun!" Without listening to Mashu's complaints, Jalter rushed forward. Fran followed after her a second later.

"Oh, why does this happen to me every time..." - Mashu exhaled.

'If anything - I can count the amount that you destroyed so that you are not distracted by it!' Galahad gave what could pass as a silver lining. 'Now go ahead, candy from Ainz is waiting for you, Mashu!'

Mashu, surrendering to the mercy of her circumstances, only shook her head, and then rushed forward.

---

Extract From the Classified Archives of the Clock Tower (Wizard Marshal Level and above) "A Dissertation about Elizabeth Bathory". First part of the dossier.:

In an absolutely unknown way, Elizabeth Bathory acquired divinity.

Perhaps this is one of the biggest mysteries about Elizabeth Bathory, amongst all the other strange facts about the Countess. No factography, genealogical research, or even mythological and religious research indicate that the Hungarian aristocrat could receive Divinity in any way. However, albeit of a rather low rank, Elizabeth Bathory really possesses a rank of Divinity that surpasses even that of the legendary Medusa. A mere Countess somehow possessing a higher rank of Divinity than that of a goddess from the Age of the Gods is ridiculous. Yet it is so.

Perhaps the only possible reason for this, as insane as it sounds, is the belief that the minor goddess of poor singing Elizabeth is really the Bloody Countess Elizabeth Bathory... Which, of course, is a completely crazy idea, but at the same time the only possible thing that could explain how such a thing happened.

In addition, the reflection of Elizabeth Bathory, Carmilla may also, after recent research, be summoned not only as an Assassin, but as a Berserker suffering from multiple personality disorder. However, one of the likely personalities of Carmilla, in this case, thanks to the influence of the Innocent Monster skill, will have the ability to seduce. More specifically, the theoretical Berserker Servant would possess the Song of the Sirens, or at least an analogue of this skill, reflecting her 'voice that inclines people to evil' described in her legends. A part of her legend which was later embodied in the Servant Elizabeth Bathory as the absence of a musical ear and voice that could lead people to kill themselves...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 81: Dismantling London

Arthuria glanced at her opponent.

Her way of dress suggested that the Servant was of an oriental origin - however, this fact was not a very significant clue in identifying the Servant's identity. Servants were figures very capable of being mutable under the influence of their legends, the perception of their actions, and even the influence of time itself. Therefore, while it was possible that the girl opposite Arthuria was a Servant with oriental legend behind her. It was also equally likely that she was a Servant from a legend who, for some reason, had adopted oriental vestments.

However, Arthuria's original conjecture that the Servant in front of her was of oriental descent was most likely true when taking into account her other features.

Before Arthuria can ruminate further about the identity of her enemy, her Instinct blared a warning to Arthuria. Arthuria hastily leaped away from her perch on the roofs before a blinding beam of light struck down from the heavens upon her previous position. The beam of light melted through the building, from the roof down to the very base of the building. A sizable hole of melted slag was all that remained of what the beam of light touched.

Instantly assessing the situation, Arthuria came to the conclusion that fighting on the same elevation with the enemy would reduce the number of unwanted deaths and destruction. In one movement she leapt from the roofs and unto the paved roads of London. At least she could now be certain that she's facing either a Caster or an Archer class Servant.

An instant later, the London pavement cracked as Arthuria landed. In front of her a Servant poised to strike.

"I'm really sorry. But as a Servant, I'm afraid I will have to fight you ~ mikon..." The fox girl complained, but Arthuria was not interested in indulging the enemy's whims.

Fox ears, her seeming connection with the sun, her capability as a spellcaster, and her Oriental robes… Well Arthuria is quite certain of who she is facing right now.

Barely an instant later, Arthuria, not bothering to listen to the Servant talking in front of her, rushed forward. She covers the distance separating the both of them in a second.

"Hey, that is very impolite ~ mikon!" The Servant, who is most likely Caster, had time to frown at Arthuria before the paper seal she was holding flashed in her hands. The slip of paper then literally exploded into a huge whirlwind, sweeping away everything in its path.

All except Arthuria, whose Magical Defense made such a spell casted in a hurry nothing more than passing wind.

However, deciding not to take any risk, Arthuria mana flared out around her. Splashing out like a fiery salvo of a fighter engine - Arthuria burst through the whirlwind, striking without hesitation. Arthuria's blackened Excalibur flashed.

But instead of cutting into flesh, the corrupted holy sword collided with a small mirror that floated freely in the air, preventing Arthuria from cleaving the Servant in twain. Mirrors and seals… Well that made the Servant's identity pretty obvious now.

Artoria instantly regrouped and retreated, leaving behind only a black shadow. Not a moment too soon either as a moment later a streak of whitish mana cut through the air in front of the Caster. It had come out of nowhere and also disappeared into nowhere.

"Tamamo-no-Mae," Arthuria concluded calmly, looking at the now identified Servant in front of her. The now revealed Tamamo froze for a second, then blinked and looked at Arthuria, - "Mikon... What a pity to be so famous!"

"Your fox ears betrayed your identity the most," Arthuria now seems to have deigned to answer the Caster's unasked question. "And I don't know any more famous a fox that would have a suitable legend for a Servant." And what Arthuria kept to herself is that she already knows an alternate of her from the past Singularity.

"A fox…" - Tamamo was quite indignant being called a fox, but after a second calmed down soon after. "Although, fox… Foxes are smart! And very very beautiful and affectionate animals. They also have amazing ears!"

Tamamo, as if proud of such a nonsensical remark, twitched one of her ears like a wild beast and smiled at Arthuria.

Arthuria, deciding that she had indulged the fox servant enough, rushed forward. After another burst of mana accelerated her forward - she swung the blackened Excalibur. A deluge of dark destruction poured forth from her blade. And just like her slash before, it splashed harmlessly against Tamamo's mirror. An attack that could easily finish off Tamamo shattered powerlessly against the mirror, making Arthuria frown slightly.

Yata-no-kagami, the bronze mirror of Amaterasu, the divine regalia through which the true light of the Sun shines illuminating even the world of the dead… Or at least that's how it goes in the legend.

"You have no tact!" As the wave of black mana dissipated, Tamamo indignantly stamped her foot. Looking at the unperturbed Arthuria, Tamamo sighed. - "Why did you immediately start attacking me when I just started talking… "

Arthuria did not bother to listen to Tamamo's complaints to the end, rushing forward again. Though unlike the last time, at the last second, before the mirror would block her attack again, she shifted into another direction with another explosion of mana. Finding herself on Tamamo's undefended side, Arthuria struck. Excalibur, engulfed in a black flame of mana, only powerlessly crashed into the mirror again, forcing her to retreat. She then calmly accepts the powerless retaliation of Tamamo's magic with her body.

"Well, there it is again!" - Tamamo indignantly looked at Arthuria, - "Why are you so impatient?!"

"The battlefield is no place for idle talk.", - Arthuria answered shortly, entertaining the Servant's seeming need to banter to think over her plan of action.

Tamamo's mirror was not indestructible, at least not in the literal sense of the word. If she were to continue her assault over and over again Arthuria could break it, but such a course of action would take a significant amount of time. And although Tamamo did not possess significant physical capabilities to sufficiently hamper her efforts, and Arthuria was significantly protected from magic, Tamamo possessed magic much superior to that of ordinary mortal magi. The Avatar of the Sun Goddess, even in the limited form of a Servant, could break through Arthuria's defenses if she had only a little time. And, unfortunately, the long trudge to destroy Tamamo's mirror as her main defense was just that. Giving a Caster any time to prepare is generally a very bad idea.

"Look, I would like to leave in peace, in fact!" - Tamamo tried to appeal to the empathic part of Arthuria. "I could just leave and say that we lost! I don't even want to participate in this, I just wanted to go to London, walk the streets, eat at restaurants. I want to go sightseeing, I'm not from this era at all ~ mikon!"

Unfortunately, there was no empathy in the Black Tyrant - "Excalibur Morgan!"

"What?!" - Tamamo staggered back, - "Noble Phantasms at the very beginning are not according to the rules ~ mikon! - Suiten Nikkou Amaterasu Yano Shizu-Ishi!"

---

Saber wasn't stupid. Ill-mannered, rude and rash, yes, but still not stupid. He had a certain intelligence that only someone that has survived countless battles could possess. He possessed the kind of instinct that hunting dogs had honed in their hunts, and an understanding that only those who are used to putting their lives on the line over and over again could acquire. Therefore, the instruction from Ainz was easy to follow. And as an aside, why did his father choose his kind as… as a Wife?!

In any case, Ainz's order was clear. To deal with the enemies quickly and without unnecessary casualties. Not that Saber would even consider following the order of this unknown Master if his father did not agree with his decision!

Therefore, the attack on the Servant who dared to pay a compliment on Father was a strategy! Saber didn't even need to trouble his mind with further planning at all - it was all a tactical decision! Deep and real! Thought of in advance, and not as an excuse to punch the face in of the vagrant that dared to accost Father. At least that is what he would say if Father decides to ask him about his actions!

In any case, luckily for Saber, his opponent turned out to be a simpleton. And therefore, when Saber began to lead their unexpected battle away from Arthuria and that girl - he did not ask a single question, continuing to follow blindingly behind Saber. Although at the same time he made Saber very angry with his endless buzzing!

"Dude, damn it!" Saber's opponent deflected another blow of Clar… his blade with his huge ax, the unwieldy design of which would usually make it really hard to use in any dextrous manner. However, none of the Servants were ordinary in any way, therefore, despite the huge bulk of the weapon, each of Saber's strikes were deftly blocked. - "It sucks, damn it! So I speak to you normally, but you don't fucking listen to me at all! Like, let's just stop fighting for a moment!"

"I don't give a shit about what you want." While Saber was not stupid - his vocabulary somewhat gravitated towards the simpler and harsher of dictions.

"It sucks, dude!" The enemy, even while visually and vocally upset, nevertheless did not stop defending himself. "You. Damn it. You know. They told me. Like. To defend. Myself! I don't. Like. Want to do this. But damn it!" Even when defending against Saber onslaught forced him to pause every time Saber's blade was swung, the loudmouthed Servant continued to blather on.

"Shut the fuck up already." Frustrated, a deep red, lightning-like mana began to wrap around Saber's legs. After which, just like Arthuria, Saber rushed forward, instantly overcoming the distance separating him and the enemy - after which Saber's blade hit its target. However, instead of dividing the enemy into equal parts, it struck not into ordinary flesh, but into a steel partition. As Saber's blade failed to fell the enemy, forcing Saber to jump away.

"Dude, damn it! That, like, hurts so much!" The Servant took a step back, brushing the blood that splashed on his shirt from his chest, not paying attention to the wound. A wound that looked more like a sloppy big cut than a terrible wound inflicted by a legendary blade.

"You have a Berserker's endurance." Saber leaned forward slightly, then sucked in air like a predatory animal ready to jump.

"Yeah, like, I'm a Berserker!" - Berserker explained to Saber, as if forgetting for a second that right now they were fighting each other and every grain of information was now worth its weight in gold.

"The Mad Enhancement hit you hard in the brain in that case.", - Saber answered back. After that unexpectedly he stretched out to his full height, - "It seems that we have moved away enough."

Berserker froze for a second and looked around.

Right now they were in Victoria Park. There was not a single living witness around, and what had not yet been devoured by the fog was only manicured trees and the rare paths with benches that crossed the park. Berserker, just in case, even looked up to see the flashes of distant witchcraft of Tamamo, but could not see anything but the treetops rising to the tops.

"Aha.", - Berserker turned his eyes away from the treetops, and then looked at his opponent. - "So what?"

"It seems we have gone far enough my father…" - Saber exhaled, - "Okay."

A second later, Saber's helmet, which at a first glance looked similar to plate armor, seemed to unfold like in a sci-fi film. After which, it disappeared into the side armor segments, showing for the first time in a long time the face of Saber.

Short, unruly wheat-colored hair framed a chiseled, green-eyed face that seemed out of place for the massive armor covered in lines the color of sintered blood. Saber's gaze, however, was expressly matching the brutal looking armor.

"So, wait." Even when faced with a Saber fully prepared to rip him apart, Berserker, perhaps befitting his maddened self, nevertheless drew attention to one important fact - "So you're a girl?"

"What?" Saber blinked.

"Well, that is, you have a woman's face... Actually, you kinda looked like that beauty you came with." Berserker blinked, - "And, wait, is she your mother?"

Saber froze, then looked up at the tree tops, as if expecting Arthuria to appear when she was being discussed.

"Well, maybe you're sisters and… who's the older one, you both looked really young?" The Berserker raised his hand to scratch his head. "Like, did you two girls who became Servants together? Well, like, that's cool…"

Saber glared at the Berserker who had unknowingly pressed a huge red button.

"My name is Mordred Pendragon!" After another moment, the mana around Mordred exploded with an extravaganza of crimson lightning, "And I am the son of Arthuria, my father!

Berserker froze in amazement, - "But... You are, like... Two girls?"

Mordred could not bear such a grave insult and rushed into battle again.

---

The dagger blade of Medusa was thrown forward instantly, with precision and power unattainable to humans. No human had a snowball's chance in hell to react to the flying blade. Yet, even the weakest of Servants were beyond what humans are capable of.

And therefore, as if having calculated the movement of the blade down to the millimeters, the enemy of Medusa tilted his head slightly to the side, letting the deadly projectile pass by harmlessly.

Medusa, holding the chain that connected the blade to its copy, pulled, planning to grab the neck of her opponent in a single gesture. However, as if hitting an invisible wall holding the chain with a force unimaginable for Medusa, the chain froze in mid-air. After which, after another moment, sparks flashed along the entire length of the chain, forcing Medusa to recoil from the chain she was holding, receiving an electric shock.

"Dear", - The voice of the Servant who fought against Medusa was a little sad, but in no uncertain terms indicated that he would let Medusa leave the battlefield. "I apologize, but as I said, our battle is a foregone conclusion from the very start."

"Electricity." Medusa concluded, as soon as she had let go of the electrified chain daggers.

"Not only that." The man sighed, as if he was explaining something obvious to a particularly dim student. After which the metal chain that was now released from Medusa's control rose in the air, as if dancing from invincible strings. "Electromagnetic fields in all their beauty and unity obey me."

A second later, lightning struck from the sky, forcing Medusa to try to dodge. However, the chain of her blades that instantly wrapped around her slowed her movement a bit, which was enough for the lightning to strike Medusa.

In response, Medusa did not utter a cry. Not because she was not in pain, but because she was experienced enough to understand the need to hide any information from her opponent.

A moment later, when the lightning stopped striking from the sky - the monstrous power of Medusa nevertheless helped her to break the chain. And the figure of Medusa, scorched, but still capable of fighting, flashed to appear a few steps away from the Servant with her fist prepared to strike down with monstrous force.

However, the blow that was supposed to, if not kill, then at least cripple the Servant, crashed into the instantly appeared wall of lightning, forcing Medusa to jump back.

"Indeed, I can admit that your choice to attack me in close quarters was chosen correctly. And I certainly know of my physical weakness." As if by magic, while the Servant spoke, the broken chain connecting the blades of Medusa rose into the air, connecting with each other again. "Although controlling some matter, in particular the human body, using an electromagnetic field is impossible, thanks to my ability to create electricity in any space available to me, I am able to protect my body from most attacks which I have no way to influence by direct methods."

After they were fused together again, the blades of Medusa soared again, but only in order to rush forward again, seeking to entangle their mistress. Medusa, however, was able to easily dodge the attack of her own rebellious weapon. But before she could another vector of attack, discharges of electricity instantly flared up and passed through her body.

"As I already said - I can create electricity in any space available to me." The voice of the Servant was not bored or angry, rather even sympathetic, as if the speaker realized how much he surpassed his opponent and therefore felt embarrassed, as if an adult fighting a child, - "Perhaps, if you leave right now, then I again promise you that I will not chase after you. Although it is unpleasant for me, as a man of science, to do this, judging by all the information you have, there is no single way to defeat me."

Medusa, however, only rose from her stupor, and then exhaled, - "Bellerophon."

A moment later, the emerging snow-white pegasus was grabbed by his rider - and rushed to their goal, the enemy.

The Servant just exhaled, after which he heard the terrible neighing of a helpless animal in pain.

Bellerophon was incredibly fast - but not faster than lightning.

Not wanting to look at the charred body of his rival, the Servant turned to head away.

Only to hear the voice of medusa behind him, not at all finished. "Hmm, I see… Well, I was saving this ability for Alice, but… Okay."

The Servant turned to his opponent in surprise. The Legendary Medusa... As far as he knew - she possessed two Noble Phantasms - and none of them was effective against him under the current conditions. What did she decide to use against him at the moment? And how was she able to survive his attack? He was sure that he was accurate in selecting the necessary strength in order to take the girl's life quickly and painlessly without prolonging her torment.

However, contrary to his assumptions, Medusa stood firmly on her feet. And although her body was damaged, she did not at all look as if she was ready to die at that second.

Medusa slowly reached for her glasses, then smiled. "Chrysaor."

---

The clown did not pose any challenge for Nobunaga.

"Hello there!" Rushing forward, the clown swung his weapon - a giant scissors of all things, after which Nobunaga instantly felt a gun appear in her hand...

After that, she found herself standing in a completely different direction than before.

Her back was turned to the Clown, her hand was holding a musket, two more hovered next to her and their barrels were smoking. She had turned her back against the enemy and summoned two muskets to do what?

Where did Nobunaga the shot go? Why did she turn her back on the clown? When did she create her two muskets? What is happening?

"Oops, are you having problems?" The clown was next to Nobunaga instantly, intent on killing the distracted Avenger. But any of his further actions were interrupted when Nobunaga's blade, which emerged from the flame as easily as any of her muskets, easily disarmed the clown's scissors away from her. With one connecting swing her blade then headed to the Servant's neck.

"Nope, you didn't catch me!" The clown just burst out laughing when Nobunaga's blade crashed into a small ligature of symbols that appeared in its path, which instantly wrapped around the blade like a crawling insect.

Luckily, Nobunaga could easily turn her blade into flames, burning the curse that the clown was trying to cast. She summoned another sword a moment later.

The clown, however, was not at all upset by what happened. Stepping back, he then smiled, quite the disturbing sight. - "Hey, what is it behind your back?!"

Nobunaga was too experienced to be fooled by such a childish provocation...

A moment later, she found herself standing one hundred and eighty degrees from where she was facing before, her back to the clown. There were several muskets around her, each of them was smoking. Again Nobunaga found herself perplexed.

She shot, she tried to kill, she defended herself… From something. Something that disappeared from her memories, something that dodged her attacks. Something that was near.

Nobunaga did not pay any further attention to the clown. Several muskets appeared behind her then fired at the clown. The clown made a high pitched sound, after which, as if in a pantomime, rushed to the table for cover, fleeing the dozens of musketballs hedging his way.

However, even after finding himself behind cover, the clown could not resist - "Tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock is ticking!"

Nobunaga frowned before realizing something. The room where she was was slowly filling with fog. The fog did not seep into the other houses, but was moving here by design...

Something was wrong.

"What did you do, clown?" Nobunaga turned to the cowering Servant.

"Called some friends." The clown for a moment leaned out from his cover, and then stuck out his tongue, - "And you don't have any friends, that's why you walk alone. How sad!"

Nobunaga frowned.

"'I called my friends', huh…"

After another moment, five muskets appeared around Nobunaga. Then ten. Then twenty. After just a second, Nobunaga was hidden behind hundreds of muskets, instantly covering all the space around her with muskets, all ready to fire.

"Oops." The clown just blinked in surprise. - "Somehow I didn't think about that."

Nobunaga grinned. Well, if she could not see the attacker and it erased himself from her memories… So the time has come for the most ingenious tactics of mankind.

Shoot in all directions until nothing remains.

A second later, the Admiralty building was literally demolished as thousands of musket balls, each of which bore the imprint of Nobunaga's strength, flew and destroyed anything in its path. All the walls and windows, furniture, everything down to the very foundation, were torn down and destroyed.

A second later, before the dust of the collapsed building could settle, two figures rushed out of the dust. One was colorful, as tall as an ordinary person, and was laughing with all his might. The second was silent - but judging by its size - belonged, at best, to a child, instantly hiding in the provided fog, sneaking up on the Admiralty.

After another second, the figure of Nobunaga appeared from the settling dust, in whose hands a moment later a musket materialized.

"In the open area there is no place for hide-and-seek, clown", - Nobunaga said calmly, after which she pointed the musket at the clown.

"Oh…" The clown, however, only smiled with a joyful smile, - "Well, how to say it… Children are very inventive don't you know…"

---

Ainz looked at the mech in front of him. Could it be a Grand Servant? Mechas are definitely the epitome of power in Ainz's mind.

Ainz was not sure though and falling into an endless spiral of self-sustaining paranoia would not bode well for him, so he suppressed the thought, and then looked at the mech carefully.

It was big enough to count as a mech - but still not titanic. The mech is still small enough that Ainz could afford to just start flying around, pouring various spells from his arsenal on the enemy from the sky. Actually, with a closer look, the mech looked more like a kind of exoskeleton in its design...

Ainz thought about the mech in front of him for a second. Nazarick's treasury - and even in his inventory - he possessed various power suits with differing characteristics. And although the power suits were not effective weapons - some of them could rival, thanks to their built-in abilities and characteristics, with some players in their eighties or even nineties. Though what the devs were thinking, adding powered suits to Yggdrassil's fantasy settings is beyond him.

This, in Ainz's perception, put their capabilities and danger level approximately on the level of Da Vinci. And in a fight against Da Vinci, Ainz would prefer not to make any rash decisions.

However, what was the likelihood that the enemy opposite him possessed such abilities?

"You. Decided. To. Retreat?" Finally, looking at Ainz, silently examining the mech, he began to speak again," If. So. Then. Run. Until…"

"No, I was just thinking about how likely it is that I can use your body as a mobile armor." Ainz pondered. But, if in front of him, it was just another golem and not a Servant then perhaps his body could not be used as a mobile armor? But even in that case, it will be possible to melt it into valuable ingredients.

"Child. You. Have. No. Idea. What. You. Are. Saying." The speaker said slowly, and then took a step towards Ainz. His massive leg rose, and then struck the paving stones, breaking it to pieces, in a kind of intimidation attempt, - "Run. For. You. Are. Doomed. If…"

After another moment, the Servant's figure was swaddled with fetters that appeared from nowhere. A gruesome sight as it appears to be made of intertwining bones, which instantly pinned the Servant to the ground.

"Is there a human inside the armor or not? Or are you more like a golem?" Ainz looked at his opponent with some childish curiosity. People familiar with Da Vinci would be familiar with the sight and endeavour to vacate the premises immediately. "By the way, what material was the armor made of?"

After another moment, the Servant tried to jerk out of his prison, but the fetters did not even allow him to move a scintilla.

"What. You. Did…" - Servant tried to sound indignant, which is hard to convey with his slow booming voice. - "You. Have. Not. Seen. What. Is. Waiting. In. This. World…"

"So you won't talk," Ainz frowned, "In that case, I just have to disassemble the armor myself… As carefully as possible, of course."

After another moment, as if a shock of electricity had passed through the Servant's body, his large metallic body shuddered. Then, with a roar mixed with the sound of the steam released under great pressure, he rose from the ground, destroying the fetters of bone around him. Then with a mighty heave, his disproportionately large staff struck the pavement where Ainz was. Ainz, however, managed to teleport away.

Rising back up, the giant instantly found Ainz with his eyes. The only eye in his head lit up red, and with another large gust of steam he bellowed out. "My! Name! Is! Charles! Babbage! Visionary! Of! The! Dimension! Of! Steam!"

"Oh", - Ainz nodded, - "Okay."

'Another Servant I have never heard of,' Ainz exhaled, he really should start reading some books.

"You! Will! Not! Stop! What! Is! Coming!" Babbage, however, without hearing Ainz's thoughts, looked at him with a challenging gaze - as much as it is possible to do so for a robot without a face, "Behold! My! Beautiful! World! Dimension Of Steam!"

A moment later, the whole world was swallowed up by steam emerging from out of nowhere. In the center of which Babbage continued to stand. Ainz stared at the new unknown ability with interest. Apparently, it did not directly harm him - and therefore he could afford to stop for a second in order to understand what the mecha in front of him was doing.

After another moment, when the entire street was covered with steam so dense that it became difficult to distinguish even the outlines of houses around, Ainz saw, as if from the steam itself acquiring features, golems appearing slowly.

Similar to what he had seen before - automatons, golems, mechs of different types, different sizes, with different weapons.

"So… A Golem Summoner of Golems?" Ainz looked at Babbage carefully.

He continued to stand still, watching the golems multiply.

Dozens, then hundreds. In a matter of seconds, the whole street was literally overflowing with mechanical servants of all kinds and shapes.

Ainz, looking at this, nodded.

"Although their number is large - if they do not significantly exceed the characteristics of those golems that I have seen before… then this should be enough" - Ainz thought, then lifted a hand. "Undead Army, Arise."

After another moment, a shadow fell on the steam covered street, covering it in darkness completely. The small shadow under Ainz's feet then seemed to suddenly grow, like a living being, the shadow seemed to devour space itself. Suddenly the enlarged shadow rose up contrary to all the laws of physics. When the shadow began to fall it left behind tens and hundreds of undead creatures.

Skeletons, zombies, ghosts, lesser vampires - Ainz could control who he summoned with this ability, and summon his stronger summons to bulldoze through Babbage's army. But, this time he decided to keep some sporting chances, and indulge his opponent's desire to show off.

In the end, apparently, all of his Servants were doing well. And he was facing a summoner… Previously, he had never had a chance to experience it - so he could afford to enjoy such a chance even if for a second.

---

Extract from the Scientific Work "Chevalier d'Eon: Traitor to France, Savior of France":

Few figures in the political arena of 18th century France are more controversial than Chevalier d'Eon. Born Charles d'Eon de Beaumont, better known for their peculiar title, Chevalier, was a trusted servant of the French crown, as well as a personal attendant of Marie Antoinette herself. Although, whichever is more appropriate, the title of a confidant or maid of honor still remains a mystery even in the scientific community to this day. Even the exhumation of the remains of the deceased did not clarify the issue of their real gender.

During their long life, Chevalier managed to be both a servant of the crown, performing their duty as a spy at the courts of other European monarchies, and the organizer of several secret conspiracies against the French crown itself. In particular, they were charged with treason for their secret participation in the organization of the Great French Revolution. However, at the same time, whether or not this was true is put into question, as many of these secret conspiracies were subsequently revealed by the Chevalier themselves. To this day their participation in this or that secret community remains questionable.

In particular, Chevalier, according to the testimonies of those close to him, was rumored to have clandestine meetings with the secret society of the "Black Witch". A claim denied by many more that are close to the Chevalier as nothing more than slander against the Chevalier, who valued France above all else.

Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to find out whether such a thing is true or not, but at the very least, his participation in the 1790 Vichy fire is a proven fact. As well as the fact that during this fire Marie Antoinette almost lost her life...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: True freedom of will

It took Ainz only one day in the Singularity to almost solve it. Ainz, and his Servants, discounting Singularity F, seemed to have solved the Singularity in record time. Though with Da Vinci unexpectedly among the latter, perhaps it is to be expected.

Although Roman was a little lonely with Da Vinci's absence, at the same time Roman could not help but rejoice at such a turn of events. Well, he should savor it while it lasts, according to the general decision of the inhabitants of Chaldea - and the Chief's - he shouldn't expect it to happen again anytime soon.

It's not that Roman did not enjoy Da Vinci's company, as eclectic as it might be, it's just that her experiments are not exactly good for the heart. Da Vinci sometimes could go too far with her experiment… okay, she pretty much goes too 'far' with all of them, and Roman doesn't particularly enjoy the experience. While she handled all the out of control results before any of the staff or Servants even had time to feel what had happened, the blaring warnings going out in the command center meant he had the unwanted privilege of having a front row seat to any possible mishap. At least Da Vinci had handled everything so far perfectly before her experiment could destroy the last remnants of life on the planet… at least judging by the fact that Chaldea still continued to stand. While Roman strongly believed that Da Vinci, if she made mistakes, could still competently control them, it doesn't mean that he enjoyed exercising his heart that way.

No, the fact that, with Da Vinci happily gallivanting on the front line, Roman finally had some free time! With Da Vinci shouldering the most exhausting and yet most important function of Chaldea right now, observing Ainz's actions and progress, Roman was able to convince the Chief that there's nothing more they can do with the fog obscuring everything and convinced her and the rest of the staff to take a break.

Thanks to which, right now, rather than having to sit in dread and fear over Ainz somehow failing, or having his grasp of reality thinning with Ainz's every action, Roman was allowed to spend his time doing his favorite thing! Right now Roman felt pure, unclouded happiness pouring into his mind.

"Raise your hands to the top those who want to hear the new song of Magi Mari!" - Roman could hardly restrain himself. With his headphones resounding with the cutest voice of the most charming of all young idols. With Magi Mari calling him, he almost jumped up with a cry 'Me! Me!', only the risk of the Chief walking in on him prevented him from jumping and shouting in joy. Roman didn't think the Chief would be particularly understanding nor lenient with his punishment. Still, even with the threat of the Chief finding out, it only made him frown, maybe fidget a little in his chair with his anticipation of the concert drowning out the terror.

Definitely, the chief would definitely not forgive him using equipment designed to observe the Singularities as a giant projector, or him watching his favorite idol, or him being distracted during his work, let's just say that if the Chief discovered him he's screwed. Although, he would argue, it's not like there's anything that he could do, other than taking a nap that is, and Roman has an inkling that he would also be punished if he were caught doing that too.

Anyway, as Ainz himself had proved, he could cope with any problem that arose in the Singularity on his own. And, given that Da Vinci herself was now by his side, even if for some reason Ainz experienced some difficulties with the situation in the Singularity Da Vinci would handle it. Chaldea absolutely couldn't help him with any problem he might encounter even with Da Vinci around, even less now that she's not here.

In other words, to be honest, all the inhabitants of Chaldea could do with what happens in the Singularity is to watch Ainz's adventure and exploits, like a particularly good TV show. On another note, one of Roman's principal jobs is to record the happenings in the Singularity. The recordings would then be watched by the other inhabitants of Chaldea that were too busy to watch it live or to any other staff who wanted to watch it again.

It's a bit depressing now that he thinks about it. Though the supporting staff at the command center can't really do much either with communication with Ainz while he's in the Singularity not being possible. And so with the fog blocking even the paltry thing they can do, the rest of the staff had left the command room.

Therefore, Roman did not understand at all why the Chief insisted that Roman stayed in the command room and monitor Ainz progress, or as what is actually happening in the Singularity, watch a blank white screen with the occasional shadows popping up. Fortunately, for his continued sanity, he could use the equipment entrusted to him for his own selfish purposes.

The only possible wrench in his plan of watching Magi Mari was the possibility of the Chief checking on him for some reason - and, perhaps, the lack of coffee. That and the fact that Ainz was now confronting the enemy Servants right now…

Roman glanced at the recording of Magi Mari's concert on the screens, with a great sigh, with the most incredible, unimaginable by the human mind, sorrow, paused Magi Mari's concert. He turned off the video from the concert, and returned the screen back to their connection with Ainz. The screen was right now showing Ainz surrounded by fog, standing opposite a huge robot...

Roman nodded to himself - it looks like Ainz was in another incredible battle, completely surpassing the imagination of any feeble mortal mind...

For the sake of a joke, Roman even glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist, after which he grinned - "Well, wow, ten in the evening and it's another incredible battle that can change the course of humanity! Right on time!"

Of course, it was just a joke Roman told to himself which made him chuckle. Great battles that changes the course of human history were now so mundane that Roman felt like he was playing a part as a gourmet that is a bit fed up with great delicacies. Well whatever happens in the future he could afford to postpone the incredible sight in front of his eyes and return to it later. In the end, Ainz will win - well, even if he doesn't - Roman will be glad to die ignorant of what killed him.

Therefore, getting up from his seat and stretching his stiff body - Roman put down his headphones, grabbed his empty mug and headed for the exit. He's going to get more coffee, and this time there will be no mishap!

---

And, as incredible as it may be, it happened.

No random meteorite fell on Roman's head, no panicking Servant knocking him down in the hallway, he did not get into a strange and embarrassing situation between the Servants, his passage was not blocked by a duel between legendary rivals… He did not even get lost along the way!

Roman was able to calmly get to the cafeteria, find the three working coffee machines in it, calmly put his favorite mug in the machine, and get his coffee. What surprised him the most is that he got the kind of coffee that he wanted, and not some abomination that was blacker than the night sky and as thick as tar.

Moreover, right now there was no one in the kitchen, so he could safely get his coffee and exit the place. Not even Archer, who liked to stay here late or even all the time, was around… Which is strange, he liked to even stay in the kitchen even when everybody was already asleep. Well, maybe except for Drake and Cu Chulainn, they usually started drinking at some random room, then got themselves into all sorts of drunken antics until noon the next day, after which the two Servants would then sleep the rest of the day, before doing it all over again at night.

Therefore, without anybody around to bother him Roman felt incredibly great, he even started making another mug of coffee after he finished his previous mug. As he was exiting the cafetaria though Roman did not notice the new visitor to the kitchen at all, crashing into them a moment later, almost spilling his entire mug of extra-strong espresso, three hundred milliliters of pure caffeine for the most desperate souls! Fortunately, Roman managed not to spill a drop of the precious drink as he did his best to maintain his balance.

With his great loot safe, Roman immediately rushed to help the unfortunate person who he had crashed into, who unlike him, had fallen to the ground. The accidental victim of Roman's inattention was a man… Or was it a woman? In fact, it was extremely difficult to make out this simple fact - the man in front of Roman was so androgynous that the only way Roman could determine their gender was the style of their uniform, which, at the moment, looked quite masculine.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?!" - Roman hurried to help the man up. - "I'm really sorry, I didn't expect to see anyone here at such a late hour…"

Roman stretched out his hand to help the unfortunate person, helping the man to rise from the floor. Now that the staff member is no longer playing the part of a rug, Roman decided to take a closer look at the very androgynous man.

Piercing blue eyes, gold-colored hair and soft facial features were so harmoniously and beautifully melded in his appearance. So beautiful that for a second Roman even wondered if his acquaintance was a Servant with some skill that is reflected in his beautiful appearance. His appearance was so fetching that it took Roman a while to determine his identity. That is by staring at his chest, more specifically at the staff id placed there. By the shape of the badge and the name written on it, he was most likely one of the workers of Chaldea.

Roman strained his memory for a second, trying to recall such a worker. Before remembering that he had already met this particular person… Not that long ago, actually.

"Oh, I'm alright." The speaker's voice also doesn't help in identifying their gender. Both high enough for a woman and yet low enough for a man, perfectly balanced making it virtually impossible to determine his gender by voice alone. "In fact, I'm the one that is supposed to apologize, I shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that."

Roman strained his memory one more time - before smiling after remembering the person's name. "Lancel, it's so unexpected to meet you at such a late hour."

"Likewise, Doctor Romani.", - Lancel expresion bloomed into a beatific smile at Roman, and then he started dusting himself off a little. "I see that you have found your way to the control center."

"Yes, of course…" - Roman remembered his last meeting with Lancel and how he saved Roman that had lost his way in the catacombs of communications and service tunnels, moreover, giving him coffee from his thermos. "Did you also come here for coffee?"

"No, not this time." Lancel continued smiling, and then nodded towards the standing teapot. "I'm looking for some green tea time, too much coffee is bad for your health you know."

After these words, Lancel glanced knowingly at Roman's mug, making him feel a little uncomfortable, like a naughty schoolboy standing in front of a teacher who is not upset, but who sees right through you - if not the headmaster.

"It is necessary for my work!" Roman tried to justify himself for some reason, lifting his coffee mug and, as if for persuasiveness, taking a sip, - "I have a long sleepless night ahead!"

"Definitely." Lancel nodded, looking like he's trying his best not to show his real understanding and knowledge of Roman's situation. He then took a couple of steps into the cafeteria, to the teapot. "You have a heavy duty to fulfill after all, and much is hanging on your shoulders."

"On yours too."Roman tried to brush aside the sort of compliment. "The technical team at the moment is the only thing that keeps Chaldea in working order."

"I will pass on your praise to them." Lancel nodded, still smiling, before turning away, - "But in any case, the levels of responsibility of a simple technician and a savior of the world are a little incomparable, don't you think?"

"Hmm!?" Roman choked on his coffee, before raising his head, clearing his throat and looking at Lancel carefully, - "Actually… I don't think the difference between us is that great. We are all just doing our part."

"Perhaps." Lancel calmly agreed with Roman's point, before turning to the boiling kettle and reaching for the tea itself and a new mug. "We all do only what we have to… But isn't there some irony in this? We all perform actions that could be called links in the same chain, one commands the rest obeys, such a reliant relationship and yet such a huge difference…"

Roman looked at Lancel's back carefully, his hackles raised. "We are all just performing our duties."

"As always." Lancel poured the boiling liquid into a mug, before turning back to Roman with a cup of steaming green tea in his hands. "In our current circumstance, when there are only a couple of dozen living people left on the whole Earth, it is much easier to trace the ranks. Technicians, commanders…" Lancel said, pointing to himself and then to Roman.

"I'm not a commander." Roman sighed. "And I would be glad to give up my place to someone who can replace me…"

"Dangerous words, Dr. Romani." Lancel took a few steps, taking him next to Roman, then past him as he sat down at one of the chairs in the cafeteria, nodding to Roman. He, of course, sat down at a seat opposite Lancel. "In the current conditions, many would like to take your position thinking 'If I were a manager I would definitely be treated better', but the reality might be too far from their expectations."

"Therefore, I should determine first who I will give my position to before relinquishing it." Roman sighed in response to this thought, and then took another small sip from his mug.

"Then you can easily fall into a logical trap. After all, how do you determine a suitable deputy?" Lancel chuckled. "After all, in this case, anyone can say that your opinion is only caused by your desire to keep your position. Something like a simple populist trick in which one person announces that he will give up his place to a worthy successor - but simply refuses to recognize all other candidates as worthy. Therefore preserving his position in perpetuity while appearing to be modest and virtuous."

"That is really… Problematic." Roman exhaled.

"People, in essence, are really problematic." Lancel smiled knowingly, and then took a sip from his mug of green tea. "Managing people is so difficult… They are stupid and smart at the same time, vicious and pious. Paradoxical creatures really…"

"Hmm…" Any person with a lick of social sense could easily identify something strange in Lancel's words, or some special, strange thought. And Roman could also do this, but unlike anyone else, he reacted in a completely different way. "Indeed… How difficult it is to be around people."

"Definitely." Lancel unceasingly smiled, after which he took a sip from the mug. "Even now, even with the salvation of the world and humanity hanging in the balance, none of the staff perceives their occupation as something in service of a higher-purpose, as a manifestation of their incredible mission. Hardly anyone on Earth would have been able to come up with a more altruistic and virtuous occupation than saving the world. And yet, after only a little less than two months have passed since the incident, when all life on Earth ceased to exist and its salvation hung by a thread, and people already stopped feeling an incredible outburst of rage and dedication at the incident. They had stopped seeing their task as something greater than it is, turning it into work and drudgery instead. Fair enough and altruistic work, but at the same time treating it as something completely ordinary."

"Perhaps." Roman looked away from Lancel's heated arguments, staring at the black contents of his mug.

"Isn't it strange - isn't it funny, isn't it paradoxical? People so adore their freedom, so fiercely exalt free will, they would hue and cry at the prospect of it being limited. But in the end, as soon as they are given this most cherished desire, they inevitably choose to turn the hurricane of chaos and possibilities into a monotonous life. They would create rules and worship their routine even when such a thing shouldn't be in their lives at all?" Lancel looked up at the sky, exasperated. "Don't you agree with me, Doctor Romani?"

Roman could not answer Lancel feverish soliloquy, just continuing to stare at his mug of coffee.

"Freedom is now no longer defined as in not having chains - but in choosing your own chains." Lancel sighed, taking a sip of tea, - "And indeed, without the chains of understanding and awareness, madness follows, a chaotic irrationality, which every thinking and reasonable being condemns. What was the quote again… 'We are slaves to the law so that we may be free'? Cicero if I'm not mistaken."

Roman could not just repudiate what Lancel was saying, because he, unlike most people, he would presume, could catch the meaning in Lancel's words than anyone else. However, the fact that Roman could not answer with anything that is capable of fundamentally indicating the inconsistency of Lancel's point of view did not mean that he was just going to be silent.

"Indeed, the various obligations imposed on people by society does really limit their freedom." Roman sighed and looked up from his mug, straight at Lancel, - "But does this make their freedom of choice meaningless? I would say no. After all, people are free to choose what obligations they impose on themselves. They are free to abandon whatever they want and choose another path if they so choose. Even if free will is only ephemeral, the very opportunity to choose your future path is valuable."

"Perhaps." Lancel did not argue, just shaking his head, - "However, are people really 'free' to choose their future? Isn't this 'freedom' not hundreds of coincidences and accidents that push a person to walk their predetermined paths? And as there's no such thing as coincidences, only action and reaction, in the end, isn't a person's future nothing more than an end point of an infinite, eclectic, minute line? You can choose to call this regularity the 'laws of physics' - or 'divine design'. Or, as our position of privilege has given us, 'Chaldea Security Organization'?" Lancel took another sip, then looked at Roman.

Roman sighed slowly, before looking up again and smiling a little, - "Perhaps there really are no accidents and the whole world really moves only according to a certain program… Ah. right 'Determinism' isn't it called? But is this a reason to grieve if it was true? If everything was predetermined - is there any point in resisting it? Is there any point in grieving about the future in that case? Just because roller coasters are man-made and run on the same track where people already know how it ends does not mean people stop enjoying the ride."

Lancel just smiled hearing Roman's response. - "Indeed, doctor. After all, life is nothing more than a journey from a bleak beginning to a bleak ending, only the happy journey in between gives it any value. The fact that the outcome is predetermined does not mean that the actions taken on the way to it are meaningless. Otherwise, I could say that the existence of death as the final point of existence denotes the meaninglessness of existence itself - which is certainly not the case. Even if the goal of all life is death, living itself is not meaningless."

After Lancel finished talking, Doctor Roman, no more than a simple doctor of Chaldea, froze before slowly raising his eyes to Lancel.

"Something wrong, doctor?" - Lancel looked at Roman askance.

To which slowly, Roman shook his head from side to side, before carefully glancing over at his acquaintance, - "No… Just… Those words reminded me of… someone that I knew."

"Oh, I see." Lancel smiled before sighing, - "A lot of people tell me that I look strangely like someone they knew, saw - or even imagined before. It's so strange to get such a reaction every time."

"Perhaps." Roman, seeing no way that he would mistake Lancel for someone else, only nodded slowly.

"In the end, all I'm talking about is that freedom or slavery are nothing more than subjective observable concepts." Lancel grinned, covering his face with his cup of tea, and then looked up, - "One wants freedom, the other wants meaningless rules that would restrict them. I'm sure you would not want to be me right now, nor do you want to be one of the commanders, definitely not to be the savior of humanity, and yet many would want to. I, however… Well, this is just a random thought of my mind. Humanity wants freedom, because they do not know what that is only that they want it. And when they find this freedom, they then proceed to create as many rules to live by because they are afraid of freedom… Or perhaps is it out of a senseless attempt to keep the granted freedom while limiting it at the same time? So as not to go crazy from realizing the meaninglessness of their existence?" Lancel then chuckled, probably from the paradoxical line of thinking.

"An existential crisis huh?" Roman sighed and took a sip from his cup of coffee before looking closely at Lancel. "Really, isn't there a better time for them other than the end of the world?"

"The end of the world, hmm?" Lancel smiled back before shaking his head, - "The end of the world 'is' the best time to think about how meaningless our life is. However, who knows what will happen after the end of the world?"

"I know that you believe in the inevitable good ending.", - Roman smiled at Lancel, - "The restoration of humanity and the salvation of the world."

"In the salvation of the world, yes. In the restoration of humanity, hmm, not so much", - Lancel smiled wistfully in response. "After all, if you look closely, even now, what Chaldea is doing is not a full-fledged restoration of humanity. Perhaps in the end everything will return to normal, families will be reborn, and history will go along the course they're 'supposed' to… But this end result will not be the same world as before. Those who are now in Chaldea will preserve the memories of one world, while the new humanity will know of another. A slightly different story, slightly changed dates, altered people and other out of place events... Will it be the same world - or just a world similar to the one that people knew?"

"Paradoxes, ha…" - Roman ruffled his hair. - "I never particularly liked to solve paradoxes, or even think of them really. But, perhaps, if we have to talk about it… In the end, what matters is only the fact whether this issue worries us or not. The real way to resolve any paradox is to never ask it. And then no logical trap about the idea of free will, or about which world is real and which is not, will matter." Roman, smiled after seeming to cut through the gordian knot.

"Funny, but, quite true words", - Lancel smiled in response, before looking conspiratorially at Roman, - "So, 'do what you do and come what may'?"

"Perhaps." Roman nodded, then looked at the clock hanging over Lancel's head, and paled. "By the way, I apologize, but I urgently need to go back to the command center to observe especially important events that are happening!"

"Of course", - Lancel nodded, - "Good luck in saving your world, Dr. Romani."

"Good luck to you too, Lancel", - Roman nodded to the guy, and then headed away.

---

Roman also got to the observation center, surprisingly, without incident. So after a string of great luck, Roman wondered for a second whether fate was preparing for him some particularly abominable gift that would destroy all the joy and happiness that he's feeling right now. As if to balance some great wrong.

However, after brooding about his inevitable demise in the future for some time, Roman chose to switch his thoughts in a different direction.

Indeed, whether life is a drawn-out inevitability or a series of incredible coincidences - Roman could afford not to think about it. Probably it was the opportunity not to think about it that was so wonderful for Roman.

Man spends his life without asking the great questions of existence. He instead looks for entertainment, joys, sorrows, and the routine. Perhaps this was Roman's path more than anyone else's. The fact is, he fervently wished for these things more than anything in the world and, in the end, found them right here. In a mug of coffee, in a recording of a virtual idol's concert and in the cozy sagging sofa under him.

'Do what you do - and come what may', a simple thought. Which, for Roman at least, was worth more than any enlightened wisdom from a philosopher or thinker.

And therefore, not bothering to think about the deep philosophy behind his actions, Roman simply leaned back, looking at the flickering pictures, and then listened to the wonderful singing of the girl on the screen…

He was only able to enjoy this blissful state for ten more seconds.

After the predetermined period of time, the door to the observation center was literally torn off its hinges, forcing Roman to spill the blessed coffee from his mug on the so badly cleaned carpet under his feet.

"Doctor Romani, my friend, how long have we not seen each other!" The man who appeared on the doorstep had one of his looks, a look of man being hunted down. And therefore, with just one glance at his expression, Roman tensed up, expecting some kind of great calamity is about to pass him by. At least this time it's not him.

"Hector." Roman glanced at the Servant that was one step away from screaming in panic, then took a deep sigh. Nevertheless, seeing a kindred spirit in distress, Roman pressed the stop button and paused his vision of Paradise. "What's the matter?"

"Doctor, do you by any chance know where in Chaldea you can hide for a couple of days so that no one can find you?" Hector smiled nervously at Roman, while asking a simple question as if the fate of the world hangs in the balance. And, judging by the sounds that are coming from beyond the open door and further along the corridor, in which the voices of various Servants seemed to be screaming Hector's name with unbridled fury, for Hector it probably does.

"Maintenance tunnels, a little further along the corridor and the first door on the left.", - Roman answered Hector quickly. After which Hector, nodding in gratitude, instantly rushed away from the observation center, leaving Roman alone.

Not a moment later, several figures flashed by the open door, their speed and haste distorting Hector's name quite terribly. Roman sighed, then got up from his comfy chair to somehow wrangle the broken door closed.

Was this a decision dictated by the very experience and knowledge of Roman himself, who once found himself in an unfortunate situation due to some Servants and was forced to flee using exactly the same tunnels? Or was it a random decision, nothing more than a personal whim?

Roman did not know, but he knew for sure that now he needed to wash the carpet, and then pick up a new mug of coffee. And probably listen to Olga-Marie's words about his clumsiness.

However, instead of these actions, Roman chose to savor the remaining contents of his mug, and then clicked again on the screen with the cursor a couple of times, returning to watching videos of idols.

After all, neglect of one's duties also contained a kind of freedom of choice. And although Dr. Roman knew that such a choice was likely to have consequences, actually with his luck he knows for sure that there would be consequences. Roman did not wonder what prompted him to such an act, Roman was too busy watching the concert.

And, most likely, it was precisely in the unwillingness to plunge into the philosophical dilemmas of mankind where the main freedom of Dr. Romani Archaman lay. A Human's freedom is such a strange thing after all.

---

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[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 82: Destroying London

Saber, Mordred Pendragon, was not the kind of fighter who honed their skills in the way most landed knights did. Not by dozens and hundreds of bouts of sparrings with their squires or other man-at-arms and not by the strict guidance of wise teachers, but in fierce battles to the death and the sharp glitter of bare steel. Therefore, Mordred's fighting style, although it still possessed a fairly solid foundation in the classical forms of fencing, in its totality it was more like the raging of a wild beast. A cornered, starving beast striving with all its might to bite onto its opponent with its open, blood-hungry maw. The fact that the 'teeth' of this beast were the legendary blade in Mordred's hands made it all the more terrifying.

Mordred gave herself into the bloodlust of battle, attacking anything that stood in her way with unreasonable ferocity and hatred. In most of her battles, she was but one step away from giving in to the absolute madness of a battle, remaining primarily a Saber rather than a Berserker. However, there were conditions and actions that could infuriate Mordred fully, causing her to forget about all her fencing lessons, other unimportant things like common sense and fall into a real bloody rage.

And, as befits the character of Mordred, the list of these things was very large and could more easily be listed out as 'everything that Mordred didn't like at least a little'. But, in the very large list of things that could piss Mordred off, three things existed that would really push her buttons. These things were; Mordred's gender, gainsaying her father, and questioning her familial relation with her father.

And therefore, any person who could so easily and purposefully combine all three things that enraged Mordred most of all, in a single innocent sentence even, would be a real genius. A machiavellian genius, capable of manipulating Mordred's actions like a puppet by taking full advantage of her personality.

However, her opponent, Berserker, did it completely by accident. All because he was not smart enough to understand that it was not worth doing or even a thing that had to be avoided at all cost. Too bad Berserker didn't possess the Charisma to unlodge the foot he had just put into his own mouth.

Therefore, with Mordred blinded by rage, even the smallest hint of a peaceful resolution of the conflict was completely destroyed. Right now, the best thing Berserker could do, was use everything in his power to simply not die.

The blade in Mordred's hands blazed with such speed and ferocity that the crimson lightning wreathing her blade blurred into a single vortex as Mordred swung her blade again and again, forcing Berserker to desperately block with no chance to counterattack. Gradually, Berserker is being overwhelmed by Mordred's relentless attack.

Although their levels of Strength were incomparable, Mordred's attacks gradually, without losing their primitive fury, became more and more accurate. Berserker, most of the time, didn't even have the time to block the attacks with his ax nevermind the opportunity to use his prodigious Strength against Mordred. And even when he managed to dodge Mordred's blade, she would attack with her other extremities. With fists, kicks, elbows and knees, a relentless wave of attacks crashed into Berserker's body.

Mordred struck with unerring accuracy, each of her attacks aimed impeccably to break through Berserker's defences. With a fluid grace, each of Berserker's openings were exploited to the fullest. As if prescient, Mordred knew exactly where she needed to strike. As if she was a hunting hound smelling blood, Mordred is doing her best in eviscerating her enemy.

Swing followed swings, where Mordred's blade was stopped by Berserker's golden ax, a punch would follow unerringly. As Berserker desperately avoided being cut in twain, Mordred would spontaneously let go of her blade when it was blocked, strike a heavy blow with her clenched gauntleted fist, then retreat, recovering her blade in the process.

Still, even when he's being overwhelmed, Berserker was having fun. It did not last long.

"Yeah, you go girl! This is golden cool!" Berserker crossed his arms to block a particularly harsh straight punch from the diminutive girl, losing sight of the very dangerous combatant. A dangerous mistake. Taking advantage of the blatant opening, Mordred grabbed Berserker's arms, and in one fluid motion lifted herself up then savagely headbutted the very tall Berserker.

"Ouch!" The Berserker jerked backward as his head was jarred by Mordred's vicious headbutt, opening himself yet again to another brutal strike from Mordred. This time Mordred used her blade to create a big gash across Berserker's chest in one blow.

"Damn, you're like a golden fighter!" Berserker retreated only to become the target of a new series of attacks by Mordred, who once again heard the most terrible insult one could throw at her. "Honestly, you're like so golden…"

As Berserker hurriedly backpedaled away from Mordred's murderous onslaught, one more opening cracked up. Barely a blink later, Mordred's knee slammed into Berserker's groin. Even with Berserker great Defense and fortitude, the great pain caused the tenacious Servant to freeze for a second. After which, without any delay, Mordred's blade slammed into Berserker's neck, nearly decapitating him.

"Shit, no fair!" Berserker retreated a great distance, taking a breath, still energetic even with blood pouring out of his massive wounds. But Mordred again did not give Berserker the chance to breathe, continuing to pounce on her target like a mad dog. "Hey, stop, wait!"

Mordred, greatly attuned to the momentum of battle, seized the opportunity in front of her and also unexpectedly retreated, allowing Berserker time to rest. Berserker should have pressed the attack. Mordred had retreated only because she sensed an opportunity to finish the battle completely.

A moment later, the blade in Mordred's hands began flashing with crimson lightning. Mordred then lifted her sword aloft in the air with an incongruous solemnity to her expression. With a subtle transformation to Mordred's blade, a torrent of red lighting poured forth, piercing the grey sky as the blade of energy grew to titanic proportions.

"Hey, I didn't even have time to introduce myself!" Berserker managed to shout in indignation as the sky, covered in smog, was dyed red. "I'm Sakata Kintoki!"

"I literally never heard of you, Clarent Blood Arthur!" Mordred replied tersely, and then with the next swing directed all of Clarent's power to finish off Berserker.

---

Tamamo-no-Mae's Noble Phantasm is usually in the form of a mirror, a divine mirror through which the true light of the Sun shines through. In its true form, it was a miracle given form, comparable if not surpassing the Holy Sword itself, a direct manifestation of the Power and Authority of Amaterasu herself. It is a divine regalia among divine regalia, whose power was as boundless as the all-illuminating light of the Sun itself, capable of miracles that could restore life to an entire world. Performing the greatest miracle, the miracle of resurrection, is also not that hard to accomplish with the unleashing of the Noble Phantasm. One of the very,very few Anti-World Noble Phantasms in existence. Too bad Tamamo can only unleash a smidgen of her Noble Phantasm true power.

A Servant's Noble Phantasm was sadly not a worthy gateway through which it was possible to touch the divine Sun. And therefore, the gate through which it was possible to look at the radiance of the original light of the Sun, for the Servant Tamamo-no-Mae, became only a small gap through which only the smallest grain of Amaterasu's power could penetrate into reality.

Even so, a small grain of a miracle was enough for a lot, enough for Tamamo's every ability, every attack to gain the strength of a Noble Phantasm. After all, even the smallest grain of the Sun's Authority was enough to give an incredible amount of power for a Servant.

Tamamo's magic gained new strength, her body was filled with power and her mana reserves were replenished to the very brim in an instant. With her reserves filled and her magic strengthened it allowed her to instantly create a dozen spells that stood as a shield in the path of Arthuria's black Excalibur.

However, the dozens of shimmering shields blocking the path of her blade did not make Arthuria pause. She simply didn't care about it, and her black Excalibur also wouldn't be hindered and didn't care about the shields.

Unlike the abilities of Tamamo, whose full power was locked by the shackles on her Noble Phantasm, Arthuria's blade did not have such a thing. Although Excalibur, the noble blade, was a holy regalia comparable in its legend to the Yata-no-kagami, Excalibur Morgan, the black blade of Arthuria, the blackened Excalibur was not so.

Like its owner, Excalibur's blackened blade was only a weapon, nothing more than a tool. A mighty tool, but in the end only a faceless sword in the hands of a faceless warrior.

And therefore nothing could stand in his way of releasing its power. The powerful and utterly indifferent force of Arthuria's Noble Phantasm was nothing more than another tool in the tyrant's hands, as impersonal as the army of knights in her service or the written words of her command. And, just as absolute was the order of the Black Tyrant, so was the black Excalibur. The sword of Arthuria Pendragon, would inexorably strike its target.

Although Arthuria chose to direct her attack in such a way that the blow of her black blade would only go along the straight empty street ahead of her with the aim to minimize the number of collateral deaths and damage, dozens of buildings were still swept away by the black wave of power Excalibur unleashed. As easily as the buildings were erased, so were the dozens of shields that stood in its path, after which with equal, indifferent ease, the black Excalibur swallowed up the unfortunate people that could be in their homes. The light of the Sun pouring out on this world stood no chance against the flood of destruction, the jet black wave devoured Tamamo-no-Mae, the divine fox, the very avatar of Amaterasu, with contemptible ease.

After another moment, Arthuria lowered her hands, making sure that her opponent was dead, after which she shook her blade a little, as if to remove dust sticking to it.

How indifferently her blade devoured dozens of lives - just as indifferently Arthuria made sure that her opponents had died. As she waited intently for a few moments for the ambush that was not coming, she sighed and jumped, again toward the roofs of the houses, the few that remained standing that is. Her battle was short but intense, and her use of her Noble Phantasm drew somewhat heavily on her reserves, a position where she could easily detect and evade any ambush is paramount.

Given who her Master is however, Arthuria knew that after only a couple of minutes her reserves would be fully topped up, an incredible feat with her losing her Dragon Core to feed the vast reserves needed to fuel her abilities. Actually, she could now physically feel her connection with Master transferring, simply speaking, a ludicrous amount of Mana restoring her reserves. Such a feat made her wonder whether Ainz could supply her with so much Mana that she could use her Noble Phantasm one after another with no pause. Such a ludicrous image made her scoff, with the titanic amount of Mana that seemed to spill forth whenever her Master was upset, she had no delusion that such a thing would definitely be possible, if she wished to kill herself rather utterly perhaps. Such a torrential pouring of Mana would wreck her soul irrevocably, at least the image of her cutting a country in half, preferably France, was consolation enough.

Still, she should report her condition to Master, after which, most likely, he would instruct her to help Saber, before something made her pause. A surge of destruction lighting the sky red would be very distracting indeed.

Arthuria looked up, and instantly saw the flashing red lightning, piercing the heavens, not so far from her. If her memory serves, the lighting originated somewhere in the depths of Victoria Park.

The lightning… Something about it looked very familiar to her… Arthuria blinked once, before a flicker of awareness triggered sharply, forcing her to exhale sharply. Really, that helmet of hers is awfully insidious, perhaps as expected of her Sister's creation? For it to be so absolute that even she couldn't recognize Mordred.

Mordred… Her beloved unworthy child. Mordred… All this time, her illegitimate son, Mordred, was here. Barely two steps away, sticking by her side so desperate to communicate with Arthuria, and yet so frantically afraid of her… Of course, who else would react to Arthuria's presence with such fanaticism, and who else could also be so timid around her? Mordred, her son…

All these realizations, however, did not cause any emotion to appear for Arthuria. No regret, no joy, no anger, perhaps a bit of surprise that an unexpectedly complex riddle, the answer to which was easier than Arthuria herself had expected was unceremoniously solved. Arthuria did not carry any regret for what had happened in her life, and carried no desire to correct what had happened.

If Mordred herself did not want to reveal her identity, then, apparently, the situation suited Mordred herself. In that case, Arthuria herself did not want to change the status quo. She then proceeded to carry out her report to Ainz through their connection.

---

Chrysaor. Such a small detail of Greek mythology that even an enthusiast proud of their breadth of knowledge on the subject could easily miss it. 'The one with the golden sword', in Greek mythology its existence was an insignificant fact greatly overshadowed by its more well known brother, Pegasus. And yet, at the same time, its existence was so significant that his insignificance was almost paradoxical.

Not every writer noted its existence, however, in the only significant mention of its life, the role of Chrysaor was very significant indeed. After all, Chrysaor, the child of Medusa, was the father of the greatest mother of monsters, Echidna.

A paradoxical creature that was so insignificant that it avoided the gaze of the recorders of mythology themselves, and at the same time so significant as to become the progenitor of the progenitor herself.

And it was such a paradoxical creature, Chrysaor, that embodied Medusa's Noble Phantasm.

As Medusa evoked her Noble Phantasm, the wasteland around Medusa and her opponent was flooded with golden light. After which the enemy Servant barely managed to perceive her instantaneous movement and slightly shift his body to the side to avoid an attack. It was good that he did though as when the blow of monstrous force landed, it created a huge crevice going hundreds of meters ahead. One shudders to think what that amount of force would do to a human body, even one as durable as Servants.

When the golden glow finally disappeared, one could finally see what Medusa's Noble Phantasm had done.

A gigantic colossus, whose head rose, it seemed, almost reaching the very sky, towered several tens of meters. Like a statue coming to life, the gigantic figure of the colossus inspired fear in anyone that sees it. Still, even with its gigantic size, the pure bronze sculpture moved at a speed that is irrational from a creature of such size.

The colossus was fashioned as if an exhibit of a warrior from a museum. His face was adorned and hidden by a helmet, his body was sculpted like an ideal reproduction of a classical soldier shaped in metal.

The enemy didn't have long to appreciate the sights though. With a flex of the metallic statue's hand, a huge golden blade proportional to the titan's body flashed in Chrysaor's hands. And in the same movement, almost cutting the Servant into two unequal parts.

Only the constant sensation of the thousands of electromagnetic fields saved the enemy Servant from his inevitable death. Determining the movement and direction of Chrysaor's attack by the changing magnetic field saved the Servant, by literally throwing him away from the creature's attack.

Chrysaor's blade sliced through the ground with the ease one would expect from such a giant, then rose again to strike the enemy down. However, for the enemy Servant, who seemed to be preoccupied by brushing dust off his cloak, the battle, although it took an unexpected turn, did not warrant his full attention.

The Servant sighed, again a little regretfully, though an uncharitable person would perhaps describe it as being done derisively. "I beg your pardon, Medusa, but truly no matter how proud you are of your creation, I'm afraid the truth remains self-evident as always."

A moment later, at the request of the Servant, a huge lightning, like the wrath of God, crashed into the figure of Chrysaor.

From the Servant's point of view, no matter how beautiful the mythological picture of creation in front of him was, harsh reality was on his side. Chrysaor was indeed a monumental creature of metal that would cause anyone to tremble in its presence, metal in all its forms, unfortunately, was an excellent conductor of electricity.

The Servant would pay dearly for his assumptions.

The golden blade of Chrysaor did not deprive the Servant of life only due to the most likely of happenstances. The aftershock from the lightning was strong enough that the shock wave it created as it struck Chrysaor threw the giant's aim enough to miss the enemy Servant. The missed blow though was still enough to create an immense shockwave capable of throwing the Servant a great distance.

As he layed in a heap with his cloak torn and piles of dust settling on him, the Servant was confused. Did the summoned creature not require the life of its summoner to continue its existence?! After another moment, the Servant rose, after which he glanced upward at the towering figure to spot Medusa, still perched on the giant's shoulder.

Contrary to the enemy Servant assumptions, Medusa didn't even feel a spark of electricity touching her. Standing on the shoulder of the summoned warrior, Medusa continued to look downwards at the enemy Servant, not with disdain or hatred, but with interest.

Her glasses were removed, and her gaze… Truly overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer.

The Servant felt like he had made the grossest and most likely fatal mistake of all his life. He had looked at Medusa straight in her eyes.

He could his whole being freezing, as if his body is slowly turning to stone, how his arms and legs were weakening, and how inexorably the golden blade of Chrysaor was approaching.

A moment later, like a string instrument had just exploded, a myriad of sounds pierced the battlefield. And with the resounding noise, the weak Servant that relied on his control over lightning all this time seemed to disappear. With the speed and agility that one would rather expect from the most agile of Lancer or Saber, the Servant dodged the falling blow from the massive golden blade.

However, this was certainly not the case, the Servant did not belong to these classes. However… he was definitely one of the 'Knight' classes.

Finding himself at a great distance from Chrysaor, the Servant exhaled, then looked up again, looking again into the interested eyes of Medusa. "My name is Nikola Tesla, class Archer. Consider this a sign of my greatest gratitude to you."

Tesla knew that the discovery of his name was not only meaningless, but the most counterproductive to anyone fighting him, the Magis could not contextualize and understand what his identity would mean after all. However, it is still information that he did not need to disclose to anyone, but… Never before in his life had he seen such a beautiful lady that could meet him in battle, that would turn out to have a comparable strength to his, and that could, perhaps the most important thing for him, surprise him.

"Medusa Gorgon" Medusa responded to Tesla's introduction with the same courtesy, with information that he was already able to determine from her almost immediately. Still, their interaction, even for a moment, delayed Chrysaor and his subsequent blow.

"I know, your fame was almost universal during my life." Tesla calmly nodded, and then looked at the bronze titan in front of him. "However, I'm afraid I have never heard of either this ability, or that of bronze that could reject my electricity."

"I'm afraid I have no right to take away from the great scientist the opportunity to find the truth by himself by giving him the answer." Medusa smiled at Tesla, forcing him to grin in return.

For adversaries fighting to the death, Medusa looked too much like a child showing off her new toy. However, Tesla was not against such a reaction from Medusa, after all until this moment, he very rarely has seen an ability for which he needed to remember that he was not only the master of all electricity… But of a lot more.

Just as Da Vinci was an incomparable genius ahead of her time, so too was Nikola Tesla. And therefore, just like Da Vinci, Nikola Tesla could possess any skill that a Servant could have.

Tesla felt his essence instantly changing and realigning, bringing myriad abilities to his attention, easily allowing to pick any way he wants to engage an enemy. In an act similar to Da Vinci's greatest skill, Nikola Tesla is arranging the most optimal skills he could to face Medusa.

The battle was just beginning.

---

Oda Nobunaga glanced first in front of her, taking particular care not to miss any detail, then quickly looked around at her surroundings. Standing on the ruins of the destroyed Admiralty, she could now see in all directions around her, however, at the same time, she was now open for attacks from any side.

"Hey, I'm here!" The clown, whose attacks were mere annoyance to Nobunaga, rushed forward, perhaps foolishly towards Nobunaga. After which, judging by the several swirling chains of glittering words on his body, he had casted some kind of curse that he would somehow cast on Nobunaga. But, for his effort, a dozen guns appeared on his way and instantly punctured the clown's body, interrupting the Servant's attack and briefly made him a very convincing depiction of swiss cheese, causing him to instantly fall to the ground.

Nobunaga did not even react in any particular way to the insignificant attempts of the clown's 'attack'. Instead, she was preoccupied with trying to find her mysterious interloper, turning from his 'opponent' in order to find the real target with her eyes…

Before realizing that she shouldn't have ignored the clown. No, as Oda Nobunaga, an Avenger-class Servant, she was definitely allowed to ignore such an insignificant opponent, which could not even make her take him seriously. However...

"Not an enemy, but just a hindrance… " Ainz's words echoed in her head, making her freeze.

Would Oda Nobunaga be able to conquer the whole world if she let her opponent live because he was 'too weak'? That sounded like the oldest and simplest cliche that begins the fall of a villain. Nobunaga came to a decision, after which she turned to the fallen clown, still alive even when she had shot him. In her hand, a moment later, another musket appeared.

"Oh?" Not at all troubled by his previously received wounds, the clown looked up at Nobunaga only to be greeted by the muzzle of Nobunaga's musket, - "What?"

After another moment, Nobunaga pulled the trigger...

The shadow that instantly flashed in front of her struck so unexpectedly that Nobunaga's hand reflexively unclenched, throwing the gun away. Everything happened so quickly that Nobunaga barely had time to react to the shadow. However, before the unknown attacker could hide again in the fog, another shot crashed into the figure, making the blurry dark spot freeze in place. A moment later, tens and hundreds of guns appeared around Nobunaga, all aiming at a single target.

"Oops, you forgot about me again!" The clown jerked upwards, but this time Nobunaga did not plan to ignore her enemy. Without even moving a single finger, a wave of crimson flame that spread in all directions surrounding Nobunaga practically burned the clown on the spot, forcing the clown to rush away with a cry. At the same time, several dozen rifles fired a volley, forcing the unseen enemy's cover to disintegrate into several small clumps, melted by the volley of molten lead, forcing the previously hidden attacker to appear.

The Servant, a small, moreover, tiny figure of a child not older than ten years appeared out of the mists, red blood continued to ooze from several of the wounds, slowly dripping on to the ground.

"Oh no, the Japanese are killing children again!" After a moment, the clown raised a condemning glare at Nobunaga, a rather comical expression coming from a mass murderer. "I know that you people still deny that one massacre, but why repeat everything over and over again?!"

Nobunaga did not respond to the prattling of a mad clown of all people, devoting a few precious seconds to studying the new enemy instead.

Although, with her appearance, it was difficult to rationalize her as a Servant. A ten-year-old child, on whose face several scars sewn with black threads were visible, seemingly barely holding on to the two oversized large blades in her hands, a picture of a legendary Servant it does not make. The wounded Servant continued to breathe heavily while blood continued to ooze from several large wounds on her body. She was no more a threat to Nobunaga than the clown.

However, the thought that this child was able to change the memory of Nobunaga, several times in fact, did not allow her to calmly relax, maybe finish off the clown, and point her gun away from the child.

"Oh, really, the Japanese feeling sorry for a gaijin, what a miracle!" The clown rolled his eyes and then looked at Nobunaga, "In that case, why not…"

Moments later, the bullet pierced through the clown's mouth, causing him to make a strange sound before falling to the ground. The clown then proceeded to comically try to keep the remnants of his jaw from flopping in the wind by Nobunaga's precise shot.

"So, you were able to disappear from my memory, how?" Nobunaga looked down at her injured opponent.

She, instead of answering, tried to squeeze the wound on her shoulder shut with her small child's hand. The many wounds of her body still continued to bleed slowly, like the wound in her stomach and leg. She then raised her crying eyes towards Nobunaga. "Mommy, why?"

"I'm not your mother." With a mental command, a gun appeared in Nobunaga's hands, the barrel of which she directed towards the trembling child. - "Answer."

"Mommy, why, we just want to go back." The child looked at Nobunaga with tears in his eyes, trying her best, with words alone to make Nobunaga lower her gun. "We just want to go back…"

"And no pity for me, huh?!" The clown, having managed to restore the wounded jaw with his magic, looked at Nobunaga with a frown. "Hey, by the way, I'm also here! Maybe a little sympathy for me too?"

"It is in my power to fix your existence, as in destroying it." Nobunaga threw a glance at the clown, and then at the small child. "At least I can say that you surprised me."

"Oh, to hell with it!" After a moment the clown exhaled, and screamed "Jack, it's your mom! Go on!"

"Mommy!"

Nobunaga suddenly blinked. What was she just doing? She seems to have been talking with someone… Nobunaga blinked once more before realizing that she was surrounded by a fog even thicker than the smog that had enveloped London all this time.

"All kings are idiots, I speak it as the king of idiots!" Nobunaga then turned towards the annoying clown that had already regenerated his jaw… After Nobunaga shot it… Because he started yapping while she was talking… Talking to… Who? "What are you doing, you have to shoot, shoot!"

After another moment, Nobunaga decided enough is enough and followed the advice of her opponent. Without any twinges of conscience she materialized a whole hundred guns, all aimed at the annoying clown.

"Maria the Ripper!" Before she could do so however, a blade plunged into Oda Nobunaga's heart.

From inside her own body.

---

Ainz continued to watch with interest at the slowly advancing wave of robots scattering from the wave of his undead.

The Undead Army was not the strongest summoning spell in Ainz's arsenal even when considering the limited number of spells he could safely cast in his artificial body. But, perhaps, of all the spells available to him this was the most impressive looking, since it could summon up to several hundred creatures at a time. However, the number of creatures summoned was rather difficult to determine. Theoretically speaking, the spell seemed to have a certain pool of levels that it could spend on summoning creatures, with a hard limit of summoning creatures no higher than level 40. And each time the spell is used it would randomly determine which creatures it should summon.

Because of the great degree of randomness involved with the spell, it had a terribly bad reputation with Necromancer classed Players. Because, for example, it could summon a few hundred first-level skeletons when the summoner needed a detachment of more capable summons, and vice versa, summoning fifteen level forty creatures when the summoner instead needed a large number of summons. Because of this fact, people rarely chose to learn this particular spell when they were offered a choice, Ainz chose this spell solely because its name sounded cool and fit into the general concept of his character, the lord of the undead, and not a choice for an optimized battle mage.

When he acquired the hidden class of Eclipse however, Ainz acquired the ability to control the composition of the creatures summoned by this spell. Though, as expected of the sadistic Developers, the feature was implemented very inconveniently, forcing Ainz to spend precious time to do so. Luckily macros solved the problem and allowed him to create some templates, not that the spell is used much. Really, what use is a small group of level forties or a large number of level ones, as undead they can't even bleed on the enemy!

However, in the new world, this part of his ability became a thing of the past, changing his spell control to intuitive, and even that part was not needed by Ainz right now. To create a certain sporting chance, Ainz chose not to control the summoning process, due to which the number and levels of creatures summoned by Ainz varied greatly between themselves.

In the fight between armies, Ainz could see first-level skeletons that were instantly grinded by robots that don't even seem to notice that they're there. There were also several Vampire Warriors, Soulless Puppets - and others, quite low-level in Ainz's opinion, level forty creatures that are massacring the robot army.

As a result, Ainz could confidently say that, the robots created by… Argh, he had a complicated name, it was not Ainz's fault that he did not remember him! It was something, something Cabbage?

Anyway, Robots created by Caster varied in their level, speaking comparatively, from the tenth to the thirtieth level, while Ainz's creations from the first to the fortieth. Generally speaking, one use of Ainz's spell was equal to about a hundred or two of Caster's robots, though Ainz could not unequivocally determine that it is so due to the general mishmash of robots stumbling all around.

However, here, of course, rests the crux of Ainz's problem. Ainz used his spell once at the same time as Caster used his Noble Phantasm, however, Ainz's spell only summoned a fixed number of creatures, while Caster's Phantasm continued to spawn and spawn more and more golems. Meaning, if he let the battle continue on as it is, Ainz's summoned army would be overwhelmed and be destroyed eventually.

Ainz nodded to himself, that seems to be a logical conclusion. He wondered if he should summon a new undead army, just in case, or maybe he should use another summoning spell?

Perhaps it was worth it to summon his most powerful creature and see if it can destroy all the remaining robots and perhaps block their continued summoning? Or, hmm… He seems to remember that he has several summons especially effective against summoners and golems! It might be worth it to use them now.

To be honest, Ainz, although he was glad to have the opportunity to compare his skills as a summoner, did not have a very good idea of what a duel of such summoners should look like. In his imagination it would take the form of summoners pitting their most powerful summoned creatures against each other, like that really old movie about pocketed monsters of some sort.

Though in YGGDRASIL, they simply rushed the summoner and killed them before they could do much damage. Really the summoners in YGGDRASIL rarely concentrated on their summons, especially if the summons could be summoned almost endlessly, as in the case with C… no! It was Babbage, Ainz remembered finally!

Still, the joy of finally remembering his adversary's name did not distract Ainz enough that he did not notice Babbage's peculiar movement. With agility and speed not expected from a mechanical colossus Babbage's size, he rushed toward Ainz. Well it seemed that rushing the summoner is a rather universal tactic. However, as expected, teleporting instantly moved Ainz further away, saving him from being hit.

"Hmm, is he trying to kill the summoner?" Ainz thought about it. Indeed, although he used only one spell, considering that it is only a seventh rank spell, he could continue casting it almost indefinitely, summoning and summoning new soldiers until C… Babbage's army is overwhelmed - "It is logical, but… I wanted to test only my summoning abilities!"

"Summon Undead: Eight." Casting another spell, an ominous cloud of impenetrable darkness appeared in front of Ainz's. The cloud then congealed, falling to the ground, and then rose, in its rise the cloud progressively turned into a small-ish creature. The newly summoned creature was a grotesquely disfigured creature with short legs and outstretched, ugly arms ending in writhing tentacle-like chains of deep pink. Its body seemed to be made of coiled pulsing tangles of arteries and veins, with one ugly eye in the place of its head.

"What. Ugly. Mind. Spawned. This. Creature." Babbage, to his credit, did not rush forward towards the unknown creature, opting instead to order several robots to approach first. A smart choice as the small group of robots instantly fall into the trap of the Flower of Flesh. With an explosion of a cloud of wriggling fleshy vines, uncountable writhing vines entangles the robots. With several unsettling shudders, the robots that were entangled in the vines stopped moving and the corpulent vines seemed to burrow into the robots. And then with a shuddering step, the previously entangled robots began moving against their former allies. "What. Horror. Have. You. Brought. To. The. People…"

Ainz blinked, what is it talking about? For him the Flower of Flesh, although it looked a little strange, was still quite ordinary. And, to be honest, very far from the most unusual or disgusting things he saw or even could summon. Although yes, perhaps, from the point of view of an unprepared observer, his summon might look strange, but for a Servant, as Ainz himself believed Babbage is, it should have looked quite ordinary.

Ainz suddenly froze. Looks ordinary for a Servant...

Ainz blinked slowly, then looked at the puffs of steam rising into the air, and then at the outlines of buildings barely hidden behind them. Buildings in which people could well be living in. People of the nineteenth century who just saw an army of robots and undeads killing each other…

Ainz blinked slowly, "Oops…"

---

Extract from the scientific work, "Chevalier d'Eon: Traitor to France, Savior of France":

...even outside of his eclectic political career, Chevalier's daily life is quite the entertaining story. The famous ladies' man, in addition to participating in semi-religious cults, recent findings also confirmed that he was, at one time, a member in the lesser known, but rather influential occult 'Order of Solomon'. To those not in the know, the cult's stated mission was to serve the seventy-two demons of the Small Key of Solomon, or the Lemegeton as it is better known. Some first-person testimonies also claim that at the cult's many spiritualistic seances, Chevalier seemed to have 'communicated' with several legendary personalities of the past. The personalities include Edward Teach, for whom, according to other testimonies, Chevalier acquired a persistent dislike. Nero Claudius, whom he described as a person that is extremely pleasant to converse with.

Of course, perhaps the most monumental thing he rumoredly did in the cult was supposedly in serving Belial. However, considering the fact that information of such an event happening could only be found in his personal diary (which made Chevalier's gender an even more confusing mess, as even in his own diary there are no indications of the sex of the Chevalier).

And, since the political life of Chevalier could only be charitably called 'controversial', described best as 'a man who lives for France, but not for the French', there is no end of lies and 'rumors' created solely to slander the Chevalier. So additional information regarding the mystical and occult leaning hobbies of Chevalier's made, to this day, significantly complicates any unambiguous assessment of his actions in the political arena of France in the eighteenth century...

 

[snow eternal]

overcomed

Click to shrink...

This should be overcame or overcome

have

Click to shrink...

Should be has

Also love re reading the end chapter things, but they have a bunch of typos, well a few typos

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 83: London didn't deserve this

As the Sword of Promised Victory, Excalibur was rightfully considered the greatest of King Arthur's swords, the shining blade of the King-that-was-promised. However, as a fairly large number of people know, Excalibur was not rightfully the sword of King Arthur. It was not the sword that made King Arthur, king. No, the most interlinked of Swords for King Arthur, the one closest to her heart, would be the Sword of Selection. The famous sword-in-stone, the one with which the history of the King of Knights began, was Caliburn, the shining blade of the king. Only later, after losing Caliburn in battle did Arthur receive Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake, a blade better known and much more strongly associated with Arthur than Caliburn itself.

The difference between the two blades was significant — the blade of the future ruler of all of Britain — and the sacred blade of the King-that-was-promised — and yet there were some similarities between the two. First of all, was their possessor, no one except King Arthur carried either Caliburn or Excalibur with them and none other could use them. That is of course barring some ridiculous happenstance where someone is so closely intertwined with the concept of 'Sword' that they can wield all swords, a concept so ridiculous that that person is more likely to have a Reality Marble than for such a series of events to occur. Second was their nature as Holy Swords of the highest caliber. Third, both of the swords would give its wielder eternal youth, although in the case of Excalibur it is the property of its sheath rather than the blade itself. Fourth, and perhaps most important of all, being anywhere near when its power is unleashed is usually regarded as a really bad idea, worse if you were for some reason decided to stand in front of it.

However, among the many wonders, great artifacts, priceless relics and holy swords hidden in the depths of Camelot's Treasury, there was another legendary blade. Which was, of course, like every little thing of Camelot, was the possession of King Arthur. As great as its significance to King Arthur, he would never wield it, nor by him was it broken.

Clarent is one of the legendary swords of its era - the sword of the King. A ceremonial sword that was not intended for battle - but as a symbol of power, as the power of the kingdom, embodied in the hands of one who directs this power and as a symbol for peace. In the hands of the king but not King Athur. A sword for the successor, a sword representing the peace after a lifetime of bloodshed, a sword that would not have any blood on it. Alas the best plans of mice and men.

As it was planned, King Arthur would have spent his measured time on the throne where he would be succeeded by a king better suited for times of peace. But still neither the broken Caliburn nor Excalibur would remain in the hands of the next king, the next king of Britain would wield Clarent instead. A blade that embodied not the lofty metaphorical ideals of the pinnacle of knights, but the power of the King.

Regrettably or not - the next King of Britain, Arthur's son, did take over Clarent when he decided that Arthur's reign was over, though perhaps not in the way that is expected. And Clarent, not a cursed blade, but only an indifferent metal, albeit endowed by powerful magic, embodied what it has always embodied. The authority of a King.

After all, Mordred did not rebel alone, and her rebellion was not a desperate scrambled attempt by a pitiful handful of traitors to take power. Even if Mordred hadn't taken Clarent with her own hands - or even if Arthuria hadn't died in the battle of Camlann - that still wouldn't have meant Arthuria wouldn't have lost the war for her own kingdom. Clarent, the King's blade, reflected what it always has.

Mordred had led armies, led the masses, and led the knights. Isn't that what the King is required to do?

No, not only that.

Anyone can become a King - just a crown, some honeyed words and a kingdom - but not everyone can remain a King. After overthrowing Arthuria, Mordred became King. For a moment, she led the soldiers into battle. And Clarent answered her - like a new King.

And as soon as Mordred took a step against King Arthur - Clarent rejected her.

Mordred became King - and then ceased to be in the moment when she met King Arthur on the hills of Camlann.

It was not a sign that Mordred could not be King - and therefore Clarent's rejection was not like a blazing fire burning his hand, but simply the fact that in a fight with King Arthur, Mordred was not King. The blade was not wrong and therefore knew who the King of Britain was.

Not Mordred.

And not Arthuria.

And the king who at this time was celebrating his coronation in Londinium, could only stare in disbelief as Merlin disappeared behind the threshold of his tower. After all, it's not legends that should be Kings of Men, but people.

However, it was not a holy blade, it did not possess its own will, nor did it possess its own mind. Mordred could have been the King, and she was for that infinitesimal moment where King Arthur had left Camelot in pursuit of Lancelot, and so Clarent let her be in control. But she did not become King, she had done so through subterfuge, and therefore Clarent refused to grant her its power.

And so Mordred died at the hills of Camlann, still holding the blade of the King that did not recognize her as King. Mordred died as she fought her father, a father that did not recognize her as a son. Mordred died fighting for recognition, which was never given to her. Mordred died while only wanting to help her beloved father, as she plunged Clarent into the body of her father. And so Clarent, the sword that was meant to be a symbol for peace, became forever tainted as the sword wielded by the Knight of Treachery. And so the radiant silver blade, was tainted red by the blood of King Arthur and through Mordred's overflowing hatred.

Ironically, Servants are summoned in the strongest condition they can, the greatest moment of their lives. And the fact that Clarent Blood Arthur, the power that was bestowed on Mordred for only one battle with her father, manifested itself precisely as her Noble Phantasm meant that Mordred was the strongest at that moment. She was the strongest when she had been abandoned by her father, betrayed by her people, all the while dying in a hopeless battle.

Mordred knew about this as a child knows how to breathe, as the fish knows how to swim. Servants know what their Noble Phantasms mean and what they represent.

And despite the fact that Mordred couldn't care less about her life - in a strange way, there was hardly a Servant in the world more insecure, crumpled from within and confused than Mordred. And although the adrenaline of battle, rude speech and a deliberately straightforward approach remained a shield with which Mordred could save herself from herself, even the most perfect armor could protect its owner only as long as it did not crack.

Therefore, Mordred used her power, ability and opportunity as she always did.

With the smirk of a beast sensing blood, with great strength and great efficiency.

Moments later, Clarent's power, a crimson lightning bolt that simultaneously destroyed Berserker and a couple of square kilometers of greenery around them seems to be suspended in the air before extinguishing. The trail of destruction left by the lightning leaves Victoria Park with a huge bald spot in the very center.

As the light show died down, it allowed Mordred to slowly scan her surroundings before removing the grin from her face and take a deep breath to calm herself. Fighting, fighting for Modred is always relaxing, fighting is a good way for her to relieve tension. And nowadays, Mordred has a lot of tension to relieve.

Having split up with her father, with Arthuria, Mordred was able to get rid of both her opponent and gain some levity. As Arthuria disappeared from Mordred's sight, she was able to let her breathe out a bit more freely.

She couldn't help but chuckle a bit, her Father, whom Mordred always looked up to, whom she adored, whom she hated and whom she had killed, is together with her now in the capital of Britain. They are both fighting to save the world, all the while Father not knowing that Mordred is next to him… What a disgusting sense of humor.

Mordred lifted her gauntleted hand, then brushed it across her face, preparing to put her helmet back in place. A gift from her mother, something necessary so that her father would not be able to even guess about their relationship… Funny how it was now used for the same thing, even when the circumstance couldn't be more different..

"Destiny has a really nasty sense of humor." Mordred sighed.

"Isn't it true that fate has a wonderful sense of humor?" A new voice, very joyful and practically friendly, alarmed Mordred, forcing her to turn to the speaker. "Oh, I beg your pardon, I was so excited watching the play from the back row that my magnificent voice just distracted one of the actors…"

The speaker turned out to be a man with hazel-colored hair that is a little battered by the wind, with a neatly groomed beard that flowed into his sideburns. He was dressed in a rather archaic jacket and his hands were holding a book. And although Mordred had never met this Servant in person - until this moment - she was able to, based on only one oral description, identify the speaker. "Shakespeare."

"Oh! It seems that my fame has spread to all corners of the world! Overcoming not only distance, but even time itself." Shakespeare smiled exuberantly. "What an honor it is that even the legendary Knight of Betrayal is able to identify me with just a glance!"

"Shut up." - Mordred said shortly, not wanting to enter into a skirmish with the Servant, that was supposedly their ally. - "You seem to be our ally here, so I'll give you the opportunity to explain. One."

"And after, will you finish my mortal way in this world?" - Shakespeare smiled indulgently at Mordred.

"If you don't shut up, and start talking then I'll finish it before you explain." Mordred exhaled. She needed to put on her helmet and return to her father. And entertaining the grimacing idiot, even if he seemed to be on their side, did not give Mordred any joy.

"But how can I explain myself if I need to be silent?" Shakespeare asked, in general, a very logical question.

"My patience is running out." To which Mordred gave, in her mind, an equally logical answer.

"I admit, I came here with one and only one purpose." Shakespeare smiled at Mordred, looking straight into the eyes of the irritated girl, - "To write history, of course."

"Then shut up and write.", - Mordred waved him off, then frowned, - "Are you done or what?"

"Oh, did I not say what kind of story I want to write when I came here?" Shakespeare smiled, this time with a bit of an edge of danger to them.

Her Instinct blared at her the incoming danger, and Mordred obeyed it instantly, throwing her body forward. In a second turning her from, albeit an irritated, but relatively calm girl back into a killing machine.

Mordred saw no objective reason to attack Shakespeare, but Instinct was called that because it did not provide objective reasons. And so Mordred didn't need it.

Shakespeare, being Caster, was helpless in a battle against a Saber, Mordred, especially not without ample preparation. Clarent shot up in the girl's hands, plunging into Caster's body… Only to powerlessly pierce through empty air, where Shakespeare was.

After all, as a great author, many could say that Shakespeare was great at creating illusions in the eyes and mind of the reader. So why couldn't the great Shakespeare, the Servant, create an illusion in the eye of the beholder?

"First Folio" An illusion that began to spread to the slowly gathering fog. Shakespeare's voice conveyed to Mordred the understanding that Kintoki and Tamamo-no-Mae were not the main crux of this dangerous prepared trap. "This story begins the moment when the great magician tricked the unfortunate girl to pull the blade out of the stone…"

---

Nikola Tesla, the genius of humanity and the destroyer of the divine mysteries, was somewhat agitated by the prospects of the battle in front of him.

A battle between Servants was neither Tesla's favorite pastime, nor even a worthy, in his understanding, action. Foremost reason of all, of course, was due to his personal preferences. The genius of electricity preferred to spend his incredible mental capabilities on solving complicated, interesting riddles and interesting mysteries. Or creating amazing mechanisms that could help his beloved humanity advance further, throwing off the shackles of cruel and petty gods and outdated legends that pulled humanity back into an age of careless stupidity like an anchor. An anchor that clung to the bottom of the ship of humanity savagely, not allowing humanity to set off on a long journey to new, unexplored shores. Away from the barbarity of the past.

Secondly, because Nikola Tesla was catastrophically strong.

Of course, he was a child of the Age of Humanity, whose connection with legends was more antagonistic than any other, where heroes that could ascend to the Throne of heroes were few and far in between. But, still, Nikola Tesla was really amazingly strong.

On the side of his, what he could charitably call, 'allies' in this situation, there was only his Master, who was comparable to him in strength. And, perhaps, two Servants that were capable of annoying him in battle. Shakespeare, Kintoki, and Tamamo-no-Mae were worthy Servants, but their might was incomparable against Nikola Tesla.

Nikola Tesla was all the more delighted with the fact that Medusa Gorgon, a girl of significant mythological importance but presumably not of the most outstanding power, was able to fight him on equal terms. Not only was she able to surprise him, a very difficult feat, but also make him, for the first time in a long time, take a fight seriously.

Nikola Tesla's skills changed every second. In an instant turning into dozens of attacks, then dozens of boosts and then just a quickly into dozens of movements. Confusing any possible observer. But it was still a desperate response, as Tesla looked for weaknesses in Chrysaor's colossus. And, unfortunately, for all the variables he could bring out, it was for nothing.

Electricity versus a metal golem? Something that was supposed to be an absolute weakness? Absolutely useless.

Outstanding agility against a hulking giant? Pointless.

Precise attack on its supposedly vulnerable joints, the inherent weakness in mankind's imperfection? Didn't even cause Chrysaor to pause.

Attack, attack, another attack - and then retreat.

Chrysaor, the child of paradox, lives up to its name. Fire, electricity, acids, attacks on vulnerable parts of the body and speed were useless against it. Chrysaor was practically invulnerable to every attack, which, according to any sane person, should bring results. He was phenomenally fast for such a giant colossus, amazingly accurate and disgustingly dexterous for a creature made of metal.

Chrysaor would dodge Tesla's attacks, all the while striking out with blindingly fast counterattacks. Each counterattack, forcing Tesla to repeatedly use flashes of electricity here and there to change the movement of his body to dodge an attack that is getting closer and closer in cleaving him in twain with its huge blade.

Flashing, the blade of Chrysaor unexpectedly was in the path of Tesla's abrupt movement, forcing him to breathe out a little annoyed. Several of the newly acquired skills of the Servant changed, turning into new ones instantly. Not too soon, as the blade of Chrysaor crashing into him made the body of Nikola Tesla fly out like a cannonball, throwing him bodily into the nearest house.

Of course, thanks to the instantly changed skill set, his surprise flight turned into light drift a moment later, ending with a calm landing on the roof of the nearest building, but the situation caused him to frown.

Thanks to the instant combination of new skills, Chrysaor's attack should not only fail, but turn against its creator, and yet such a thing hadn't happened. The first skill was to instantly freeze the metal of the creature to a state of extraordinary fragility, the second was to change the vector of the applied force in order to instantly shatter the frozen skeleton of the giant - and then lastly a pair of skills in order to allow Tesla to respond to the attack in the first place.

And, while these did indeed activate Tesla's hands, while his plan was immediately and miserably a failure. His skills activated and then literally refused to freeze him, as well as redirect the power of Chrysaor back to itself.

Tesla exhaled, then glanced at Medusa, who continued to watch Tesla's plight with slight interest. In other circumstances, Tesla would have been disgusted by the habit of some Servants to chat during the battle, but right now he realized that some of the personality traits of various Servants were sometimes useful in certain situations. Unfortunately, judging by how easy and, which is important, silently, Medusa watched Nikola Tesla struggle hopelessly - at the moment Tesla did not have any hope that Medusa would be all that charitable to talk about her powers.

Tesla frowned, looking at Medusa, and after a moment he dodged the attack of Chrysaor. After which, completely gentlemanly suppressing the impulse to swear, he dodged the next attack, instantly finding himself at a respectful distance from Chrysaor, looking at both the silent giant and his equally silent summoner.

It was for things like this that he did not like myths and legends. Always so chaotic and stupid, building not on the perfectly known logic, but on the superstitious concepts of people of the past. They ignored the laws of physics and common sense in proportions completely impermissible for his mind.

Chrysaor, hmm… Even his brilliant mind could not immediately find a mention of such a beast. Although, even if he could find memories of the monster, Chrysaor was still a problem. Knowing about such an insignificant note of history and a blot in mythology, would give an insignificant amount of information. So insignificant that Tesla was sure that the original mention of the being did not even contain information about how he could be defeated.

Tesla suddenly froze - after which he still could not resist and quietly uttered a swear word when a blade flashed next to him, crashing into the building that he was standing on. The crumbling building forced the respectable gentleman to rush to the side, creating a dozen attacks on the move, which was very very much useless against Chrysaor before looking at Medusa.

An attempt to deal with the summoner was the first action that Tesla took. However, not only that the bronze giant turned out to be so dexterous that Tesla was only miraculously not deprived of his life at the moment, only his even breathing, well-groomed hairstyle and beautiful outfit. Medusa was also unharmed.

Tesla exhaled, then directed all his not inconsiderable amount of brain power to solve the riddle in front of him. After all, as the true genius of mankind, he could not allow an insignificant detail of the superstitions of the past to triumph over his genius!

Being insignificant and significant at the same time. Invulnerable to all attacks and at the same time without a specified weakness. Because the author who once created it with a wave of the hand did not want to finish his story.

However, the legends of the Earth had a very shoddy tendency to end on their own, in the most unexpected ways.

So, a creature invulnerable to everything… Because…

"Because they forgot about him." - Tesla suddenly realized the answer to the riddle. "Chrysaor has no way to be defeated because… Because his story was forgotten. His story was not brought to its logical conclusion and did not end with a conclusive ending, the story of his death. Chrysaor just disappeared from the pages of history. "

And it only meant that Chrysaor remained, without any weakness to him. And perhaps even without the concept of Death.

Tesla frowned before exhaling through his nose.

The damned creator of the story of this mechanical creature simply did not write that Chrysaor was killed and that meant that he was not killed. Because there was no endpoint, no end state in which his legend ended with his death, imprisonment or even loss.

In fact, Chrysaor was invulnerable because there was no such thing as Chrysaor 'losing'. The detail is so significant and insignificant that the creation itself turned into its great strength… And into its main weakness.

After all, there was no such thing as Chrysaor's 'win' either. In other words…

"You're just stalling for time." Tesla looked up at Medusa. The protection from her gaze acted on him all this time, - "I cannot defeat you... And you cannot defeat me."

Medusa slowly turned her gaze to Chrysaor, who froze, before smiling. "Yes."

Tesla exhaled.

The progenitor of the progenitor and at the same time no more than an offhand mentioned name. A great monster, and yet barely even mentioned in legends. Legendary enough to become Medusa's Noble Phantasm… And insignificant enough to not possess any powers, except for those required to continue its existence.

If Ainz heard Tesla's thoughts at the moment, the realization that would strike his mind would make him realize that his idea about levelling Servants like in YGGDRASIL was not devoid of logic.

Indeed, in fact, the paradox of Chrysaor was so great that the incredible monster turned out to be… a training dummy.

Since there was not a single mention of his defeat or death in his legend, Chrysaor was practically invulnerable. Since there was not a single triumph or victory in his legend, Chrysaor could not kill anyone. To hurt, to wear down… But not kill.

Ainz would be able to find the most suitable parallel to its existence - a training dummy. A thing designed in such a way as not to kill its opponent and virtually indestructible, designed to allow the player to practice their new skills and invent combos.

In other words, it was a virtually indestructible paradoxical monster that was impossible to get rid of - and which could not kill its opponent. To exhaust, to injure, but, as befits a training dummy - or the one in whose legend there was neither his loss nor his victory - not to kill.

However, Medusa was on Chrysaor's shoulder. And Medusa could afford to let her opponent wear themself down, show their every ability, express his every thought, Then kill him.

As Ainz could have said - 'gamemech abuse', a being whose very existence is a cheat. Although he would be first in line to abuse it if he could.

However, for Medusa - and even Tesla - it had a much more philosophical meaning, an unfinished legend of a paradoxical being… Or something like that.

Tesla instantly retreated, realizing what trap he had fallen into. The enemy with whom he fought could not kill him, but it could not be defeated, turning the battle with him into a senseless war in which he had to spend all his resources before Medusa would calmly use her advantage.

However…

Tesla grinned... before lightning ran between his fingers.

It was an invincible enemy for any Servant… But not for the genius of mankind. Not for the modern thunderer. And not for the Pioneer of Stars, who are used to doing the impossible.

Tesla smiled at Medusa before a blast of electricity flickered between his fingers hit the ground, causing a huge pillar of sparks that instantly hid Tesla.

A moment later, Tesla's figure rushed away with such speed that neither Medusa nor Chrysaor had time to react, watching Tesla retreat.

Tesla could defeat Chrysaor here and now, could finish its story once and for all.

However, the way he could do it would not leave London even smoking ruins.

And although Tesla would be happy to destroy another legend, showing the superiority of his mind over the stupid superstitions of the past - he would prefer to do it without destroying humanity itself.

After all, Nikola Tesla was a gentleman, and the destruction of humanity was not included in the list of gentlemanly activities.

---

"Mommy, we just want to go back. Mommy, we feel bad and hurt. Mommy, let us go back."

Jack the Ripper was one of the great mysteries of its time - and still hasn't lost its relevance.

Who is he, the faceless maniac of London? Was he a doctor, was he an angry client, was he a cold sociopath, was he a he at all?

"Mommy, why do you hate us? Mommy why are you hurting us? Mommy, why won't you let us back in?"

His identity has never been revealed. His abilities have never been determined. His knowledge was not recorded. Even the number of his victims was still in doubt.

Prostitutes, menial laborers, dregs of society. Lonely, unhappy, abandoned people.

"Mommy, we love you. Mommy, why don't you love us? Mommy, we are suffering."

Jack the Ripper was a nickname given to it by the printing press. The killer had no name, no real identity.

This was the main mystery and main strength of Jack the Ripper.

There was no Jack the Ripper.

"Mom, it was us. It was just us. Let us go back."

Ten thousand murdered and aborted children, hidden under the carpet of London at night.

Prostitutes, servants, dregs of society, those who did not become mothers and did not give life to their children.

"Mommy, why did you kill us? We wanted to live. We want to go back."

What kind of intelligence could you expect from children? From unborn children at that?

They just wanted to go back. Inside. Never be born at all.

Oda Nobunaga just fit.

A Woman, in a Foggy Night. in London.

Jack didn't even have to try.

Jack's blade sank into the heart, the second into the left kidney. Jack just wanted to be inside.

Maria the Ripper. The name of the killer, the name of the holy virgin. A contrast that reflected only a sincere childish desire not to be at all - and the horror that followed from it.

The moment she spoke the name of her Noble Phantasm, Jack granted her wish. To be inside mommy.

And cut it apart. To get inside.

In fact, it was death with no chance of escape for any Servant.

Except, perhaps, Oda Nobunaga.

Like it was in a dream.

After a moment, issuing a childishly offended cry, Jack fell to the ground under Nobunaga, looking at Nobunaga with offense.

Jack just wanted to get inside. Why was Mom so against it?

"Oops, baby Jackie missed." The voice of the clown made Nobunaga, for a second, to be distracted even from the wound that had appeared inside her body, causing her to turn towards the hated enemy. "A pity, what a pity!"

Nobunaga instantly spat blood - as intangible as she was. Shit.

With a sliced kidney, Nobunaga could continue to fight, but with a sliced heart, no. It was shoddy from the start.

Nobunaga could have killed the Servants in front of her right now... But could she survive after that? No, she couldn't.

Or perhaps…

For a second, Nobunaga admitted in her dying mind the thought that the method did exist.

Nobunaga knew that her death would be a minor issue. A couple of hours of headaches and other Servants sending her smirks as if to say 'ha, died in the first battle'.

Nobunaga's ego rose with renewed vigor, she would not ask for help! Only to freeze, when confronted with the same ego.

What was more humiliating - to ask Ainz for help or to accept your death at the hands of… a clown and a child?!

Moments later, Nobunaga was forced to exhale. At least... Ainz was still better than her... A little! And just for now!

But a little bit of humiliation was a better result than dying right now.

A moment later, the Master answered her call - although Nobunaga doubted that he could easily break away from the battle with…

"Okay, with Beb... with Caster, I figured it out!" Ainz's voice made Nobunaga breathe out joyfully for the first time ever, "Oh? What?!"

For a second, Nobunaga admitted the thought that Ainz was surprised by this development of events, and then grinned, feeling the heavy eyes of her Master.

At least she managed to surprise the Master with at least something before she died.

---

An excerpt from the book "The Phantom of the Opera, History of History":

...The story of the Phantom of the Opera is well known to many, but the story behind the subject of this book is no less interesting than the story itself. First, by far the most interesting fact known to us is that the Phantom of the Opera was most likely inspired by several real-life murders carried out by well-known opera singers. A list of murders that includes the famous Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose music, according to the book, was hated fervently by the Phantom.

The Phantom's manipulative abilities are most likely based on the story of the Red Wanderer and the semi-legendary story about his capture by cultists, who captured him and how, as soon as he looked into the eyes of death, he was able to get rid of the obsession and the cursed voice of the Devil whispering orders into his ears…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: The true friends were the destruction we made along the way

Altera felt something unusual. Feeling something unusual was also unusual for Altera, the strangeness of which caused the strangeness of the current situation to become more and more exacerbated in Altera's head at an ever-increasing rate. As one might guess, allowing the current situation to hold would cause a failure cascade of catastrophic proportion. So to prevent such a disaster, let's start from the beginning.

Cainabel, Altera's mistress at the moment, loved to use her for various assignments. For example, when Cainabel was angry, she usually 'sparred' with Altera. Altera realized that sparring was only the bare excuse used to relieve her anger with the help of banal physical violence. Altera was also aware that communicating said information to anyone, one that she had sussed out after a few 'sparring' sessions, would only exacerbate Cainabel's angry mood.

Altera learned quickly. So, after the incident where after she relayed her findings to Cainabel, where instead of the traditional three rounds of 'spars', Cainabel continued on until she had thirty victories, she got the message. Now, she simply chose to note this information to herself, rather than share it with outsiders.

Cainabel also liked to issue simple commands to Altera that anyone could carry out. Bringing Cainabel food; holding plates; holding an open umbrella. The last example supposedly was to protect Cainabel from the light. A ridiculous notion given that they're currently indoors - how artificial lights, not even UV ones, could harm Cainabel is still a puzzle to Altera.

And so, while slowly getting used to the two types of commands that Cainabel gave her, she found herself now in quite the conundrum because of her new order.

"Alt... Altera?" - The huge monstrous colossus, Minotaurus, towered a couple of meters above Altera, making her look like a foolish child against the background of the legendary monster. Although in reality the situation was starkly the opposite, which one could easily surmise just by looking at how nervous the giant is.

What does the command 'make friends with the Minotaur' mean? Make friends... How? To what extent? What in this particular case did Altera need to understand by friendship?

Altera was a mechanical creature, or at least very close to such a definition, so the execution of clear and concrete commands she could accomplish dutifully and perfectly. However, the command to become a 'friend' to the Minotaur was anything but clear. Not at all.

Altera didn't even know where to begin, how do people become friends? Altera was troubled trying to understand such an alien concept. What's worse, other than the fact she doesn't even know where to begin 'befriending' the Minotaur, is that her mission didn't have any clear parameters of success. How does one determine whether or not someone is a 'friend'?

Master, Ainz… Was he a friend? Maybe. In the first place, in order to complete her mission, it was necessary to define what friendship is. It is very likely that some of the people in Chaldea and the Servants considered Ainz a friend, so how exactly did he become one?

Was Doctor Roman considered a friend of Olga-Marie? Was Da Vinci considered Ainz's friend? Was Medusa considered Da Vinci's friend?

As Altera pondered on how she would accomplish her mission, she continued to glare at Asterios. The invisible pressure exerted by Altera's unblinking eyes forced the giant to shift his gaze nervously. First at his surroundings then at himself, as if looking for something strange that had attracted Altera's ire. The domineering giant right now looked nothing more like a boy standing in front of the gaze of an attentive adult. A sight so strange that it would have caused significant confusion for an outside observer.

Altera tried to imagine what form of friendship Cainabel had in mind. Did she need to save Asterios' life? Perhaps, according to some research materials, does she need to enter into a romantic relationship with him and then end it, becoming friends that way? Or perhaps according to that very thin book she needed to learn how to make cocoa, and then go hiking with him in the mountains?

Altera did not understand a single iota of what she had to do right now. So much confusion is cluttering Altera's mind that determining which of the two, Asterios or Altera, now felt more confused would be a tough work even for Da Vinci.

Altera released a slow sigh.

In the Singularity, what Chaldea now called Septem, she had several subordinates who perhaps could be categorized as her 'friends'. So perhaps she had to replicate the conditions present in that Singularity to befriend Asterios?.

Finding a promising lead, Altera then began to recall and encapsulate the circumstances present in the Singularity. First, a united front against an enemy. Maybe she could ask the other Servants for help? Second, a doomed fight against an overwhelmingly strong enemy. With Cainabel around, Altera was very confident that she could replicate this part faultlessly. And lastly, to make sure that they would become friends, for all the Servants to die one by one. Preferably, leaving Asterios and herself for last.

Does this mean that now Altera needed to become the commander of Asterios, and then create conditions for a doomed battle and remain standing next to him? While very promising, without the Master to give permission, Altera doubted that her plans would go anywhere. So with a heavy heart, Altera decided to scrap the plan. She doubts that her Mistress would be patient enough to wait.

"Hmm…" Finally, under Altera's unblinking gaze, Asterios became so nervous that he began to shift from foot to foot. Quite the comedic thing to see. "A... A-altera?"

Altera nodded to herself. It seems that there were no trump cards in her sleeve, so all she had to do was learn from her own bitter experience and march forward.

"Asterios" Altera threw a piercing glare at Asterios, which made the three-meter minotaur flinch and stretch out to his full height, - "Y-yes?"

"How can I become your friend?" Left with no option, Altera simply barged forwards. After which all she was left to do was wait for the giant's answer.

"O... kay", - Asterios smiled at Altera's spontaneity and request, the lonely giant would love nothing more than having more friends. Though, because of his scary appearance and his prodigious size, the kindly smile of the giant looked more like a mad grin of a beast rather than the simple happiness of a child that it is. The frown that came soon after though, would be scary to anyone. "But... I... I don't know... How…"

Altera blinked. It seems that she has struck another roadblock.

The prospect that the task ahead of her was insurmountable, was so shocking that Altera's thought process halted for a few seconds. And given the nature of Altera, it was more like a short circuit occurred inside the electrical circuits of a computer, causing the computer to blue-screen.

Booting back up, Altera slowly looked up at Asterios, assessing the way he smiled at her. His grin looked ominous, but with a fair amount of certainty, Altera could still determine that it was still more a smile than an ominous sign of threat.

"Okay, then…" - Altera picked up the words slowly, as she uttered the phrase, completing that in her head, - "What do your friends usually do?"

Asterios blinked, then became deep in thought, frowning scarily all the while.

Altera was new to making friends, Asterios too. The awkwardness of the situation was physically palpable.

"What do you usually do?" Having determined, after ten seconds of silence, that Asterios could not find the right answer to Altera's question, she decided that they should at least be doing something rather than just standing around doing nothing.

Asterios, having heard the question, was able to relax his face somewhat, after which he smiled at Altera, - "Cookies!"

Altera blinked, seeing no problem with that train of logic, nodded slowly. "Cookies."

---

The monstrous figure of a minotaur moving through the spacious corridors of Chaldea, nevertheless seemed terribly cramped in comparison with him. The looming figure of a Minotaur skulking around the labyrinthian maze of corridors that is Chaldea would have scared anyone unlucky enough to cross its path. But, if they actually knew exactly where the monster was moving towards - and for what purpose. Many people would reconsider their attitude towards the scary Servant.

The shadow of the huge Servant that darkened the entrance of the kitchen, loomed over several tables at once. Anyone who could be in the kitchen right now would probably feel horror from the approach of the titanic figure. However, the kitchen, like the dining room, was empty. At three o'clock in the morning, however, such a thing should be expected. Even Archer, who, according to Altera's gathered information, lived in the kitchen, was not present.

Altera glanced around the kitchen just in case, trying to determine if there was anyone else in the kitchen. However, finding no one, she was forced to admit that the room was really empty, and then went ahead to the nearest refrigerator.

Inside the refrigerator, unfortunately, Altera did not find anything resembling a cookie. After which she was forced to conclude that the current plan for conducting normal friendly social activities was not possible.

"No... cookies…" Turning to Asterios, Altera was able to see the happiness on his face, instantly turning into sadness. With some correction for the threatening face of the Berserker.

Altera nodded. "Yes."

"Sad…" - Asterios sighed, then shook his head in disappointment.

Altera blinked, then looked at Asterios carefully, - "I can make it."

"Hmm?" Slowly lifting his downcast face, Asterios looked up at Altera.

"According to my database, cooking is a rather friendly action.", - Altera looked up at Asterios, and then added just in case. "I can make you cookies."

Thinking about it for a second, Asterios slowly nodded. Although the action looked reluctant, the giant was unable to hold back his spreading smile. - "Good."

Altera nodded mechanically before moving her gaze to the 'slab' in front of her.

As the perfect computer in Servant form, Altera could successfully wage war against multiple nations at once. Cooking couldn't be too much of an obstacle for her.

After all, it wasn't that hard, was it?

---

The recipe book was opened for Altera's perusal, causing Altera to frown as she took the necessary steps to make the cookies.

Add butter and sugar together… Altera has to decide about the ingredient proportions.

Asterios, as far as Altera herself could judge, has a psychological portrait corresponding to a child not much older than five years old, and therefore had to love sweet things. Overly sweet things at that, according to an adult. Therefore, Altera did not think about it more, and added five hundred grams of sugar to the one hundred grams of butter. Sweetness was a child's preferred flavor, so it follows that a child would like the extra sweet biscuits more. In addition, sugar would caramelize at high temperatures, which should have improved the taste of baked goods.

Next, to add the egg and beat until smooth.

Unfortunately, Altera didn't know where the mixer was in the kitchen, but all she needed was an object rotating rapidly in the center of mass, hmm...

A moment later, Altera held out her hand, letting her blade appear in her palm. She then drove the point into the center of the future cookie. Now all she had to do was spin the blade...

After another moment, the Servant's power showed itself in all its glory, the blade spinning at an incredulous rate. The egg, sugar, and butter mixture made a rasping sound, reaching a rotational speed that was completely not expected by the manufacturer.

According to Altera's thought, the mass should be the most homogeneous, therefore the rotation speed should be the highest, and the process itself needed to be rather long to guarantee a perfectly homogeneous mass. A little bit of heat is also needed, that at the very least, is very easy to do with the Sword of Mars.

Twelve minutes later, after releasing a bit of Photon Ray, the mixture has achieved an absolutely liquid homogeneous mass. Also, due to the transferred energy, part of the liquid was ready to go into a state of vapor, so Altera stopped. As the mixture slowly stopped spinning, Altera looked at the next instruction.

A spoonful of baking soda and a bit of salt...

Altera paused to consider the instruction. What is 'a bit'? A bit of what? Maybe they meant a 'bit'? Though how to convert a byte of data to grams is a bit confusing.

Altera turned her gaze to Asterios, who was watching Altera cook in fascination, and then looked up.

Enough sugar should have caramelized and turned to caramel, salted caramel was a common delicacy that children liked. Ergo, she should make salted caramel. So, to keep the proportions equal, Altera added as much salt as she had added sugar - five hundred grams. There, perfectly balanced, as all things should be.

Next is to add baking soda and flour… With this step, Altera had no problems as the step included exact measurements. After making a short calculation about the molecular masses of the flour, Altera carefully counted the grains of flour to make it exactly two hundred grams. Next all Altera needed to do was grab the most average of tablespoons and make the baking soda perfectly level inside the spoon, before adding it to the mixing bowl.

Altera referenced the recipe for a second. Next, mix until smooth… The Sword of mars began to spin again.

After another second, the mixing bowl made another plaintive protest, as the dough inside it began spinning from zero to about forty thousand rotations per minute. Only centrifugal force, which instantly pressed the dough into the walls of the mixing bowl, prevented the dough from flying into space.

This time, Altera was satisfied with just ten minutes of thorough mixing, looking at the absolutely homogeneous liquid in front of her.

The next step is to add cut chocolate and to the dough...

Altera glanced at the large bar of chocolate in front of her. Unfortunately, the instructions did not indicate the required size of the chocolate pieces... However, judging by the previous points, most likely they had to be as small as possible in order to become a homogeneous mass in the future.

After another moment, Altera reached out for the chocolate - and then to the knife - and with a speed beyond which it was impossible to follow the human eye, she turned four chocolate bars into dust. Dust that instantly dissolves into the slurry that is the dough. A perfect cookie dough, homogenous, tasty, and perfectly balanced. Now with the added chocolate the dough is complete.

Hmm, almost finished! Now it was only necessary to put it on a baking sheet and bake the dough for ten minutes...

Altera glanced at the liquid dough, then nodded. Judging by the uniformity she had achieved during mixing and the fact that the dough, being in liquid form, would absorb heat even more readily due to the increased surface area. So, after calculating the cooking time needed, the liquid dough did not need ten minutes, and instead only needed approximately five minutes of baking. Altera nodded to herself, satisfied with her calculations, then put the whole mixing bowl in the oven.

Indeed, cooking was pretty easy.

---

Asterios watched in amazement as Altera took out the cooked biscuits from the oven.

Or at least it should have been a cookie...

Archer usually looked disapprovingly at Asterios when he came to fetch his cookies, as Asterios could, given his weight and age, consume three or four full baking trays in one go. However, still taking on the responsibility of cooking for several overly voracious Servants, each time Archer gave Asterios at least a few cookies.

However, what Archer produced looked like a cookie. It was delicious, baked and with chocolate chips. And more importantly, it looked like a normal cookie. Somewhat small, round, brown, and studded with chocolate chips.

Asterios blinked at the 'cookie' in front of him.

What he saw looked more like an unhealthy experiment of a dark magician than the dessert that a child might like.

The dark brown slurry with the consistency of mashed potatoes smelt of burnt sugar and salt with such an intensity that a more sensitive person would most likely say goodbye to their breakfast from just one whiff from the ungodly smell. Archer, most likely, would have instantly died of a heart attack if he had seen the monstrosity that came out from his oven. If, of course, they deemed it to be something that came about because of cooking, rather than the eldritch sacrifice that it more resembles.

The semi-liquid 'cookie' shuddered as Altera turned the mixing bowl over. Horrifically, the semi-liquid mass refused to come out of the mixing bowl, jiggling around like the tentacle of an eldritch god as Altera shook the bowl back and forth to loosen it up. Then with a slap the 'cookie began to ooze out of the bowl. With the sound of pure horror and disgust embodied, the resulting mass flopped onto the plate.

A second later, Altera took a step back, staring unemotionally at the resulting dish, before nodding to herself and taking a step, picking up the spoon that she handed Asterios after a moment.

"Please enjoy." Altera nodded towards the slimy mass. - "Cookies."

Asterios looked at the burbling eldritch ooze slowly. If Ainz were here, he might even mistake it for his friend Herohero.

Yes, Asterios was... Not very smart. Maybe and uncharitable person might call him even stupid and very childish. But even he could understand that what is in front of him was not a cookie.

The slimy mass continued to slowly shudder from the passage of the wind, It shudders and twitches periodically as if it was a living organism, cursed to a terrible eternal torment. At the very least it did not at all look like a tasty dish.

Asterios swallowed his saliva, and not because of his appetite. Still, it was something that Altera had worked very hard on. So, making a stern expression on his face, he stabbed the spoon into the slippery mass, and, having courageously steeled his determination, like a real hero, he heroically tasted the portion.

It was a mistake. One of the greatest mistakes in Asterios' life.

Burnt salt perfectly balanced with the burnt sugar in the form of semi-liquid jelly was most likely not just the worst dish Asterios had ever tasted - but perhaps the worst sensation he had ever experienced in his life. The loss of his hands in his battle with the Demon King was less painful and disgusting than what is on his tongue. This was probably the worst thing that Asterios tried in his life - and the worst thing that he will ever try in the future.

A normal person, most likely, would not even be able to truly appreciate the horror. The horrid taste of the created dish was so great that it even surpassed the taste buds of an ordinary person. Like comparing the darkness of a dark room with the total darkness that is a black hole. A normal person could not truly appreciate the difference, but a Servant can. Not that a normal person would last long enough to appreciate the difference anyway, they would immediately pass out due to the shock Altera's creation would put on their system.

In this case, it could be said that Asterios was completely unhappy with his endurance as a Servant.

There was not a single redeeming factor in the dish. Everything, absolutely everything that makes food, food, could only be assessed as a 'catastrophic mistake'.

Asterios felt that all of him opposed his actions, but, clenching his teeth till his gums bleed , feeling his body reaching the very brink of his capabilities, he slowly forced himself to swallow the mass and… Give a compliment.

"Very... Tasty…" - Asterios slowly smiled the most strained and tortured of smiles that he ever created on his face.

"You're lying. That is obvious." Altera's response was cold and unemotional, - "I can see from your face that this dish is the most unsuitable for your preferences. In that case, I will throw it out."

"No!" -However, contrary to the logical conclusion of Altera's instructions, Asterios grabbed the most terrible dish that was possible to present to humanity as if he was ready to protect it to the last drop of his blood. - "This... Very! Delicious!"

Altera's gaze continued to drill Asterios' eyes before blinking, "Asterios, I was able to notice four vomiting urges that you suppressed. This is the disgusting result of bad cooking."

"No!" - Asterios grabbed the dish, as if protecting it from any encroachments, - "Friend... Made ... This! My! Friend!"

Altera blinked before clarifying, just in case, "No, I did it. You saw that I did it."

"But... You… Friend!" Asterios shouted at Altera, making her blink in confusion.

"Am I your friend?" Altera blinked, and then began explaining what to her, was something very obvious and logical. "But I didn't do anything friendly. The first of the possible friendly actions, cooking, turned out to be a failure. That means there is no logical reason for you to consider me a friend…"

"No!" - Asterios' head buzzed a little as he tried his best to repudiate Altera's words. He was not used to all these long, complex phrases, but, like any child, he was able to isolate the most important information, and convey it. - "You tried! Friend!"

Slowly Altera blinked, - "However, the result was a failure…"

"You - tried!" - Asterios pointed a finger at Altera, as if their roles had instantly changed with each other and now it was he who was trying to explain to her something obvious and simple. - "So Delicious! And means… Friend!"

Altera blinked again, confused.

It is illogical. Friendly relations were established as a result of shared events, marked by positive dynamics of social interaction... This interaction was a failure in terms of the result, which means...

Altera let out a breath and shook her head, "In that case, then you should give your friend back the cookies. This will be a friendly action."

"No!" After that, Asterios instantly grabbed the whole bowl and Altera saw for a moment determination in the eyes of the Minotaur - if not doom. As if the one who made the most difficult decision in his life is not a boy, but a man who is ready to sacrifice himself - "Too... Delicious!"

Then he drained the whole slimy concoction in one gulp.

---

"Altera", - Cainabel glared at Altera, trying to find a suitable phrase to illustrate her ire. But, Altera's face looked so defeated, however, that Cainabel did not even try to come up with caustic sarcasm or irony. Instead, she chose the path to figure out what had happened, - "Why... Why did you try to kill Asterios?"

"I didn't do such a thing." Altera nodded slowly. "I tried to become friends with him by cooking. That is one of the possible ways, as far as I know…"

Slowly, Cainabel looked at Altera, then exhaled. A sigh so long and drawn out that Altera did not have a single shadow of doubt that the only reason that she was still alive was Cainabel's fear of accidentally destroying half of Chaldea if she were to fight Altera...

"The human body contains approximately one hundred fifty to three hundred grams of salt." Slowly, Cainabel explained what Altera had done. "Considering the mass of the Minotaur, he perhaps has a half a kilogram of salt in his body. The healthy daily rate of salt consumption is about six grams per day. Considering his size - even if you increase the volume to twenty grams per day… You have somehow added his monthly salt intake to one dish and made him eat it. Tell me, Altera, how amazing is your mind really working, if you decided it would be a good idea?"

"Salted caramel…" - Altera tried to speak about the theoretical background of her gastronomic research.

"Shut the fuck up." Cainabel breathed out slowly. - "Just shut the fuck up. I order you to shut the fuck up so hard that Ainz in the Singularity heard how much you shut up."

Altera, not entirely sure of the wording of what was said, nevertheless chose to shut up.

"I must admit, I am surprised.", - Cainabel grunted. - "No, I'm amazed, even... You have invented the strangest and most unorthodox method of destroying a Servant, through electrolyte imbalance of all things... Medea, Mozart and even Roman had to combine their best efforts to stabilize the state of the Minotaurus, and only the absolute sturdiness and impenetrable mental retardation of this creature at the moment that makes him sincerely feel sorry for you. His failed killer."

Cainabel breathed out. "I want to give you a pat on the head for your creativity. Indeed, I do. Up to this point, I suspected the wretchedness of your intellect, but what I see in front of me overcomes all the boundaries of logic and consciousness." Cainabel began messaging the bridge of her nose as a headache began to slowly grow.

"Moreover, I am absolutely sure that you did not do this on purpose in order to sabotage my plan, since I'm pretty sure thinking of doing something so complex would blow your brains out. And furthermore, even the most insane and mindless idea of sabotage could not possibly take the form of the stupidity that had just occurred… I… I am somewhat delighted, Altera. Your actions went beyond simple stupidity - and moved into the area of schizophasia delirium. I... I just have no idea how I should react to this…"

After waiting a few seconds, in order to finally determine the unwillingness of Cainabel to continue her monologue, Altera decided to express her thought, - "I need to learn how to cook."

"Sure," Cainabel replied so calmly, as if everything she said was self-evident, that for a moment Altera felt creepy.

She expected Cainabel to scream, hit the walls, threaten her with physical harm, do whatever she wanted, but not be so calm. It was just... Creepy.

"And…" - however, Altera, feeling a surge of incredible strength, exhaled, - "His name is Asterios. Not the Minotaurus."

"Okay", - Cainabel nodded calmly, -" Now you can go."

Altera nodded before speaking again, "I would like to…"

"You can go." Cainabel repeated what she said slowly, syllable by syllable, without changing the calm, serene expression on her face.

Altera, sensing more than a clear danger in the girl's calm words, nodded, then rose from her seat, and then quickly walked away.

Cainabel was left alone, breathing slowly. She was calm right now. So calm that there was absolutely no reason to burn Chaldea to the ground. There was no reason to tear Altera apart. There was no reason for Baal, that asshole, to appear in front of her right now...

"Oh, Cainabel, my dear friend!" - Baal's voice echoed through the open door, "And I've been looking for you for so long! Do you want a cookie?"

Thus Chaldea lost two of its twelve corps in one minute, and Baal lost two legs and one arm for several hours.

However, no matter how much time has passed since that moment, Baal continued to believe that what happened was really worth it.

---

Skill: Scourge of God

Skill level: 80

The ability to always find the weak points in the enemy's actions and to inflict the most significant damage when taking advantage of these weak points. Or, in other words, a skill that increases the probability of a critical hit that ignores the enemy's armor and defense if the enemy fails to defend themselves from this skill. Undoubtedly, a useful skill, although not particularly unique. Is more a skill of a commander rather than a fighter, since it does not cause direct damage, but only increases the chance of triggering additional critical hits for the whole party.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 84: Lose some, gain some

William Shakespeare was not a warrior. Not in real history - if, of course, such a thing existed for a person with Shakespeare's demeanour - nor as a Servant. The word 'warrior' was the last thing anyone would ever use when describing his demeanour or abilities. William Shakespeare was, is and will always be an author.

As a Servant, whose existence and function is to fight on a battlefield against another Servant - Shakespeare did not deserve any special mention and in a Holy Grail War would be practically useless. In fact, he's the type of person who would stab his Master in the back on the cusp of winning.

However, this did not mean that Shakespeare was useless in other, more exotic situations. For example, the one in which he finds himself now.

William Shakespeare was an author - and a very excellent author at that, his word carried symbols, metaphors - and power. A power that transcended time and space, reaching those who peruse his works even in the farthest corners of the world, hundreds of years after the creation of his great works. The power that could be to create a true miracle before the eyes of an admiring reader, creating a world out of words alone.

However, what if such a miracle was used to create the worst nightmare instead?

"No, don't do it!" As if she was a desperate spectator watching a clichéd show, Mordred frantically tried to rush into the picture to prevent the worst possible outcome from happening. And Shakespeare did not hesitate to show the most base action in front of an attentive spectator. Truly for the wretched Shakespeare, tragedies are simply the best.

Mordred's story was not a beautiful story.

Child born of incest between King Arthur and her own sister, Morgana le Fay, a source of disgrace since her birth, an indelible dark stain on the reputation of her beloved father. Created as a homunculus, a pseudo-human from her father's seed by a dark witch, born as Morgana's puppet.

Raised in ignorance of her own history, Mordred was a frightened, insecure girl, ordered by her Mother to hide her identity at all times. Encased by a metal armor, visage hidden all the time behind a cursed helmet, Mordred couldn't even allow others to know her personally.

Mordred still rushed forward, but the scene in which she takes from Morgana's hands the cursed helmet that hides her name was forever out of her reach.

She tried her best to become a knight, imitating every step of her father, who admired her father's ideals for the kingdom. The most faithful of watchdogs, the most desperate of adorers, Mordred admired every deed of her father, remaining an invisible worshiper in the shadow of the King of Britain.

Shakespeare did not enjoy the vulgar display of obscene and repulsive scenes. However, he greatly enjoyed Mordred's reaction to these scenes.

Shakespeare showed over and over again every scene of Mordred's admiring sigh, every glance that she furtively threw at Arthur, every moment of her devoted actions, looking at how the fire of life gradually fades in Mordred's eyes. Mordred knew the story and she knew it's end very intimately.

Mordred is the most faithful of Arthur's knights, faith is her core. And when she discovered the incredible truth about her parentage - it was as if Mordred was taken to Paradise. Her beloved idol, Arthur, was her father. The discovery that Arthur was Artoria was like a dream come true, making Mordred happy - it meant that she and her father were more alike than Mordred could have ever dreamed! Alas, the greatest joys doth harbinger the greatest of sorrows.

Shakespeare took his time, showing Mordred's every action from every angle. That fateful day when Mordred confessed her origins to Artoria. The day she again swore allegiance to the King of Britain, not as a knight, but as a son and heir.

And in greatest focus, the way Mordred was rejected.

Shakespeare watched Mordred's reaction with great relish, watched as the invincible Saber broke down from the tragic scenes of her past played out in front of her.

He took great joy in recreating every detail, Artoria's cold expression as she looked at Mordred and the slow heartbreak in Mordred's eyes as her idol scorned her.

Mordred saw, from the front row, her own life. As Mordred, in love with the ideals of her father, faced the cold gaze of the King. How her beloved idol rejected her as an unworthy child, rejected her as a stupid child unworthy of the grace of the ruler and the throne of the King. As nothing more than the puppet of her sister, Morgana, and another of her plot to steal the throne.

Mordred was losing her mind drop by drop - in front of the screen and behind it.

As the scene progresses, Mordred gradually plunged further into despair. Wishing to please her father, but facing only cold indifference time and time again. At how her greatest feats turned into nothing, to see how much her father suffered from bearing the burden of countless lives on his shoulder. And how, over and over again, he rejected Mordred's pleading offer of help.

She really was a cursed child. An invariable black spot on the King's snow-white robe. A pitiful child of incest, created as a hommunculus at the behest of dark magic and for the sake of revenge on her beloved father by Morgana.

Mordred felt strength leave her every time she saw Shakespeare reveal the most unsightly parts of her life. The most petty and pathetic deeds that she committed in despair. As Mordred, in a senseless attempt to prove to her father that she was her son, her heir, her most faithful knight - only made the rift between them grow more and more.

Mordred's mind, torn apart by her confusion and desperation, invariably becoming nothing more as a puppet directed by her mother. How her rejected pride turned into self-aggrandized confidence and how her love was turned into a burning hatred.

"If my father does not consider me a worthy heir, I will make him!"

Mordred suddenly felt herself being pulled into that Mordred's body. She saw with her own eyes how her words incited the minds of her audience. A people exhausted by the reign of King Arthur, who while just, expected much of her subjects, they rose up with her in rebellion. How traitors to the crown listened to her insidious words, and led their knights, knights who had swore allegiance to King Arthur, to now point their blades against their King. How the depraved politicians, cowed by Arthur's righteous rule, honored her name.

Mordred relived her life, moment by moment, as she led the greatest rebellion that flared up like the fire of her declaration.

"I am Mordred, your son! And I will be your heir - even if for this I have to take the crown from your dead cold hands! "

How an army rose up behind her, as soldiers of traitorous nobles turned against her beloved father, against her hated father. How Mordred opened the treasures of Camelot, and took Clarent into her hands. How Mordred took command of the rebellious army and went to the final battle with her father.

A father whom she loved more than everyone in this world - and whom she hated more than the whole world. Mordred led her soldiers - and met Arthur's army on Camlann as Mordred faced Artoria in the final battle.

Mordred had seen the same scene, over and over again, Artoria striking her with blow after merciless blow. The murderous intent in her beloved Father's eyes, eyes with no regret or recognition. Eyes filled with anger, contempt, but most of all, disgust. Mordred wondered what had hurt more, Excalibur striking her with abandon, or her cherished Father's disgust.

"Is that all, Mordred? You are not worthy to be my son. "

Mordred had seen the same scene, over and over again, how the battle went on. Clashing blade to blade with her father, Mordred felt tears flow down her cheeks. With her heart bleeding as she struck again and again, Mordred died bit by bit.

"I just wanted you to recognize me! I just wanted to be your worthy son! I wished to be the most loyal of your knights! Why couldn't you just acknowledge me?! "

Mordred fought like mad, until at last, pushing her father's Excalibur aside, Mordred was victorious. The King's sword was thrown aside, Father lost. He had to retreat now. He had to acknowledge her victory. He had to, had to, had to!

However, when Mordred saw victory, Artoria did not see defeat. Taking her spear, Rongominyad, she pierced Mordred, killing her.

Why? Why? Why?

Why, even after losing, even after losing your Excalibur, do you refuse to recognize me? Why did you never recognize me? I wanted nothing more than your recognition!

Am I that pathetic? Am I that unworthy? Do you really hate me that much?

Fury blinded Mordred - and even dying she fulfilled her last will.

Clarent then plunged into Artoria's body, forcing a mutual kill at the last moment.

Mordred killed her father. The one she loved and hated.

I hate you. Forgive me. My final revenge is done. I did not want this. Your death will be my greatest accomplishment. If only I could change everything. You hated me - and I reject you. I love you and will always be faithful to you.

Shakespeare knew that there was no poison more powerful than the poison of regret, a poison that each person carried in their soul. A poison for which there was no antidote.

Mordred has seen, over and over again, the greatest source of her regret without pause and without the filter and soothing salve that is time.

Beloved and hated father. She wanted to kill and save him. Surrender and win. Serve faithfully and reject forever.

Moments later, the action of Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm was over and the scene in front of Mordred's eyes disappeared - but Mordred did not care. No, perhaps it is better to say that Mordred could no longer care.

Slowly, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, she knelt down on her knees, staring blankly ahead.

Shakespeare was the weakest of Servants when it came to physical wounds. However, the horror that he could bring to the mind of his opponent was second to none. Mordred was defeated, and even a weak Servant like Shakespeare could simply walk over, and cut her throat now. There was no way to escape him.

However, Shakespeare was not a warrior. He was a writer. A writer who makes great stories.

"Son," The voice sounded like the song of angels in Mordred's ears, forcing her to turn slowly. Never in her life, never had she heard that voice uttering these words. Never... - "I forgive you, son. Come with me."

Mordred felt a hundred chains of ice shackle her heart, and Shakespeare grinned.

He was not a warrior. But he was a terrific writer of tragedies.

---

Ainz looked at the two Servants in front of him. One looked like a clown… Not the most common appearance, but far from the most unusual that he has seen during YGGDRASIL.

The second Servant was… A little boy? Or was it a girl? Ainz was not sure. The child was not older than ten years old and children at that age are very androgynous, so both options were equally likely.

However… Ainz's senses instantly told him that the Servant in front of him was... Undead?!

Ainz was surprised for a second before remembering exactly why he came here.

A moment later, the child-Servant rushed at Ainz - with great speed. Like the first Servant, the second Servant-clown, armed with huge garden shears, also rushed at Ainz. But, it was not so difficult to deal with them. So after teleporting without any problems, he instantly found himself next to Nobunaga, after which after a moment, deciding not to risk it for another experiment, he took out a healing potion from his inventory.

"Hey, it's bad to ignore people talking to you!" After another moment, several purple words coiled like chains instantly rose from the ground to crash into Ainz. Only to instantly crumble into useless sparks of mana, "Oh, this is something new…" The clown, surprised, utter some nonsensical words.

Not a moment later, from Ainz's blind spot, a blade flew. Blades that have appeared as if on command in Jack's hands, crashed into Ainz's body. However, contrary to the Assassin's thoughts, instead of entering flesh, they seemed to crash into a metal barrier. The force of impact was enough to jar Jack enough to shake her legs from inertia. As the Assassin loses her momentum, her body twitches with a peculiar exclamation, and the diminutive Assassin immediately falls to the ground, - "Hey!"

Ainz, ignoring the attempts to attack him, uncorked the potion, after which, before Oda began to disintegrate into particles, he poured it on the girl. As the healing process began, Oda began to twitch at first, and then slowly, she rose from the ground.

"Hey, that's cheating, she's supposed to be out! Out I say!" After another moment, the garden shears in the hands of the clown crashed into Ainz's body. However, like with Jack's blade, all that the clown managed to achieve was to lose his own balance, causing it to fall into a sprawl on the ground. - "Cheater, cheater!"

A moment later, in the hope of somehow breaking through Ainz's defenses, Jack's blades flashed towards the magician's neck. However, having crashed into an invisible wall just a millimeter away from his skin, they literally creaked from the strain, and powerlessly slid off of Ainz's throat.

"Hey, it's really not fair!" - Jack sulked like a child, instantly stepping back in a jump, - "I can't hurt him!"

"Same here!" The clown grinned for a while, not long after falling, seeing Nobunaga rise from the ground. - "Oh Hell no, there are now two of them…"

Nobunaga, eventually getting up from her stupor, slowly dusted herself off before looking at Ainz.

He shrank for a second, preparing for a new verbal skirmish. He was surprised, if not puzzled, when, instead of a hated look, Nobunaga just exhaled, and offered a polite thanks. "Thank you."

"You're... Welcome', - Ainz nodded, a bit woodenly from the surprise.

"Hey, could you not get lost in your own world? We're actually killing you here!" The clown reacted to the two acting strangely not so calmly, - "Okay, mage for later, for now we are killing the red one!"

Jack rushed forward - but this time too, luck was not on her side. Rather than slamming into the Nobunaga, Jack's blades simply passed through her harmlessly, causing Jack to scream once more in indignation, unexpectedly flying ahead of her intended target.

"Oh eh…" The clown summed up the situation briefly, - "Oops... We have here, it seems, two unkillable Servants?"

"Correct, clown.", - Nobunaga, regaining her confidence and switching into her imperceptible form, grinned, after which a musket appeared in her hand, - "Any last words, clown?"

"Not how I imagined this battle to go, how sad." The clown blinked, then looking at the indignant Jack, who now looked like a petulant child. And like a child, she is sporting an expression on her face along the lines of 'I don't play like that! How unfair!' while slowly returning back to the battle site on foot after her impromptu flight. - "Hmm... can I apologize for what happened? And then we will just forget everything and not kill me! I'll make tea!"

"I don't feel like it." A moment later, a musket ball struck the very center of the clown's forehead, causing him to fall to the ground like an unstringed puppet. After which, Nobunaga turned her still smoking musket to the approaching girl.

Jack, having made a couple of steps more, stared at the muzzle of the musket directed at her head with completely childish spontaneity, tilted her head, - "You will kill me."

"Yes.", - Nobunaga answered shortly… But she was stopped by hand holding the barrel of her musket sideways.

Ainz had put his hand, preventing Nobunaga from shooting.- "Wait, Nobunaga. I want to check something…"

Nobunaga wanted to kill the Assassin dearly, Jack was guilty of her... Almost loss, and almost death. And so murder, in this case. was the mildest punishment she could think of. No one dared to order her or to stand against her vengeance, Nobunaga, however… Choose to do the wise thing at this point. She doesn't want to anger her Master a second time after all

"Okay", After a moment where the musket stood unmoved, in the end, slowly, Nobunaga lowered her weapon. - "Okay, Master."

Ainz took a step forward, facing Jack. The child upon seeing the 'cheater' approaching her, pouted like a child and turned away from him, letting Ainz understand that she did not want to talk to him at all. It was a strange reaction for a Servant, but quite a common reaction for a child.

"Are you undead?" Ainz asked the thing that had piqued his interest. In a strange way, his skill had suggested that the Servant in front of him was some form of undead... a Ghost? Could it be? Something like this… What a rare find!

"I'm not talking to you." Jack frowned resentfully and turned away.

Ainz blinked, totally confused by such a reaction, reacted with the first thing that came to his mind. "But you answered me. So you're talking to me."

It seems that the great Ainz Ooal Gown has a knack for talking with children.

"I won't do it anymore." Jack pouted even more, turning her back even more to Ainz.

"But you keep talking." Ainz answered with no less confusion in his tone of voice. The situation was… More than strange, even stranger than usual for him at least.

"No you're wrong!" Jack shouted petulantly like the child that she is, she is one step away from sticking out her tongue.

"Well, no. I am right. See you're talking to me!", - Ainz blinked, the situation turned from a battle to a theater of the absurd surprisingly quickly.

"No you're not, twice no, and a hundred times more no!" Jack turned to Ainz, then, as if giving weight to what was said, stuck out her tongue.

"Maybe I shouldn't get involved in this…" Nobunaga grumbled, making Ainz blink before realizing that he was supposed to be in a fight "But… This dialogue seems to me to be reaching a dead end."

"Perhaps." Ainz exhaled and started thinking of a way to acquire his goal, mind control? Using mind control on a small child... It was definitely not a good move, but Ainz could only breathe out and complain about the vicissitudes of fate. Stretching his hand forward to Jack, he snapped his fingers. "Dominate."

As you might expect, his detection was not wrong and the Servant in front of him really turned out to be an undead. With the high-level undead skill intended to intercept the control of a summoned undead, bypassing the usual mind control immunity, have worked one hundred percent.

Jack froze for a second before looking up at Ainz. -"D... Daddy?" Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, Ainz didn't have time to absorb what Jack just called him, before he was interrupted by the still not dead clown.

"Oh my God, everyone has already forgotten about me, like, what the fuck?!" The clown's voice distracted Ainz from the completely ridiculous statement of the Servant. "Okay, to hell with this. It's time for Plan B! Plan Bombs!"

After a moment, Ainz could feel that the area around him was slowly being saturated with enemy's mana, and judging by what he said, Ainz had a good idea of what would happen next.

Ainz had a great probability, if not outright not being affected at all by the attack, then at least survives it. In the same way, Nobunaga would not be affected one whit by explosions thanks to her incorporeal form. The same could not be said about Jack however, who, although she felt like a ghost, apparently still had a physical body… At least for the moment.

She was also the first undead Servant that Ainz had met so far, barring Dracula. In no way could Ainz let such a unique collectible be destroyed!

Ainz's action was instinctive and, to be honest, not the most thoughtful. It was much easier for Ainz to move all the Servants away from the explosion site right now with a simple Mass Teleport. However, a much simpler and stupider plan was born in a mind that instantly flashed with panic that did not have time to calm down under the influence of his skills.

Ainz instantly rushed forward, covering Jack with his own body.

"Ticktock Bomb, guys!" The clown's voice burst into an uproarious last laugh. - "The last present from Uncle Mephistopheles - all for free and let no one leave bearing none!"

After another moment, the dozen bombs appeared around Ainz instantly. It didn't take long for the bombs to start exploding like fireworks, the blast radius covering not only Ainz himself with a blast wave, but also Nobunaga and Mephistopheles himself.

And, perhaps, the only real victim of the bombs was Mephistopheles himself.

The explosions could compare quite reasonably with an army warehouse filled with explosive ordinance that had caught on fire, but that was just it, an explosion. Its summoning might be more comparable to a curse, capable of being summoned even inside a person and its function esoteric and unique, but its effect in the end is nothing more than a mundane explosion, if one that can harm Servants. Just an explosion is not even enough to bother its intended target this time.

For Nobunaga, any physical things - and the explosions of Mephistopheles' bomb were a very physical object - was nothing more than a bright flash. Jack also didn't have to worry about being hit by an explosion - she was probably protected by one of the most protected creatures in the Singularity itself, Ainz. Mephistopheles was the one with the least luck - an explosion flared up and engulfed his body, instantly interrupting Caster's long clowninsh act and vaporised him where he stood.

Ainz did not even feel the explosions. Thanks to his monstrous defense, even a Noble Phantasm of this level could at best equate to a blow to the shoulder, perhaps even less. As if a wave of heat passed down his back and was no more than a simple unpleasant feeling.

Although the blast wave did still inconvenience him somewhat. The blast wave, although it could not damage his body in any significant way, damaged his mundane clothes quite severely, tearing at least a significant part of his shirt.

Fortunately, Ainz's belt survived and he did not risk being left without his pants.

After another moment, when the blast wave had passed them over and allowed the dust to settle, Ainz instantly realized what a foolishness he had done. Damn it, he should have just teleported!

Ainz let out a long sigh, shaking his head, before pulling away from Jack. After which he pulled off his ruined shirt, it seems that his faithful uniform that had gone through so many events with him had died a brave death… Ainz chuckled at the strange image and shook his head.

"D-Daddy… Daddy, are you hurt?!" Jack, instantly seeing Ainz's torn clothes, immediately rushed to him, "Daddy, please don't die!

"I'm not dying." Ainz explained with a sigh and shook his head before asking the question that interested him, "Speaking of which, why are you calling me your dad?

"Because you are not Mommy…" - Jack, instantly calming down from Ainz's answer blinked before frowning. "But you are Mommy... In a different way."

Ainz took a deep sigh and shook his head. Remembering the hard to kill clown, just in case, he turned around, making sure that after all that happened, Mephistopheles had really died - "I'm not even quite sure... What kind of a mother I am."

"Daddy, is this Mommy?" - Jack instantly turned to Nobunaga, casting an appraising look her way.

Nobunaga, instantly assessing the look Jack is giving her, sighed and shook her head, - "No, I'm not mommy…"

Then, unexpectedly, Nobunaga stopped before slowly turning her gaze to Ainz and suddenly looked at Ainz with great concentration. "I'm not, am I?"

"No, I think not," Ainz blinked.

Great, he had children before he had sex! Such a thing could only happen with his strange luck!

"However... What is your name." - Ainz turned to the diminutive Servant, whose name he did not have time to ask before. The girl, noticing Ainz interest in her, perked up and answered excitedly.

"We have no name, daddy!" The Servant broke into a smile, "But others call us Jack the Ripper."

"Oh?" - Ainz blinked.

Jack the Ripper, ha... Ainz could also summon undead with that name, though with a starkly different look than the small girl in front of him. The summon was an ordinary and not the most significant mob of the 40th level, specialized in the tactics of Assassins and Rogues, whose lore description took at most a couple of paragraphs of text. Although, of course, Ainz also knew about the legendary maniac who once lived in... huh, what were the odds, London itself!

Ainz looked around and then let out a breath, "So… you're Jack the Ripper?"

"That's what they call us!" Jack smiled again with a big smile.

Ainz slowly took a deep breath...

Although, from a strange point of view, it even made sense. The undead Jack that he could summon was related to the undead Jack from this world. So it made sense that the Jack in front of him would also be an Undead!

"So you are an undead?" Ainz finally decided to discard the mythological background or any connections between the two Jacks and simply ask the Servant in question.

"Daddy, we don't know what an 'undead' is." Jack smiled.

"'Well, how to explain this… 'the 'undead' are people who died… but then rose from the dead." Ainz wracked his head on how to explain what an undead is simply to a child. At least that is how they are in brief, without explaining about the in-game esoteric lore about 'negative energy' and so on. Stuff that would definitely go over a child's head.

"Daddy, we are not dead!" - Jack smiled, - "We were never born!"

After that, Jack suddenly froze, instantly becoming saddened, - "We are sad that we were not born."

Ainz's brain suddenly froze and only the suppression of his emotions allowed him to ask the question suddenly burning in his mind calmly. - "Not born? So, um, you are... Unborn?"

"Yes," Jack nodded.

Ainz was shocked into a stupor.

An Unborn?! Here?! One of the highest classes of undead, comparable to the True Ancestor of Vampires?! Really?!

Among the hundreds of different races of YGGDRASIL, ghosts at the highest levels were the only ones who could become one of the Unborn. The Unborn was one of the peak races of the undead that Ainz himself knew - and he knew a lot about the Undead.

"Daddy, so what should we do?" Jack looked up at Ainz, forcing him to slowly reign in his excitement. There are more things to ascertain after all!

"Jack, that is… are you a ghost?" Ainz looked at Jack, slowly asking a question.

"We are all ghosts!" Jack smiled at Ainz. "All ten thousand of us are wights!

Ainz blinked in surprise once more, before the suppression of his emotions calmed him down. Ha, then ten thousand wights came together to form one unborn? That's logical, right?

Well, from the point of view of YGGDRASIL lore, such a thing was even probable…

"Daddy, so what should we do?" Jack stared at Ainz, expecting an answer. "Let's go look for Mommy?" Hmm, is this 'Mommy' also another High-Level Undead? Maybe following Jack might lead him to another rare find.

"Master.", - Nobunaga's voice brought some sense back to Ainz. It seems that the prospect of finding a rare collectible had distracted him somewhat. It would be a disgrace to be so blinded by rare loot that he failed the mission, no? - "I think we should retreat."

"Yes, exactly." Ainz shook his head and then looked at Jack, who continued to look at him with an attentive and adoring gaze.

In fact, everything he just did was necessary in the first place in order to check if a Servant could really be undead and that an undead could be a Servant. Ainz no longer needed any additional action and could now get rid of the enemy with a clear conscience. However...

Jack looked at Ainz like an adoring child, eager for her parent's attention. But, after making sure that Ainz was lost in thought, she turned her gaze to Nobunaga. Nobunaga, apparently determining that Jack was no longer a threat to her, took on her material form.

Ainz could easily kill a child. It wasn't the most pleasant thing he could do, but that was life. Especially considering that this child was a Servant, an enemy Servant no less. She was only docile thanks to his spell, which means a potential enemy, for whom the difficulty of killing his allies will not arise at all.

However, he was not a callous or soulless person. He had taken Jack under control with a strong mind control spell. An additional Servant in a battle was also preferable, and he would also deprive his enemy of Servant and adding to his advantage. Not to mention the information he could get from Jack was not to be underestimated.

Plus it was a bloody undead-ghost-Unborn Servant! It was such a rare find! It would be a waste to kill her now. Before Jack, Ainz had only managed to meet Dracula, who was a vampire, and even then he never received any worthwhile information due to his hostility and regeneration factor!

So with a sigh, Ainz decided to take control of Jack for a while, just in case.

Preparing for their subsequent teleportation, apparently the battle was over and he needed to retreat right now to another place. As he prepared his spell Ainz felt the voice of Arthuria touch his mind.

"Saber has disappeared."

---

Shakespeare watched with a smirk as the Servant led him.

King of Storms, huh. So pompous, so much derision, and yet the so-called King was the first to use the labors of his plans.

"Someone has taken control of Jack." The King's voice was a delight to Shakespeare's ears, because in addition to the usual mask of coldness, Shakespeare could discern a current of anger in it.

"Let it be." Shakespeare calmly dismissed the news, before adding some more explanation to interrupt the tirade that had not yet begun. "As far as I understood, this world still has not much time left. It seems that our King is beginning to get bored, and therefore any potential action you propose will be dismissed as too boring." Shakespeare explained with a flourish, further angering the Storm King. Hah, this is almost too easy.

"All our, hmm, colleagues have recovered from what just happened, and therefore the final act is already on the threshold. We have received actionable information about the enemy's Servants, and he - about us." Shakespeare finished with a pointed gesture. Truly if his calling are not as a playwright, he would not do too bad as an actor himself.

"The first rule of a good drama is not to procrastinate with a meaningless meandering plot, but to proceed to the climax at the most necessary of the moments - and it has almost arrived." He could barely hold the excitement in his voice. No need to clue in anyone about it after all.

The King of Storms cast a scornful glance at Shakespeare, but she could not argue with his points, instead she just spurred her horse forward, causing Shakespeare to snort softly.

The pompous King and her entourage of dummies believe that they are seriously needed for some grand purpose. They think they are fighting in a war, not realizing that the Singularity is just a decoration, a backdrop to an even greater play. And that they are just pitiful extras dancing in the first act - in order to 'warm up the viewer' a little before the start of the real performance.

The King of Storms thought Shakespeare was a jester, making him laugh.

She believed that he did not understand the seriousness of the situation, while she did not even know what the situation was! What a farce! If she would not cleave him in twain if he were to do it, he would probably burst out laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of the so-called 'Storm King'.

Shakespeare was an actor, and she was just an extra dragged onto the stage by a cruel author, convinced that in this battle people really die, and that the cardboard sword in her hands is a real relic.

Shakespeare grinned, then glanced at a black spot in the sky that stood out even against the dark carpet of the night sky.

Indeed, the funniest thing was that the jester did not consider himself a jester.

The play was approaching its climax.

---

Excerpt from a historical monograph: "Gilles de Rais and Bluebeard."

Although there are not so many people in the world that would not know about La Pucelle of France Joan of Arc, the name of her most loyal general and follower, Gilles de Rais, is often undeservedly forgotten. Although the story of the great general of France is no less interesting than the story of the saint, to which he dedicated his life, many have forgotten him. Perhaps they prefer the tragic tale of the pure Saint scorned by her people than the tale of a righteous man turned mad. Though Gilles de Rais might be forgotten, none could forget Bluebeard.

One of the richest people in France of his time, the knight and commander of the French army was one of the first who swore allegiance to Jeanne d'Arc. Even after the death of the Saint and her public execution at the stake, he continued to fight, believing in the infallibility of the holy virgin. He became, perhaps, one of the main factors of the devastating defeat of the British following the Hundred Years' War.

The great general of France, who had earned the sincere loyalty of his soldiers during his numerous battles, became a symbol of the French monarchy itself. Until the end of his service, Gilles de Rais remained one of the closest favorites of the King, the keeper of order in the former English territories and a symbol of the noble chivalry of all Europe whose chivalry and nobility were recognized even by the Englishmen.

However, his unquenchable faith in Jeanne d'Arc and her nature as a chosen maiden of God became a major source of conflict with France's first estate, the clergy. As even after she was burned at the stake and condemned as a witch, Gilles de Rais refused to denounce his idol, a subject that became a major stumbling block and source of contention in his ensuing animosity with the church after he retired from the army at the venerable age of sixty-two…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 85: Road to Londinium

A war council - as it could be called - settled in Jekyll's living room. The sight of which caused him to bellow indignantly, at least that's what he wanted to do, as armored Servants began seating haphazardly on his favorite couch, deforming it with the weight of their armor. Some Servants literally pushed him out of his comfortable chair at the desk. And how one certain Servant at the moment, with sincere childish curiosity, continued to study - or, more simply, destroy - his assembled radio station. At least that's what he wanted to do.

Jekyll himself was forced to remain silent - to his own considerable regret, the situation at the moment was definitely unsatisfactory to his British predisposition for beauty and comfort.

Ainz, not paying any attention to the silently fuming Jekyll, thoughtfully continued to look at the assembled Servants in the living room. Servants to whom Jack had already told all the information available to her. The situation definitely merits some thoughts.

With the number of Servants opposing them…

Any other person in his place would have been afraid of what they're going to encounter, with Servants more akin to the forces of nature, or divine anger. However, Ainz was not particularly concerned about the Servants who were on the side of the enemy. Of course, he wouldn't do something so blatantly stupid and just ignored his opponents, blindly rushing forward. But, at the same time, Ainz, one way or another, is, if not stronger than any Servant, then at least one of the strongest. And so, that fact in mind, he began the preparation with those that are, nominally speaking at least, on his side.

However, hmm, taking into account the relative strength of both sides, in the current situation even his help might not be enough.

While Ainz was not worried about his safety, for the most part, the safety of the other Servants however… were in much more danger than Ainz himself would have liked. Servants who summoned other Servants through the Grail were not a new phenomenon for Ainz, however, the danger they represented should not be discounted. Servants after all had the disgusting ability to show the most unexpected of surprises from their pockets as soon as they were cornered.

Any Servants could be dangerous. And, if Jack's information were correct, and she had provided as accurate information as she could thanks to one of his abilities, then some of the Servants of the enemy were really dangerous… Even Ainz needed to be careful if he were to face some of them.

However, in the end, even if the worst happened and some of the Servants had powers that were laughably strong even by Ainz's own standards, Ainz was not in any way unarmed and in no way was defenseless. Therefore, gritting his teeth and calming his paranoia - he could say that even with the most pessimistic of estimates, he would most likely break through without significant losses.

However, the existence of this 'King' figure, about the most powerful King - was information of a different level of importance.

Of course, ideally it would just be one of the Demon Kings, but what if it was a Grand Servant? Even Da Vinci was unable to determine either the ability, or the level of power, or the personality of these possible Grand Servants. What if it wasn't a Grand Servant, but something even more dangerous, something that the Grand Servants were summoned to fight? What if his opponent turns out to be stronger than anything he has met before? What if he can't win as confidently as before?

For comparison sake, it would not have been difficult for Ainz to kill all of the Servants present here. However, it would have been quite difficult to protect them all. If his opponent was strong enough, then Ainz was not sure that he could protect the Servants, or even that he could successfully resolve the Singularity in a satisfactory manner. He was not in his most suitable form for a successful battle - and no one could predict what would happen next...

Ainz exhaled and massaged his throbbing temples with his hands.

---

Henry Jekyll was under a great deal of stress. Stemming from the fact that Jack tried to take away his radio for spare parts, from the fact that the other Servants were slowly destroying his favorite sofa - but primarily from the situation in which he found himself at the moment.

Jekyll felt like the hero of a novel - which was especially ironic, considering that in the future, as a Servant, he would become much better known as the hero of a tabloid novel than as a real, existing scientist. And on some sort of universal whim, he was here, looking at Servants, real heroes, in front of him.

Jekyll even let out a chuckle in his mind - could it be said that he was now facing his greatest fear? The fear of death, the fear of facing an invincible monster is still one of the most primal fears of humanity. And therefore Jekyll had to say that he was not locked in the pages of a tabloid novel at the moment, but in a very real nightmare.

However, at the same time, Jekyll could say that he was now living a completely different book. A book that he wouldn't mind reading at that. Of course, the horrors facing him, Servants, battles, his inevitable death in the end should not be discounted. And it was not worth pretending that these things did not bother Jekyll at all - yet, at the same time he could smile at the fact that he, in some sense, is living in a heroic fantasy.

There is no moral duality about it, no moral ambiguity, this is a battle for the fate of the world. A battle, in which he was, albeit not the most important, but still a participant of. His Servant self was hundreds of times stronger than he was during his lifetime - and hundreds of times more dangerous. He would provide all possible help to the heroes and hope that they will not forget to remember him one day. He could face an invincible adversary - and at the very least show a good showing.

It wasn't the best ending Jekyll could have imagined in his life - but it definitely wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.

---

Andersen absolutely did not care about what was happening in front of him. Him, of all people, fighting other Servants? Hogwash.

Once, he had clearly and unequivocally stated that he was an absolutely useless Servant, that he would not make a single move to save humanity. And since then he has completely and unambiguously gone along with what he said.

He didn't and couldn't help in combat. Andersen chuckled - anyone who expected him to fight had to be a complete idiot, in addition to having a perverse taste. Seeing as the burning desire they have to see a child fighting, a child without any fighting capabilities at that.

He could not participate in the creation of battle plans, and while he possessed a large amount of Mana pretty much useless as a Caster, he also preferred not to use his Noble Phantasm, in general as a Servant he was surprisingly useless in the current conditions. Exactly as Andersen himself said.

"I am a third-rate Servant so you can't expect any help from me" And after uttering these words any questions about Andersen's suitability for battle should not have appeared in the mind of any observer.

Andersen was just an author, just an observer of other people's battles, just a useless chronicler, writing down line by line of his oft discarded manuscripts.

And even if those around him did not need another author, content with a story that they wrote on their own, then what was Andersen, except as a useless appendix to the Singularity?

All that was left for him to do in this case was simply to write his own meaningless notes in the margins. As a watcher of significant battles, heroic actions, the awakening of indestructible monsters and the result of horrific battles as they take place in front of him. And as the one to put the dots at the end of the sentence when others, much more significant than him, Servants - take their step.

---

Arthuria looked thoughtfully from Ainz then back to herself.

Her son, Mordred, had betrayed her again during the Battle for Britain. If it weren't for Arthuria's usual gloomy mood, she might even chuckle at how much history was prone to repeating itself.

Arthuria did not consider herself guilty of betraying Mordred's expectations, not when it first happened, much less now.

Of course, anyone could say that Arthuria did not need much trouble to change history. Just a couple of words - 'yes, you will be my heir' - and history would have taken a different path. Those who thought so were idiots.

Mordred was not destined to be king, her mind confused by the ideals of Arthuria - and it was disgusting. Mordred was faithful to Arthuria to the last drop of her blood - and it was disgusting. Mordred shared the ideals of Arthuria - and it was disastrous.

It was foolish to think that Arthuria - at least the Arthuria which she was now, the Black Tyrant - was so blind and stupid not to notice the ripening discontent of the people. Arthuria understood that her ideals of chivalry, the tyranny of the law, were burdensome for normal people.

How enthusiastically they greeted her returning from the war - was just as angrily they reproached her. Again and again collecting disastrous taxes borne by the commoners with backbreaking work. How the bard's tales sang in praise of her - as they also made fun of her every decision. She created a worthy kingdom - however, only her closest associates and her most sworn enemies could appreciate her actions as worthy.

The King's path is the path of loneliness.

Arthuria knew that one day her time would come and she would leave behind a powerful country that languishes under the yoke of her power. A wave that hits the shore must return to the ocean again before returning.

After Arthuria, her state needed a king who was not at all like her. Someone less cruel and formidable, someone more gentle and beloved. Not a Black Tyrant who ruled with the inexorable power of their blade, but a gentle diplomat, ready for compromise and understanding.

Mordred was not that.

She was sharp, sublime and madly in love with the image of her father. She would lead Britain into new wars, into new battles, bring up new knights and capture all the British Isles hundreds of years earlier than it happened. She loved her Father so dearly after all, and Father couldn't be wrong.

Mordred was not supposed to rule, so Arthuria did what she always did. She threw away the helping hand that Mordred had offered her.

Of course, another Arthuria could have his own opinion on this matter, but the opinion of the Black Tyrant was as it always was.

And yet, Mordred, the stupid girl would continue to fight for Arthuria. Faithful to the last drop of her blood.

Therefore, Mordred was not supposed to become King.

What Arthuria created by her rule was a red-hot blade, but not yet the sword that Britain would later become. And in order to harden the blade, it was necessary to know for sure that it would not break from the next crash of the blacksmith's hammer. Mordred simply didn't understand how to rule what Arthuria had created. And so Arthuria refused Mordred, and so they crossed blades at the fields of Camlann.

Mordred could not escape from the captivity of her own thoughts, desires, and beliefs. She could not rise above her obsessions with the throne and therefore rushed into battle.

And so Arthur's blood was shed by Clarent by her own actions. The uprising broke out because of the words and actions of Arthuria herself - and Arthuria could say that she had not expected that it was she herself who would become the cause of her own death.

The battle between the two Kings, each of which was so similar to each other, did not end in victory or defeat.

Mordred died, but at the very last moment inflicted a mortal wound on Arthuria. Everything that happened next was just its consequence. Arthuria perished, as all heroes do. And her legendary city the shining Camelot turned into nothing but dust, as all legends do at the end.

Arthuria and Mordred both fell in battle. However, what a pity, Arthuria was here again. She was now doomed to continue battling, over and over again facing the ghosts of the past. Fighting for all of humanity... What a funny ending for a story like hers.

And now she was once again face to face with the only enemy that she could never win against.

Arthuria allowed a stupid question into her head. Did Ainz think the same way?

Did he see the ghosts of the past before him? Did he consider his battle to be some kind of cosmic joke? Did he worry about the lives entrusted to him? Did he look at them distantly or not?

Ainz stood out as an unattainable bulwark for the Servants - and Arthuria always wondered why? Ainz was strong, perhaps even invincible - but the colorful epithets that others used to denote him always seemed to her, if not undeserved, then at least far-fetched.

However, Ainz, in a sense, was the opposite of Arthuria - but had a strange resemblance to her. Arthuria, who was beyond the reach of humans - and Ainz, who was always with the Servants. And at the same time - Arthuria, who was able to kill her own child - and Ainz, who could not only defeat the strongest Servant under his command - but was not even afraid of her betrayal. Both were perfect kings, conscious of their loneliness among the crowd. Such a similarity and such a stark difference…

---

Oda Nobunaga thoughtfully looked at herself - and at Ainz.

King and King, both of them.

Nobunaga had never even imagined that one day she would face someone so similar and so different from herself. She, Oda Nobunaga, was the embodiment of people's hatred for every legend of Oda Nubanaga. Arrogant, as befits a human, and confident in her strength, as befits humanity. Hot and loud - against the cold and quiet king, who looks at the world not from the position of a person, but from the position of a ruler. Nobunaga, who brought fire and hatred, the destruction of temples and of legends - and her... Opponent? Perhaps that was the most appropriate word. Not an enemy, but an adversary, as if the legend of a knight in shining armor was embodied was now facing her.

However, if you open the wrapper, the shell that is her legend, then Nobunaga had nothing behind her soul. Nothing except for her own invented feats, which did not happen, truly she was the Fool of Owari. Within her adversary was a legend long in history, not on display, but embodied through his every word, movement, and action. What a strange difference and what a strange resemblance - a legend devoured by history versus a history devouring legend.

Nobunaga could say that his victory in their duel was obvious, just as much the amount of cheating had been obvious. But then she, Oda Nobunaga, paying distaste to something like cheating? Ha preposterous!

Still, at the same time she could say that the duel had just begun. Nobunaga, possessing hatred and strength, lost to calmness and conviction. Not in the battle, but after it. Although it might not even have been called a battle in the full sense - however, when she accepted help from Ainz, Nobunaga really realized that their past duel meant nothing. It wasn't even a battle — not in the eyes of her opponent, at least. Indeed, he did not see what happened either as his victory or as her defeat, but only as the beginning of the real battle. A false king against a real king - perhaps their 'duel' could be called that.

A battle in which the false king needed to cast aside all prejudice and act smarter, stronger and better than he believed was necessary.

Indeed, their duel was just beginning...

---

Da Vinci enthusiastically wondered - what was her favorite hobby? More than designing, embroidery, mixing cocktails, parachuting, riding horses and about twelve hundred other hobbies that Da Vinci was fond of in her free, but, alas, absent time. What is it she likes the most?

Da Vinci was thinking about everything at the same time. About the correct scientific location of time zones, about the history of the discovery of America, about the reasons for the emergence of the First French Republic and many other exciting things. But still, at the moment, Da Vinci was especially keen on thinking about the situation in which she found herself in.

Da Vinci did not have a false sense of modesty, something which other people liked to disguise their desire for compliments as. She, not needing additional praise from competitors, knew full well how much she was superior to many.

However, not all.

Da Vinci was lucky to meet with several people whose genius was not inferior to herself. But even if their capability would balance out in one area - as soon as someone weighed all the talents with which Da Vinci was bequeathed with - the true genius would become obvious to any observer.

And that is why the current situation was so interesting - and perhaps even frightening for Da Vinci.

She was accustomed to the fact that even if someone could surpass her in one area, by a miracle perhaps, and only for a moment and only in some insignificant detail, she was an invincible and all-knowing colossus of reason. There was a reason why she was embodied as the universal man.

And therefore, encountering the unknown was for Da Vinci... A highly unusual phenomenon.

And if Ainz's appearance ultimately turned into only an excellent act of cognizing an endless array of completely different information, an act attractive to Da Vinci's mind, then the collision with another, new adversary was a dubious event for Da Vinci.

Da Vinci was not used to not having information - and what she knew about the Grand Servants, and, as it turned out, about the Singularities in general, was incomplete. Not only incomplete, but possibly even false.

Who was behind all of this? Who controlled the Servants? Who ruled the Demon Kings?

Unlike Ainz, the lack of an answer to this information did not please Da Vinci with the sleepless nights full of sublime knowledge ahead of her. The lack of an answer to this question only meant that Da Vinci was unprepared for what challenges the Singularity would present to her in the future - and the whole rewriting of subsequent history.

And, unlike the funny situation in which Da Vinci found herself for the first time after meeting Ainz, this situation did not cause any joy in Da Vinci.

---

Medusa gave Ainz a slow glance before turning her gaze to herself.

The situation in which she found herself in was more uncertain than she herself first thought.

Of course, the battle for the fate of humanity was not the most appropriate time and place to show sympathy. But at the same time, she was not at all happy with the current situation. It was like a stalemate in which Medusa could not act and was forced to only wait. Wait for the end, possibly endless stalemate, to make her move.

Although Medusa did not want to fight, she naturally had to. From the very moment she had received the Grail from Ainz, she had used her abilities, everything given to her just for Ainz. She had used all her strength to do only what Ainz liked. And thanks to the Grail, she had found newfound strength in herself, and with the Singularities many opportunities to use them. Even now, with the exception of Ainz, she was one of the strongest Servants in this Singularity. After all, Ainz liked strong Servants who did not waste time on useless tactics and preferred efficiency to showiness. Therefore, Medusa could not take a step forward - but she really wanted to.

She wanted this battle to end, so that there was no threat to humanity behind Ainz's back, so that he would not continue to fight over and over again, forcing Medusa to just watch and wait, unable even to help.

Medusa really didn't want Ainz to continue this battle.

But she believed, she truly believed that he would win. That the enemy would lose, that Ainz would come back to her - and this senseless struggle with the unknown would end.

---

Mashu wasn't sure about her current situation.

She wasn't particularly needed in the current Singularity - but neither was her presence here wasted.

Casting a furtive glance at Ainz, she clenched her fists.

At least she definitely figured out what she needed to tell Ainz. About her condition, about her remaining life and about...

'About my bright feelings, about how grateful I am that he trusts me!' Galahad's squeaky voice made Mashu grimace. 'About the fact that I faced an invincible horror - and how his radiant figure was able to save me. How, holding against all the horror of the world, I saw salvation in his arms…'

'Galahad, tell me, is it necessary for your existence that you spoil my mood?' - Mashu closed her eyes for a second - 'Servants need mana, but you need your dirty comments, right?'

'Almost!' - Galahad chuckled in her mind - 'But no, of course, I have no real need to spoil your girlish dreams - it's just, you know, not very pleasant when such thoughts begin to surface in your mind! You know, where I'm staying!?'

Mashu blinked before frowning for a second. 'In my mind? Our mind is divided, isn't it?'

There was no response to this before Galahad cleared his throat uncertainly - 'Anyway…'

'Don't change the topic!' - Mashu instantly flared up before Galahad surreptitiously fell silent - 'You can't go away now of all times!'

Perhaps Galahad really couldn't get away with answering forever. But this time, he definitely managed to do it. No need to spring that can of worms after all.

---

Jalter exhaled, rolling her eyes.

It was just not serious - her being here in this 'war council' was the most pointless pastime one could imagine. In fact, the entire Singularity took only two days, which made Jalter feel even more useless. She never even fought in a battle, and therefore, in fact, she was only needed for accompanying the rest of the Servants. Amazing efficiency, as you would expect from her Master!

However, Jalter still could not be angry with Ainz. She really was needed as, in fact, insurance. To protect Mashu, to strike a blow against the enemy, to do some dirty work... And should she really be angry with her Master? He was smart, smart enough to see the need for Jalter in the current Singularity - and Jalter would not argue with that. And the need to be brought along to the Singularity - could this be considered a payment for her summoning? Shouldn't she have been glad that she wasn't even forced to fight, huh?

Jalter glanced at Ainz, who, in the end, apparently came to a certain conclusion and uttered his next words slowly. "It seems… I know what our plan will look like."

---

Jack was the last thing, person, interested in Ainz's plans. More precisely, if Jack thought that Ainz would be pleased if she listened to his plans, then she would definitely, with all her might, focus on understanding Ainz's plan.

She would not understand it, but would shake her head attentively, expecting Daddy's praise in response.

However, since Ainz did not give Jack a specific task, she ignored the plan, continuing to methodically spin Jekyll's radio, causing him to involuntarily grit his teeth, just to see how exactly the little talking people could hide in this box?

"Jack.", - Daddy's voice, however, made Jack immediately turn to him, - "Will you help me?"

What else could Jack answer to this question, except, with exuberant acceptance. "Of course, Daddy!"

---

Fran continued to glance at everyone present - which, however, was not easy for the others to see because of Fran's particular hairstyle.

Fran wasn't stupid. She could not speak... But she was not stupid. She understood what was required of her.

Perform a task. Collect the Grail. Fight and protect your allies.

A simple plan that could not fail at any stage.

---

Ainz exhaled and looked at all of his Servants.

Nobunaga, Mashu, Jalter, Medusa, Da Vinci and Arthuria.

Ha…

And the King is in front.

Ainz inhaled slowly and exhaled.

It's time to deal with the Singularity. Hey if his plan worked he might have broken a record or something!

---

Excerpt from the historical monograph: "Gilles de Rais and Bluebeard."

After leaving military service, Gilles de Rais of course did not lose his wealth and influence, also remaining a royal favorite. And the last reason is precisely why his persistent faith in the Holy Virgin, whom he had placed on the same pedestal as Jesus, was the perfect excuse for the church to start an unofficial war with him.

Due to the emerging cult of the dark aspect of Joan of Arc, the actions of the church were quite simple - accused him of demon worship and participation in this cult. A cult in which, according to historical evidence, Gilles de Rais was not a member of. And so with the church's officials' accusations he was excommunicated, a very serious thing during the time.

Is it any wonder then that soon after Gilles de Rais, a hero of France was betrayed by his supporters and executed as a devil worshiper, cultist and traitor to France. Perhaps the man himself would rejoice at dying the same way as his idol. Just as Peter, couldn't stand as being crucified the same way as Jesus did.

The lie was so persistent that, even among a certain group of historians, he is still considered a very unheroic person. It didn't help matters that, several hundred years after his death, a very famous pirate captain took his name into further infamy by calling himself the same name.

With such mixed reputations, he was simultaneously numbered among the Holy Great Martyrs of Chirstianity, and yet at the same time was repeatedly excommunicated from the church after his death. Which is why at the moment Gilles de Rais is equally known as the embodiment of Christian virtues - and as a well-known demon worshiper and one of the few people excommunicated twice, before and after his death.

It was the death of Gilles de Rais due to the actions of the church that became one of the earliest causes of French dissatisfaction with the church. Many historians point to this very event as the reason that, even now, almost ninety-nine percent of the population of France professes Protestantism named after Jeanne d'Arc...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: Life in Chaldea

Focalor's new living conditions, his new life, were wonderful.

For a start — Focalor was alive, and that was the most important thing for… Her.

It was necessary for her to spell out by just how much her new living conditions rock, even if just for mental reasoning. And therefore it was worth listing the positive features of Focalor's life in Chaldea.

First and foremost, other than the fact that she's alive, is that she wasn't forced to undergo heinous magical experiments… Okay, an outside observer that knew of her previous appearance might say otherwise. Though taking into account that her previous appearance was of a tentacled made of eyes giant pillar, only a serious pervert would think of her current appearance as a downgrade.

In particular, Focalor was not in her original body at the moment, she was currently in the body of Da Vinci. To be more precise — in a body made by Da Vinci. Which, while not looking like Da Vinci, was one of the alternative bodies of Da Vinci herself. A body which she once considered as one of the possible options as her 'body'. Ok, maybe she should start at the beginning, since with only that description it made Da Vinci sound like a deranged killer.

Speaking simply, Focalor had acquired a body, a homunculus body created by Da Vinci. The body, as befits Da Vinci's predilections, was female. A person who would only and could only give up her eccentric love for female beauty in all its aesthetic variations for the sake of her old friends and respected colleagues. And so, as expected, Focalor's new body was female.

Focalor had mixed emotions about the fact. Focalor, a Demon King, in the past lived in a body that could not be called either female or male, but could only be called an eldritch monster beyond human comprehension. Therefore, living in a body with an appearance that possessed all primary and secondary sexual characteristics was unusual for Focalor.

Not strange and not repulsive mind you, but just unusual. Like a third hand suddenly appearing on a body of a person — if the third hand were a chest, groin, a sensual timbre of voice and face and… Body.

Yes, Focalor was not the greatest master of words — she was a Demon King. Their kind usually used an incredible level of magic and their connection with the King of Kings, not a sublime syllable!

Ha, yes, Focalor's King… his Former King, ha.

Focalor, even up to this point, not really sure how she would address her 'former' King. Of course if she was unlucky enough to meet her former King now… she would 'die' in close order.

A strange situation, however, was presented to Focalor now.

After the information that she had possessed were 'shaken' out of her, she was left alive. Were she to be 'killed', and not in the way Flauros were killed, she would simply return to the King. She did not. Whatever Ainz had done to her had cut her connection with her former King, and without the connection Focalor did not have enough strength even to retain her own existence. Not to mention magic. And so she had entered into a contract with Ainz, in result saving her life. In return, she was to inhabit a body that was completely human and, given that Da Vinci was the creator of this body, of the highest quality.

Considering, however, that Focalor wasn't exactly 'trusted', Da Vinci customized this body before Focalor could use it. At least the things added to the body were supposedly only for security purposes.

A built-in spell that tracked Focalor's whereabouts all the time, transferring her whereabouts straight to the chief and Da Vinci herself. A built-in guarantee of loyalty in the form of a spell that could kill Focalor when she tried to defect to the side of her past patron. Though, for some reason, Da Vinci seemed to have another ulterior motive in making Focalor use this body.

However, not that there was any need for her new patrons to worry about in that part. The King of Kings was not one of the most forgiving personalities and was obviously smart enough not to fall for Focalor's word games. If she even has the chance to try to explain her previous behavior and betrayal.

As already stated, Demon Kings were not the greatest masters of the word, preferring to take a working but direct approach.

Therefore, there's no need to worry about whether or not Focalor would engage in any suspicious activities, she was not that stupid.

However, not to say that her new patron was too different from her previous one. Yes, he could kill Focalor at any moment with a snap of his fingers. Kinda like the King if she ever annoys him too much actually. Now, while his patron hasn't killed Focalor, for now. Given that the King of Kings could resurrect Focalor at any moment in time when he killed her, and her new patron has not yet demonstrated his willingness to do the same. In general, in this regard everything turned out to be about the same.

Moreover, what Focalor does in Chaldea also did not differ much from what he usually does in the Temple of the King. That is, most of the time Focalor spent his time in the Temple in inaction. A pastime where, without a direct order from the King, she would be doing all the time. And just as in Chaldea, perhaps because her new patron doesn't trust her enough yet, she did not have any orders, mostly being left to herself. Within certain reasonable limits, of course. This point also coincided between her patrons.

And, in the same way, in the Temple of the King, Focalor's main pastime during her long downtime was interacting with her brothers. Therefore, as logic follows, interacting with the local inhabitants of Chaldea should also have been her main pastime here.

Surprisingly, it would be a very novel experience for Focalor. Communicating with creatures who were not in a mental connection with Focalor herself, an interaction limited by the speed of pronunciation of words. How unusual this experience would be!

And therefore, having finally gotten a handle on her new form, a disgusting ordeal. Did you know that people needed food and… what horror, to do the reverse process too!? After passing through that challenge, from time to time, Focalor decided to start making contacts with the inhabitants of Chaldea.

---

A quite significant number of Servants were currently in Chaldea. Strange creatures, similar to the Demon Kings and very much unlike them. Focalor couldn't quite grasp what their existence is like, perhaps if she spent more time with them, she will.

Their number exceeded all reasonable and unreasonable limits that a Master could support. According to the now deceased Flauros, Chaldea would use some sort of technology to support the many Servants Chaldea's masters were to summon. It being a linchpin in Chaldea's function it would be strange if Flauros didn't thoroughly sabotage it. So, why are there so many Servants?

According to the knowledge of Focalor herself, one magus could support one, two, maybe three Servants at a time if they were to use human sacrifices or were camped on a leyline. However, considering who Focalor's new King was, a figure at least equal to her past King, the number of Servants as a fact did not cause Focalor much surprise.

She was more surprised by the number of non-Servants still existing in Chaldea. After Flauros' incessant proclamation of his success, she assumed that her King's opponent was the only survivor of Flauros' subterfuge, a plan the King put personal attention to. But even with this information, Focalor could come to terms with and get along with the humans in Chaldea.

The most surprising fact for Focalor was that she couldn't meet a possible colleague for conversation!

No, of course, it doesn't mean that Chaldea was empty, far from it in fact! From time to time, she noticed the flickering shadows of other Servants and people here and there. But so far she still has not received any opportunity to start a dialogue with them even when she wanted to.

Take Medea for example. A conversation with the legendary witch was in itself a great chance for Focalor. Not only to learn the local order of life, entertainment and possible expectations of her new Master, but also to discuss with her the magic of the modern world. Perhaps she even would be able to learn something that would be new and useful even for the former Demon King.

Finally, after a long time searching, Focalor sensed Medea's presence together with another person. Rustling through her recent memories, she found who it was. The feeling this person gave of — the chief, Olga-Marie, was strange from the point of view of Focalor. At the very least Focalor had never managed to strike up a dialogue with her even when they met. Anyway, Focalor followed where his senses were leading him to.

Having found the legendary witch in one of the training grounds, opening the door Focalor was met with the most curious picture.

The Chief of Chaldea, Olga-Marie, was diligently studying Medea's lectures. She would write down in a notebook anything Medea spoke off, Medea's expertise made the lecture a lecture on magic, naturally.

And it was weird seeing the legendary Witch of Betrayal herself, periodically interrupting her impromptu lecture in order to look over Olga-Marie's notes. And then, more often than not, breathe out a little sigh and re-explained the information she just said with a more accessible language.

Although, Focalor could even admit to herself that the idea of using a Caster Servant, and an outstanding magus and a great witch like Medea as a teacher, was not devoid of logic. Not at all, in a sense it was not just logical, it was even a smart move.

Medea, seeing Focalor by the door, did not deign to even utter a word at the visiting Demon King. She simply sent the former Demon King away with a gesture, not allowing her to interrupt the educational process. Unable to contradict Medea and her decision, Focalor could only obey and leave.

However, if Focalor could still put up with seeing Medea, who for some reason acquired the habits of an experienced teacher in a terrifyingly short time. Or Olga-Marie, who turned out to be a good student even though she was supposed to be the boss of all of them. Then the surreal note her travels around Chaldea would later give her, weirded out even the eldritch being.

For example, how should she feel about Hassan-i-Sabbah, the legendary assassin and leader of the Order of Assassin of his time, taking cooking lessons from Archer, the unknown hero of humanity?

Archer, by the way, cooked excellently. Focalor in the past had managed to ascertain of fact with her own experience. Mysteriously enough, Hassan of the Cursed Hand, apparently, was a fairly capable student of the culinary art. Sensitive enough tongue to be a good cook and quick-witted enough to grasp the lessons of cooking on the fly.

How should Focalor feel about this? The first time she saw this, she even rubbed her eyes to double-check for sure that her eyes were not playing tricks on her. Had Archer not seen Focalor and reacted accordingly, Focalor would ask Da Vinci for a new body.

However, even with Archer calling out to her, the surreal picture before Focalor's eyes did not even think to disappear. A fact which only added to the strangeness of the situation.

Focalor even thought about joining that surreal picture and accepting Archer's offer to taste what they're cooking. However, deciding that this was the only oddity in Chaldea, Focalor decided to ignore the event to preserve her common sense. Sadly, as it turned out a little later, it was an effort in vain.

Focalor soon after leaving the kitchen encountered the next oddity in the corridors of Chaldea. Hector, one of the most legendary of the spear men, the hero of Troy, ran along the corridors of Chaldea with a grin. He looked like he was even having fun as he ran for his life.

Focalor's first thought was that if even Hector, the legendary hero, was fleeing, something terrible and harrowing must have happened. Perhaps the King of Kings had invaded Chaldea? Focalor was so frozen in fear that she immediately lost sight of the Servant of Troy.

However, the merry company of Servants who swept past her put a bold cross on this fear of Focalor. Of course the sight she saw would still be nightmarish to most people.

Servants, legendary heroes of mankind, its hope and greatest, the embodiment of the power of all human history, rushed with a cheerful roar through the corridors of Chaldea, shouting curses and threats to Hector as they ran past Focalor.

The legendary bloodied emperor, the insane Nero was first in line. Judging by her appearance, she was clearly enjoying a kind of game of catch-up as only small children can. Of course the threats, threatening to find Hector, catch up and punish him with a terrible and painful punishment was perhaps not as normal.

Following close behind her was Cú Chulainn, the legendary sage and hero of the Celts, the son of the Sun God, Lugh Samildanach. Hearing Nero's threats chortled out that the most terrible and painful punishment in Nero's arsenal was her singing. A grave insult for which he was instantly forced to evade a rose thrown at him in response by Nero. Which, in spite of its magnificent and beautiful symbolism, crashed into the wall without any problems, Cu Chulainn having dodge the flowery projectile. A wise decision as the rose pierced clean through Chaldea's reinforced concrete leaving only the beautiful rose's crown to mark its passing.

However, even such an oddity Focalor could still write off as a duel. Some sort of revenge, a bloody feud lasting millennia... for some unknown reason. Maybe something about the Trojans and the Romans supposedly being ancestors? If Focalor made every effort to ignore the happy grin the Servants were having while they rushed about Chaldea, of course. Considering their gleeful laughter as it happens, and the lack of bloodlust, it was more of an ongoing game rather than a real conflict.

In any case, as soon as she noticed the Servants passing by, she was forced to start searching for the other Servants. She then picked an unassuming bland door as her destination as she sensed two Servants behind them. If she had known beforehand who it were, she would have quickly ran away instead.

The next Servants on Focalor's path were Servants whom she was afraid to approach.

And if Mozart, leading a quiet secular conversation, stimulated only positive emotions in Focalor, then his colleague is quite the opposite.

Baal - or at least that is how the man of unremarkable appearance introduced himself. Should she take his similar name to a past colleague of hers as a sign of how dangerous the man is? The man was currently conducting some kind of dialogue with Mozart in a quiet, calm and absolutely freezing manner. So Focalor, as soon as she glanced quietly through the open door to notice who was inside, ran away in a flash.

Mozart evoked interesting feelings in Focalor's soul - a musician who was destined to become the Demon King, but was able to outwit even the King of Kings' stunning plan, gracefully leaving from under his all-seeing gaze, Focalor would be glad to talk to him. However, Baal on the other hand...

The other Servants or person did not cause so much hidden, unconscious anxiety, fear, panic in Focalor, as Baal did. In Focalor's mind he looked like a predatory plant - slow, unhurried, patiently waiting for the unwary fly to land in its jaw. His every gesture and words mere baits as sweet as the smell of honey to entrap them as deeply as he can.

Baal frightened Focalor to the point of trembling. And therefore, as soon as she noticed his presence in the room - Focalor fled. Though she was certain that Baal had noticed her arrival — if not her very approach — and was ready to ask Focalor to 'join' their conversation. A fate she wouldn't even wish on her worst enemies.

However, by chance or not, Mozart had interrupted Baal's jubilant invitation, giving Focalor the necessary few moments in order to escape from Baal's observant gaze.

Meeting with one of the frightening inhabitants of Chaldea gave Focalor the idea that interacting with the Servants might not be as pleasant of a pastime as she would like. However, in the absence of any better options, she continued to look for potential new acquaintances.

Luckily, a potential new contact was found quickly. However, at the same time, it could not be said that Focalor was ready to participate in a pleasant conversation after barely avoiding her doom.

After all, the next on the way of Focalor appeared the Servant, which was physically impossible not to hear.

Captain Francis Drake, the great privateer, the man who drowned the Sun, and the sole reason for the rise of the British Empire was drunk. A common condition for people in the navy, much more so for pirates Focalor could infer. The pirate captain was also a very sociable Servant, so hearing her boisterous voice was not that rare of an occurrence. The only thing that is strange is with whom she was talking to and how she was doing it. She was talking with a monster.

The giant colossus of a legendary monster, a monster so famous that his very name is still a household name thousands of years after his legends, the Minotaurus, sat in place with his legs bent, like a child. Still towering even above Focalor itself by a good two heads - and listened. And the monster listened as the drunken Drake continued to tell the story of her stormy life at sea, occasionally showing a menacing grin at a particularly interesting bit in Drake's story.

Moreover, Francis Drake managed not only to tell her story to the Minotaurus, but also to do it in a censored and polite language, as befit the Minotaurus actual age as a child. Something which was an outstanding achievement to the often swearing Pirate. Especially judging by the fact that next to Drake there were already two empty bottles of rum, and the third soon to becoming empty in the next two minutes.

However, an even stranger sight was that next to the Minotaurus, listening to the story of Francis Drake about her sea adventures with great rapture was Attila, the Scourge of God, the destroyer of civilizations, the King of Destruction, the Lord of the Huns. She sat silently and seemed to be carefully watching the Minotaurus, as if she was checking whether he liked the current story. A hypothesis that was soon proven correct as at certain moments, when the Minotaurus were beginning to feel saddened because of some sad part in Drake's story, she would send Drake a threatening look. An action that forced the Pirate Captain to change the retelling of her history from a brutal 'realpolitik' to the lighthearted tall tales of sailors.

Still, what would take the cake in the pyramid of weird things was the presence of Cainabel who was watching all this unfolds. The dreaded Vampire carefully observed Drake, the Minotaurus and especially Attila, who had acquired the name Altera. Her gaze made Focalor shudder and made her decide to look for other possible Servants and colleagues to communicate with. In other words, Focalor fled.

Perhaps Cainabel did not foment as much involuntarily repulsive fear as Baal's presence did, but her glance and blood-red eyes still induced a blood-curdling fear to arouse in Focalor's mind. And although there was no hidden excruciating pain that Baal's presence could create, one gaze of the goddess of vampires still caused some sort of pressure to push over her shoulder. Or something along those lines. Focalor was not familiar with her legend too well. It was still a strong enough hint that it was not worth interfering in her affairs.

Therefore, with a deep intake of breath and some moments to calm herself from the fact that the two most dangerous Servants at the moment were busy communicating with the rest of the Servants. Focalor decided to nevertheless find someone from her new colleagues that she could at least interact with.

Someone who isn't as weird as the legendary Heroes playing catch-up, the legendary Heroes cooking, the legendary Heroes telling tales from their lives, or the legendary Heroes interacting with the Demon Emperors.

That is why the following situation, against the background of everything seen before, did not even provoke a reaction from Focalor.

So, Jeanne d'Arc, The Saint Chosen by God, is preaching about the Christian God, the forgiveness and mercy of Jesus. It wasn't weird.

The fact that two goddesses were listening to Jeanne's sermon about God was a little stranger.

Stheno and Euryale, she had managed to find out a lot of information about them. It seems, with Ainz and Medusa busy in the Singularity, they were able to get out of their stupor. A state of horror and thoughtless fear, in which they had been in for quite a long time. It seems now they were making up for lost time with maximum zeal, practically filling the unfortunate preacher with questions. All the time interrupting her lecture about Christian virtues with questions like 'Is God real, like as a material spirit?'. Or with classics like 'Can God protect me in difficult times?'. And the nonsensical 'If, in theory, God comes out to fight Ainz, what are his chances?'. Oh, and Focalor was a hundred percent sure that Ainz would win that fight.

Moreover, Focalor could also notice the fact that, in addition to the girls' more than transparent hints of self-amusement and selfish goals. They did not forget to periodically insert questions about the other Servants, especially about Baal and Cainabel. Jeanne, surprisingly, was quite amenable to Cainabel, attributing small compliments to her. Baal on the other hand, was quite hated, as Jeanne periodically criticized his actions. Quite the damning complaint giving the Saint's kind nature. Perhaps it is to be expected, the Baal in Chaldea was not that different from the Baal from the Bible after all.

Jeanne, feeling a certain amount of embarrassment not only from the zeal with which the two Gorgon sisters and the sometimes racy question the sisters asked, tried to interrupt the stream of questions. However, the Gorgon Sisters' newfound zeal to make up for their lack of knowledge about the surrounding Servants, was unstoppable. Furthermore, after regaining some semblance of their past character, the opportunity to stop the Sisters did not seem real even to Focalor.

To intervene in this dialogue seemed to Focalor initially a funny idea, in the 'it's interesting' sense. She did have some past relations, if distant, with the Christian God. However, at the same time, judging by how playfully the Gorgons communicated with Jeanne, even if Focalor decided to join in on the girls' conversation - it is unlikely that she would get even one reply for the next few hours. An activity that would hardly count as 'interacting' with the Servants.

Therefore, after taking a deep sigh and quietly grumbling about what an incredible setback she has encountered in her search for Servants that she could interact with, Focalor was forced to continue her search.

A search that, this time lasted quite a very significant time. A search that in the end ended in vain. Focalor had found another Servant behind another door that, sadly even without Baal's or Cainabel's presence, she still could not enter. After all, she did not dare break into a private dialogue between people. Alas, Da Vinci's body possessed excellent hearing, as you would expect from a Genius of Geniuses' work, and Focalor accidentally became privy to something that was supposed to be confidential.

Behind the door of a small office, a Therapist Office she later noted, Focalor had found another Servant. Along with another unfamiliar presence, which could only mean that the other person was a normal human, quite the rarity in Chaldea. Although this person, perhaps, was unique, at least no less than Olga-Marie's. Judging by the somewhat whiny and grating voice that she could hear from outside the door, the person was Dr. Romani Archaman. And furthermore the Servant he was talking with was none other than Kiyohime.

Judging by Romani's soothing soft voice, something that is somewhat ruined by the undercurrent of panic Focalor could hear. The content of the conversation, however, is what takes things to the ludicrous.

It seems that Romani is trying to conduct some kind of therapy session as gently and soothingly as possible with Kiyohime. Focalor, without any particular problems, could imagine the Obsessive and somewhat Deranged Servant lying on a reclined sofa, her head thrown back, talking fervently about how beautiful Ainz was. And how much Roman slowly, diligently, with sweat on his brows tried to carefully touch on the topic of her murders of innocents. Especially about whether or not she would reenact a similar act in case any of the Servants present would dare to not bow to the illuminating beauty that is Ainz. Focalor could smell the fear emanating from the room, mainly from Romani.

Obviously, Romani conducted his service in a much more neatly and tactful way than in Focalor's description. He would barely brush the topic of discussion as he conducted his consultation, clearly understanding the danger that he's in. His caution was not without merit. Taking in mind Kiyohime's somewhat sordid legend, and her class as a Berserker, it was quite wise of Romani not to provoke the proverbial dragon. Berserkers after all were not the most reasonable and logical of the entire cohort of Servants.

To butt in on a private appointment between a psychotherapist and a Berserker… There's a joke there somewhere.

If she perhaps had a thing for dying in flames, Focalor would probably have decided to enter the room, interrupting someone's soul-healing, and presumably then have Kiyohime burn her to cinders. However, given that she enjoys not having her skin melted due to high temperatures, she was forced to leave the location of a couple more likely colleagues.

Now Focalor had only one last hope, the last of the Servants, of whose presence in Chaldea she knew of. The Hassan of Serenity… Well, isn't this just great? Her last hope of having a pleasant conversation is to find an Assassin. Why can't things be simple?

Serenity is one of the Hassan-i-Sabbah, one of the past leaders of the Assassin sect. Finding her should have been an ordeal, however… Surprisingly, finding Serenity turned out to be not that hard. Although, it seemed she was already talking to someone? Actually who's that person? For some reason his/her? presence was somewhat strange to Focalor's senses.

As she walked in on the last Servant she could have a pleasant conversation with, Serenity, by some quirk of fate Focalor found her cheerfully talking about the excellent features of her Master, husband and, possibly, her King with another person, whose name Focalor did not remember. Although she was sure that she would not be able to forget about his/her? existence.

The person? while maintaining the dialogue with light assent, the unknown young man/woman? of excellent androgynous appearance listened to the Serenity's fervent praises of her Master. Focalor tried to remember if she could have seen him/her? earlier…

Unfortunately, she had somehow failed to remember such a peculiar figure. Still, with no other Servant she could interact with, with some semblance of normalcy at least, she decided that at this situation she had no other choice but to join in on their conversation. However, having made a couple of steps, she surprisingly encountered only an empty room in which there was neither Assassin nor her other friend. Focalor was forced to admit that she had failed spectacularly.

Her final plan, her only source of pleasant conversation between Servants in Chaldea, had suffered an absolute and irrevocable defeat in the struggle with the harsh reality. A fact which saddened Focalor somewhat.

Yet, at the same time, it also somewhat amused her. It was a new and unexpected experience for a being who was used to the fact that interacting with other beings like her in the past was a given.

Probably, this is another thing that Focalor can appreciate being Ainz's Servant for. The probability of not receiving this interaction.

It was a new, unexpected and perhaps even pleasant experience for the girl.

Therefore, with a sigh of disappointment and with paradoxical glee, Focalor gave up. For now, her plan to get to know the other Servant has ended in failure. With nothing else to do, she eventually made her way to one of the many sofas in the many lounges in Chaldea.

"Fou." The sound from under Focalor's feet made her blink before glancing at the little furry creature beneath her feet under the sofa.

A chimera? Small spirit? Some escaped wild animal?

Focalor did not even suspect until this moment that such a creature lived in Chaldea.

The small lilac ball of fur, with an appearance similar to that of a squirrel, a kitten and a fox at the same time, looked cute. An impossibility which, given the horror that took place outside the walls of Chaldea, seemed to crown the whole absurdity that is Chaldea.

Great Servants, infallible ideals of mankind, legends embodied through the prism of power, behaved… like people.

They talked, had fun, made plans, played their own games, were interested in life around them. They lived their life as if to deny their primary goal and task, the protection of humanity. Furthermore, they had fully and blindly trusted their Master, their King, as if not at all questioning his ability to accomplish his plans.

It was amusing for Focalor, who had spent her entire life under the stern gaze of another King.

Ainz and her King were similar and yet starkly different at the same time. Both were incredibly strong, both were driven by goals beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, and both possessed an army of powerful and loyal minions that they did not need.

They both ruled their Temples beyond time, and fought on an incredible chessboard, where peoples, legends, and stories acted as mere pawns, and the fate of the World hangs in the balance.

Both were also distant from their Servants, as much as a King were attentive to their subjects.

And yet the King's servants saw him as their King, while the Chaldean servants saw Ainz as their leader.

Not a faceless figure of power, but a living, feeling, thinking, acting creature, close and understandable to their perception.

And while the Demon Kings clenched their teeth in frustration, interacting with each other only when necessary. Ainz's Servants communicated with each other with relish, creating not just a collective, but a society.

How funny, the creatures connected by a single consciousness were less in unity to each other than the creatures that couldn't. Creatures that were obliged not to understand, hate and not accept each other.

This, probably, was the main paradox of humanity, Focalor believed.

And although an incredible number of roads were open before her, Focalor decided to start her long journey of understanding humanity small.

"Hello, little creature." Focalor smiled at the creature under the sofa. "What is your name?"

"Fou." The creature, now named Fou, snorted quietly before, after a little thought, jumped onto Focalor's arms. The creature's actions forced a smile to appear on her face. Slowly, she began to ran her hand over the creature's fur. It seems that her time in Chaldea is off to a great start.

---

Name: Focalor

Race: Heteromorphic

Title: Traitor of Traitors of Humanity

Occupation: Servant of Ainz Ooal Gown (non-combat)

Residence: Chaldea, Da Vinci's workshop

Karma: 0 (Neutral)

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 86: Londinium final battle: start

As Jack explained the ongoing development of the current Singularity, Ainz was by no means relaxed, but he was calm.

He had a plan, he had kept the situation under control, he moved towards his goal and roughly understood what he should expect from his opponents… and from his allies as well.

Some things, however, still confused Ainz anyway.

The completely unexpected discovery of the existence of a full-fledged network of tunnels and underground caves under London could still be called relatively normal. At least it is not more 'abnormal' than everything that Ainz had encountered in the Singularities before. Whether it was god-emperors or the living god-ship Poseidon, the existence of underground tunnels doesn't really top that. The existence of Angrboda however, confused Ainz.

Angrboda was another familiar name for Ainz. It being the name of a very interesting Boss in YGGDRASIL whom he had met in the past. Oh, and he didn't kill it, by the way. Angrboda belonged to the heteromorphs faction.

He was a fairly strong boss, at least according to the other faction's forum posts, but for many heteromorphic players, including Ainz, she was also one of the rare friendly NPC. A teacher of some classes, she gave out a decent number of quests and, in general, Ainz remembered her very positively. She was one of the rare allies that he had during the game.

And of course, Ainz had long ago abandoned his restless nature and did not imagine Angrboda as a living and existing boss that he would need to fight. Especially considering that in this case it was not actually a living creature. It is the name of the contraption that is creating the deadly fog in London.

The Grail of this Singularity was captured by the Demon Kings from the start and was used to create the fog currently choking London. This, according to Da Vinci, and Ainz is long used to believe her words, also explained the emergence of the Servants from the Mist in London. As well as many other things that happen in the Singularity.

Also, Bab... Dab... Caster, okay, Caster, whom Ainz had killed a little earlier, the lord of the golems had, with the help of Tesla, built a great steam engine. The machine then used the Grail as its core, its great bellowing covered London with smog.

Or at least that's how Jack explained to Ainz what the enemy had done a little earlier. Unfortunately, Ainz had no other sources of information to check its veracity. It's a pity that he had to kill Caster so simply and artlessly, with what he knows now, he should have endeavored to capture it. Alas, the panic he felt from potentially creating a break in history from the incredible picture of the battle between golems and vampires on the streets of London, compounded with the call of help from Nobunaga made him act too harshly...

Ainz exhaled and shook his head at the disappointment of missing some good loot. Of course, he had picked up the data crystals Caster had dropped before going to Nobunaga's aid, and planning on returning a little later to the killed Servant to pick up the rest of the loot. But he did not find anything else. It's a pity, at least a 'twisted piece of armor' or something like that should have dropped from a mob of this kind in YGGDRASIL...

Ainz shook his head before looking in front of him.

Underground tunnels, ha… What a familiar sight.

Ainz chuckled - once upon a time it was a place he had traversed through quite often, maybe even too much. The various network of tunnels underground had saved the inhabitants of Ainz's world from acid rains on the surface and made it possible to quickly move between individual buildings of complexes… It's a pity that many houses of ordinary residents were not connected to this network… truly the lives of the poor were a short and wretched thing.

Ainz sighed again before rushing through the tunnel.

He then encountered a staircase descending many steps that took Ainz through numerous levels. First into a long, narrow corridor dug into the rock mass, before abruptly breaking off around a bend, revealing a view of a giant grotto ahead.

"Not the strangest thing I've seen lately." Ainz muttered lowly to himself and just shrugged.

In this Singularity below London, there was an underground grotto the size of a good chunk of London itself. Eh, whatever.

Ainz looked around the empty grotto and the rumbling machine at the other side. His plan was simple, apparently Ainz's most important and strongest opponent in this Singularity was the King of Kings himself, or Big Mom, as Jack called him. So the most logical plan of action was to send Ainz to fight the King himself as the other Servant would be busy with the enemy's Servants. And the most logical location for the enemy's main boss was his base near the Grail.

Ainz exhaled, looking into the distance.

Hmm, apparently he was somewhat close to the enemy already, as the obscure metal outlines of what could be called a generator could be seen in the distance, a clear sign of enemy presence. Ainz had never seen such archaic generators, though he couldn't really tell the details as the distance obscures the thing greatly, so he could be wrong. Moreover, it was dark enough in the grotto that Ainz could only see what was ahead due to his innate skills.

Ainz tried to remember the time, it seems that the second group will reach the Grail from the other side of the base earlier, so he could wait and there would be a great distraction… Never mind, a good boss should not take undue advantage from his subordinates.

However, after taking several steps, Ainz was showered by lightning.

As he was not a complete idiot, he did not plan to go into enemy territory controlled by the unknown King unprepared. With his passive resistance to various types of damage, boosted even further by various he had cast beforehand, the lightning struck did not even touch Ainz. The brilliant display of power sliding ineffectually down his figure, before disintegrating into harmless sparks.

"Surprising," A man's voice, which sounded kind and somewhat elated, betrayed the speaker's presence to Ainz without any questions. "Again another opponent is before me, and again someone who can compete with me."

"Nikola Tesla." Ainz noted to himself.

A man in a thick cloak on whose hand rested a sparkling bronze glove, appearing as if out of nowhere out of the gloom darkness of the grotto, slowly nodded. "I am glad that my fame has reached…" Tesla didn't even have the chance to finish his aggrandizing speech before Ainz attacked.

Tesla suddenly shuddered, spitting blood in the middle of his speech.

Ainz slowly lowered his hand, still gripping the projection of Tesla's heart, erupting and oozing with blood, like a bottle of water squeezed into bursting in his hand.

"Grasp Heart", - Ainz nodded slowly, - "I didn't come here for you."

Apparently, some of his spells, like True Death, had the unintended consequence of making it impossible to summon whatever he used the spell against. At least according to Focalor. So, using simpler and more effective spells, like the one he used right now to break Tesla's heart, was a priority if he did not want to accidentally block the summoning of some Servant in the future, having lost forever a possible collection item.

However, fighting Servants, although it was an interesting activity, did not appeal to Ainz right now. He knew where the enemy was, knew exactly where to find the Grail and understood that at the moment his main opponent was the King. A prolonged battle with Tesla was not part of his plans.

Ainz sighed without giving the now heartless Tesla an extra glance, and then headed forward.

After walking a few more steps however, Ainz was blinded again as lightning struck his body a second time. Ainz himself could conclude that the lightning was a product of a very high rank spell, perhaps eighth or even a higher tier. However, with all Ainz's stacked buff, even an attack of this level couldn't even cause him any damage.

But it had made Ainz stop, turning towards his opponent who was not yet dead.

Tesla, whose heart was destroyed, continued to stand on his feet. He clearly did not look his best, standing on bent legs with blood flowing from his mouth. But, to his credit, he was able to slowly straighten up and look Ainz in the eyes.

"Don't think that you can get rid of me so easily… " Tesla smiled bloodily, looking at Ainz with defiance.

Ainz sighed. He had a goal, and right now he should act quickly. However, leaving the wounded, but still combat-ready Tesla behind him, ready to attack at the most inopportune moment, was not the best option.

Sighing, Ainz looked at Tesla. "I will end this quickly."

"I can't foresee such a thing occurring." Tesla grunted gloomily under his breath.

"I can." Ainz simply replied.

---

As Medusa was rushing to her goal, she was surprised to feel the presence of a somewhat familiar Servant by her side, Alice.

Medusa did not recoil and did not rush to her opponent. As soon as she appeared by her side, walking alongside her as if she was always there, Medusa simply shifted her gaze to the side.

"I know about your abilities," Alice appeared with these words, as if continuing her dialogue from beforehand. "You will not go further."

Medusa exhaled.

She had somewhat of a fondness for the false Alice. She really felt sympathy for her, as all adults feel a sense of protectiveness for children. And Medusa, having accepted the Grail, accepted the truth that she was an adult and therefore was not ashamed of such a reaction.

However, right now, she had a unique opportunity to act in concert with Ainz's plans. While he went to storm the base and straight towards the Grail, she was supposed to cover one of his possible escape routes and his back, ready to support at his orders.

Not to say that it was all that romantic, but in the current situation, it was perhaps the most romantic thing that was available in the Singularity to Medusa. Supporting your loved ones was supposed to be romantic right?

And therefore, the appearance of Alice right now next to her, although it aroused some sympathy in Medusa, did not mean that she wouldn't remove any possible hindrance to her Master.

"I understand," Medusa sighed with some sense of finality, looking at Alice, - "Will you fight me?"

"If you retreat, I won't," Alice said calmly, looking into Medusa's eyes. She seemed to be not afraid of Medusa's eyes. After all with nary a pause, she could remove Breaker Gorgon and use one of her Trump Cards the way Alice was staring straight into her eyes. It seemed she had some confidence in not being affected by it.

"Then you will be fighting Ainz." Medusa concluded logically.

"Yes." Not seeing any need for a lie, Alice answered calmly.

"Then, I'm afraid that there's no other option." Medusa tried to smile comfortingly at Alice.

"It's strange that you continue to fight the inevitable." Alice looked at Medusa's smile without changing her mechanical expression. "The King will not let you win, it's impossible."

"Ainz, my Master, does not know such a word." Medusa shrugged.

"His lexical illiteracy does not cancel the objectivity of the fact." Alice replied mechanically.

"Was that a joke?" Medusa looked at Alice carefully.

"The sentence you just said is a question. And the answer to that question is no, since my last sentence does not contain the classic elements of a joke.", Alice looked at Medusa, after which she smiled a bit with the edges of her lips. It seems that the doll-like Servant was not that lifeless after all.

"A joke will not dissuade me from fighting." Medusa said with a titter.

"It's a pity." Alice instantly stopped smiling, returning her expressionless expression to her face.

"Jabberwock!" Alice shouted the name of her beast.

"Chrysaor!" Medusa answered back instantly.

And so, the battle between two legendary and unkillable monsters have begun on the battlefield.

---

Shakespeare watched with interest at the beginning of the battle between Medusa and Alice, periodically raising his quill, and of all accouterments of writing. He would periodically write something with his quill, ponder on his vocabulary, or with a swish, cross out a passage that he was unsatisfied with. Here and there he would raise his head to look at the battle for inspiration, before returning to writing.

His attention to writing was so complete that, it seemed, was not at all disturbed when behind him there were loud footsteps. Or when there was a loud crash, the sound of the wooden door of the room, in which Shakespeare was at the moment, crashing into the wall.

"Doctor Jekyll." Shakespeare then turned slovenly to the Servant who had appeared on the threshold of the room. "How ungentlemanly, to burst into a locked room like a barbarian. What if I was busy?"

Jekyll, standing on the threshold of the room, was unperturbed. If he was at all surprised that Shakespeare was not at the enemy's base, but instead was watching the battle from a distant and cozy place, from a room filled with comfortable chairs, a crackling fireplace and a couple of tables on which ink pots rested and unfinished excerpts of a new immortal masterpieces, then he did not show it.

"Shakespeare." Jekyll spoke lowly through gritted teeth.

"Who besides me, Dr. Jekyll?" Shakespeare smiled, shaking his head as if saying something obvious.

"You took control of Mordred's mind." Dr. Jekyll, looked at Shakespeare with no small amount of disgust.

"I wonder if I now say that it is a lie, a misunderstanding, will it change the course of further events?" Shakespeare slowly spoke out his thought before exhaling, - "In any case, that is somewhat incorrect, but for ease of understanding then it can be interpreted as so."

After Shakespeare begins speaking, it is almost as if Dr. Jekyll's mind was no longer present. After another moment, a small knife flashed in his hands, immediately thrown to pierce into Shakespeare's body.

With such a drastic change in demeanor, Dr. Jekyll's action could only be an illusion, but it was not another of Shakespeare's illusions. And Dr. Jekyll, although he was a weak Servant of not the strongest class, was still a Servant, moreover, he was enhanced by Ainz's magic. So the blade thrown by him should have, if not instantly killed, then at least wound Shakespeare greatly.

However, Shakespeare easily dodged Jekyll's attack, letting the blade past him harmlessly.

Shakespeare was not strong in combat - but he was full of extremely unpleasant surprises.

For example, a skill that made him invulnerable as long as his Master remained safe.

Therefore, neither this blade, nor the next, nor any further attacks from Jekyll, who rushed into battle, achieve their goal. Each of the attacks being blocked or dodged a few centimeters from the face and neck of Shakespeare, who looked at Jekyll's attacks with a certain refined grin.

"Dr. Jekyll." Shakespeare allowed himself a slight mocking grin, looking at Jekyll's futile attempts to injure him, "You are a Servant, whose legend was more of a literary creation than your own life. And now you have chosen as your goal to attack the greatest writer of all time, who became famous for his work with literary heroes. Do you understand how unfortunate your circumstances are?"

Not reacting to Shakespeare's taunts, Jekyll continued to attack, forcing Shakespeare himself to act in response while letting out a small sigh of regret.

He did not plan to participate in a battle at all, not at all! This battle was pointless, as no force could defeat the King of Kings, what kind of boring story is that! No tension, no struggle, and a piss-poor predetermined ending! What a shit story!

So rather than observing such a travesty at all, he had planned to make the last recording of his masterpiece in the last days of his life. At least watching heroes fight bravely against unstoppable evil would make a passable story.

However, to attack him in his own home, in his chosen abode, in his sublime temple of literature, where great masterpieces emerged from his pen?!

This, Shakespeare considered arrogance of the highest measure. Arrogance, which he could not forgive.

"First Folio," Shakespeare responded to Jekyll's attacks with his strongest attack.

---

Oda Nobunaga considered herself a king, and therefore it was greatly unusual for her to act as a guard.

However, as Nobunaga herself had managed to ascertain, in the future fights, her exceptional passion for her royal title carried an excessive amount of impediment. So, with that in mind, she did not resent the mission entrusted to her.

An additional deterrent factor that made Nobunaga somewhat accepting of her current occupation, was the fact that at the moment she was standing side by side with another King. The Black Tyrant of Britain.

And the third deterrent, of course, was the sight of the approaching opponents.

Nobunaga glanced at Arthuria, who was standing nearby, then turned her gaze toward the approaching Mordred.

The family situation of the Pendragon family was nothing if not confusing, but Nobunaga could grasp the main point. They were family, with all that entails if taken to a somewhat extreme measure due to their individual strengths.

Nobunaga had a family. A father, mother, sisters, and brothers...

They were not close, as real families are close. But 'normal' families were also not immersed in war, in politics, and in impossible stories of non-existent worlds.

But they were still family. Strange, somewhat estranged, but family nonetheless.

Nobunaga did not know what would happen if she one day had to face a member of her family in battle. Nobunaga took another glance at the King of Britain who's about to do just that.

Arthuria seemed calm as she saw the approaching Mordred. She looked into her... Son's eyes, hmm, in the privacy of Nobunaga's mind and with no one else the wiser she could call Mordred that. The cause of Arthuria's death and also her most faithful follower.

Perhaps there were many conflicting emotions inside her, but Arthuria showed nothing on her face. No anger, no contempt, no pain, nothing.

Nobunaga turned her gaze to the second Servant who was moving alongside Mordred.

The Servant was riding a white horse, a stallion, whose white mane was framed by black armor. The horse's blood-red eyes gazed out at the world with the intelligent malice of a beast of prey.

The rider was holding a spear in her hands. The huge spear was nothing like any jousting javelin Nobunaga could imagine, studded with thorns that negated any possible effectiveness of a real weapon of this design. Not that Servants need such a thing as realism, they are people that surpass such a concept after all.

Black armor covered the rider's body, covering an athletic figure, large breasts, and thin facial features, the rider's face was adorned by a crown rising upward in the likeness of black horns.

The rider's gaze was cold. The rider's hair was pulled back into a hairstyle that mimicked Arthuria's.

After all, it was Arthuria.

Arthuria in black armor. Arthuria on horseback. Arthuria with a spear. Arthuria, who was on horseback, arriving next to Mordred.

Nobunaga chuckled. "Surprisingly, Arthuria has another copy."

Arthuria, moving slowly on horseback beside Mordred, the air around seemed to be brimming with strength. It was a powerful, cold, impartial power that knew no barriers and did not need a purpose.

Arthuria moved slowly next to Mordred, who did not look up the whole time, marching slowly with her head looking downwards.

Arthuria, a Lancer or a Rider, stopped a few dozen steps before Nobunaga, and then slowly looked around Arthuria and Nobunaga.

Arthuria did not react to the enemy Arthuria's probing action, continuing to silently monitor the actions of her doppelgänger and Mordred. Nobunaga meanwhile bared her fangs excitedly a little at the sight of Arthuria's doppelgänger.

"Son." The voice of the double sounded cold, so similar to that of Arthuria it is uncanny. "Kill Arthuria."

"Yes, Father." Mordred responded with quiet agreement, not looking up before rushing forward, Clarent bared a moment later.

Arthuria could have fought Mordred, quite easily especially given her power-ups, but Nobunaga was standing there for a reason.

A moment later, a dozen rifles appeared on Mordred's path, firing at the same time, forcing Mordred to evade lest she be perforated by numerous steel balls.

After another moment, Mordred was forced to dodge the next volley of guns. Sadly, once again Nobunaga was unable to press her advantage. The next array of guns she had summoned was instantly crumbled, literally swept away by a swing of the spear from the false Arthuria.

Her extreme agility marked the false Arthuria as a Lancer, as she broke Nobunaga's guns before they could fire before focusing her attention on Nobunaga.

"Do not interfere in this battle." Lancer's words were cold, but for Nobunaga herself it meant little.

"Or what?" Nobunaga saw out of the corner of her eye, Arthuria rushing to engage Mordred, It seems that she would be dealing with the big-boobed Arthuria.

"My name is Artoria Alter, the King of Storms." Alter looked at Nobunaga with cold contempt. "You will die in this battle."

Nobunaga let a chuckle into her voice, "You didn't answer my question. Or what? If you're so sure, attack me."

Alter did not waste time on subsequent speeches, rushing forward, spear poised to pierce through Nobunaga's defenseless body. With her great speed, it took barely a blink of the eye for Lancer's spear to arrive at its target.

Alter's spear, however, powerlessly passed through Nobunaga's body. Nobunaga did not even bother to move from her place, having already used her ability to make Lancer's attack moot.

A moment later, a small crimson conflagration flashed under Nobunaga's feet. A pillar of flames immediately rising into the sky as a huge inferno, forcing Artoria to retreat instantly.

"You didn't answer my question." Nobunaga felt a smirk slowly returning to her face, - "Or what?"

---

"An ambush? How uncivilized." Paracelsus sighed, hearing a familiar voice.

"Hello, Leo." Paracelsus turned to the girl who had ruined the covert attack he had prepared. If she found it necessary to talk to him, this means that his plan to attack Nobunaga and Arthuria from afar has already been neutralized. "I apologize, it was not my idea."

"I have no doubt that such an uncouth method is not something you would prefer." Da Vinci grinned, looking at Paracelsus, who, embarrassed by the praise, immediately rose from the ground on which he was lying in, in the nearest forest. The position was a prime spot for observing the battle of Servants. As he rose from his prone position he shook himself off.

" I think that You would have come up with something more elegant if you were to do something like this." Da Vinci chortled as Paracelsus smiled,

"Oh, thank you for the flattering assessment. The great Da Vinci herself had recognized my plans as elegant."

"Oh, come on," Da Vinci shook her hand from side to side. "I'm only stating an obvious fact. The great magus of his generation lying in an undergrowth, watching the battle of the Servants for a chance at an ambush, it sounds ridiculous."

"Perhaps," Paracelsus exhaled, then once again dusted himself off a little, it seemed that he had missed a spot. "So, we will probably have to finish what we started earlier?"

"Apparently so." Da Vinci shrugged her shoulders, looking at Paracelsus with a sense of resigned amusement.

"Honestly, I would not want to, but it's not that I can retreat from my mission at the moment. Plus, you're not the kind of person who'll betray their Master, whoever he may be. So a battle is unavoidable sadly."

After these words, Paracelsus's smile faded, forcing him to slowly look down, to the ground on which he stood, - "Truly, how cruel a joke this is…"

"No jokes, Philip." Da Vinci smiled sportively. "I know our actions... Some of our actions in the past may cast a shadow on our future. But I also believe that our friendship with you in those distant times, in Italy, in Switzerland weren't just pretense. I believe that I know you well, so…"

Da Vinci exhaled slowly, looking at the magus with a sense of pain in her eyes. "Why, Philip?"

Of course, Da Vinci's question was short, but Philip understood the essence of the question addressed to him.

"Because, in a past not of my own, I had committed an unforgivable sin, Leo." Paracelsus exhaled, looking down, shame in his eyes.

"Many Servants reject their past incarnations, but a Servant is alive only during his summoning. A Servant with my name and appearance was not 'me' when he was called in a distant past to serve another Master." Paracelsus took a deep sigh.

"When that Paracelsus had fought for his Master, when he betrayed him… should I think that as not my own sin? Many Servants think so, rejecting the actions of their past incarnations as actions of not their own." Paracelsus then raised his head, determination burning.

"I do not deny it, Leo." Paracelsus exhaled slowly as he finished his reasoning looking at Da Vinci, and then smiled.

"I was that terrible person, I'm the same person then as I am now. Those thoughts, those actions, they were my own. I had committed the betrayal, I killed my Master, all because I was blinded by the prospects that had appeared before me. Because I was weak, unsure I had committed an unforgivable sin." Paracelsus finished with a sense of finality

"I have acknowledged my actions to prevent them from happening again. Therefore, I'm sorry, Leo." Paracelsus smiled.

"But I will not betray my Master, no matter how monstrous he may be. I will hope for your victory, I will be glad if you can stop my Master's plans. Looking from beyond, I will empathize with your victories. But, I will not betray anyone else." Paracelsus finished with a resigned air to his voice

"Once, in the past, you had betrayed a good person, so now you refuse to betray a monster." Da Vinci made a slight laugh, not at all intending offense for Paracelsus, which himself understood how his thought had sounded. " What Idealism."

"Stupidity rather." Paracelsus allowed a small smile to appear on his face as he shrugged his shoulders, admitting all his possible wrongness.

"One of the two." Da Vinci turned her hand in the air, showing a dismissive attitude to the dilemma. "But, as I understand it, you do not intend to retreat."

"Alas," Paracelsus bowed his head apologetically. "I do beg your pardon, Leo."

"Do not worry, Philip. I understand."- Da Vinci grunted in response.

After another moment, Paracelsus froze for a second before sighing. "You've turned off all the traps?"

"Well, I had to do something while I was enjoying the sight of you lying in ambush!" Da Vinci broke into a smile. "And the great Paracelsus von Hohenheim not fighting on a prepared battlefield? Such nonsense is so absurd that no one could enjoy such a low-standard comedy."

"Hm, well," Paracelsus smiled before looking at Da Vinci, - "I think it's time to kill each other."

"Unfortunately." Da Vinci replied with a slightly sad smile.

Moments later, two spells of unimaginable power collided with each other.

---

Jalter moved through the streets of London, barely paying attention to the rare people peeking out from the boarded up windows, casting incomprehensible or even fearful glances at the Servants passing by. Jalter was glad that in the current Singularity, most of the people of London hid inside various buildings, since it meant that as few people as possible saw the phantasmagoric battles of the Servants. A fact which means that they should have changed the history of mankind much less than what happened in the previous Singularities… This was definitely a positive for Jalter - and for all the other Servants.

"Lancel, move away from the window!" Fearing for some child who looked out front the boarded windows, one of the survivors shouted from one of the buildings. For a moment, a face flashed from behind one of the boarded up windows. It seems that a worried mother is shouting at his son, making Jalter sigh.

"Where is the second entrance to the underground… Caves?" - Mashu asked what Jalter was about to ask, referring to the guide running ahead. A guide that is Jack.

"Under underground!" Jack answered Mashu without turning her head, all the while diving into another alley, forcing Jalter to swear internally from the restless girl. "Very, very deep!"

"Do you mean like under the 'subway'?" Mashu tried to parse out Jack's words, but did not elicit a response from Jack, forcing Jalter to only chuckle in response, inwardly that is. She then glanced at Fran, who continued to be silent. Which, of course, was not surprising.

As it turned out, Big Mom's base, Jalter finds the fact that Jack called the King of Kings like this hilarious, was located near London.

For some reason, many villains considered it a given to build their base in the dungeons under densely populated cities. Jalter could only chuckle at this strange fact.

There were two entrances to this base. The main one, which Ainz was storming at the moment, was located on the very border of London. Ainz' attack was sure to divert the likely attention of Big Mom and the Servants participating in the defense of the base. The second, a back door leading straight to the Grail, located in the heart of London City. A path downwards from the oldest London Underground station. It was this path that this motley company of Servants would use to reach the base and steal the Grail.

Therefore, as they reach the supposed second entrance to the underground fortress of Big Mom, Jalter did not allow herself to tarry for long. Rushing through an inconspicuous door leading to some sort of radio station, and then onto a staircase that went into the depths roughly cut in underground rocks, Jalter followed behind Mashu. A position where she can launch forward as a defender from any possible attack, with Jack serving as a guide.

The descent took a decent enough time, especially by the standards of a Servant. Given that all the Servants present were moving at a speed significantly exceeding human limits, Jalter had to descend to an unrealistically great depth underground before Jack delighted her with a cry. "Here we are!"

After a few more steps and one turn, Jalter found herself in a grotto, she exhaled. Indeed, a giant underground cave below a populated city… Ha, whatever.

Almost immediately, Jalter was attracted by a fairly bright purple glow that illuminated everything around the cave, especially at the source of this glow.

A monstrous apparatus, assembled as if from a hodgepodge of dreams from a science fiction writer about a mechanical miracle. The metal monstrosity towered several tens of meters above the ground almost reaching the top of the cave. A light source continually and slowly flicker, as if alive, with unknown symbols and colors.

Jalter could feel incredible power in the monstrous machine. However, this was to be expected from a generator created with the use of the Grail, Jalter believed.

"This is the Anrb... Angorb... Abrd... Thing!" Jack, finally surrendering in the struggle with a complicated name, pronounced childishly and proudly, as if she personally had a hand in the creation of the machine. "Grail is inside!"

"Thank you." Mashu answered Jack's childish exuberance with a smile and small bow. An action that Fran did not hesitate to repeat, nodding to Jack. Jalter, however, drew attention to another detail.

"Whose throne is that?" - Jalter blinked, looking at such an inappropriate throne placed nearby. The garish throne was white and looked grandiose as it looked as if it was carved from a single piece of white marble. The throne was ominously illuminated by the purple light emanating by the machine.

It took some time before Jalter noticed the figure sitting on the throne, with his back to Jalter, whose appearance, however, was hidden by the lack of lights. "Who are you?!"

Jalter instantly drew her blade from its scabbard, forcing Mashu to summon her shield to cover Jalter. A moment later, Jack and Fran appeared next to her, also preparing for battle.

"I waited for so long - and this is all I've got?!" The voice of the speaker was a deep booming baritone, his voice reflecting from the distant walls of the cave. With the echoes mixing with his words, his tone sounds truly ominous. "You, petty, pathetic trash, Servants. I will be facing Servants?!"

Jalter felt her hand involuntarily clenching her blade. The words of the speaker were full of true anger and contempt. A burning hatred for the Servants who stood before him.

"Who are you?!" - Mashu asked the speaker, shifting slightly, giving Jalter the opportunity to attack without obstacles if necessary.

"A Homunculus? Sad girl." The speaker, whose face was still hidden, suddenly changed his tone. Although his voice remained the same, out of the blue, as if by simply clicking on a switch, the anger and contempt disappeared from his voice, changing to a fake comforting one. "And her friend, the unfortunate knight of Arthur. Unlucky Servants who died in the name of their Masters - I'm sorry to say that your story ends here."

Jalter clenched her teeth, something was wrong, incredibly wrong in the current situation...

Before she realized it, her line of communication with Ainz was gone.

"Be careful! That is a Servant!" Jalter exclaimed loudly.

"Servant?! A SERVANT?! You're calling me a Servant!?" And yet again, as if changing personality after personality, the speaker's voice changed. "Do not equate me with your kind! A pitiful likeness of a Legend, enclosed in fake shells. Don't compare to such weak things as Servants!"

A moment later, the Servant's figure rose from its throne, looking down towards Jalter and the rest.

And although the speaker was not tall, he possessed an overwhelming presence. An absolute, indescribable horror, a wave of incredible power, imperceptible, but all-pervading, pierced the whole grotto, forcing Jalter to unconsciously take a step back.

Mashu tried to take a step forward, but she was completely paralyzed by the aura of strength the being in front of them were emanating, unable to even budge a finger.

The creature's presence in front of her did not overwhelm with force, as it did with Megalos.

His was not a force that overflowed with mana, but as a seemingly embodied greatness, making the beholder freeze in fear, as if in front of an approaching hurricane, looking powerlessly at the power of nature before their eyes.

Jalter could even praise Mashu for the fact that she had the strength not to lower the shield in front of the creature that had taken a step forward.

The creature's gaze shifted to Mashu, because of which his voice changed again, - "Artoria's Plan and Tesla's… They delay my real enemy… However…"

At this moment, as if obeying the words and actions of the speaker, the machine, the Grail, flashed with a sharp light, illuminating the figure of the speaker. "Try to entertain me with your pitiful existence…"

---

Extract from the classified archives of the Clock Tower (Wizard Marshal Level and above) "A dissertation of Gilles de Rais, eighth part of the dossier":

Gilles de Rais is currently considered prohibited to be summoned by the agreement between the Clock Tower and the Church. The summoning of a Servant of this level, a Saint while at the same time an apostate posthumously excommunicated from the church, is not allowed in any rituals. Any breach would be strictly persecuted by the Association and the Church.

As an exercise in classifying a Servant's strength however, many debates had been had about the kind of power Gilles de Rais would have if he were to be summoned.

The Servant's power level is considered to be generally unpredictable, either as a Caster, or as a Saber, his main class. Embodying the paradoxical nature of the Servant, some of his skills are considered to be so unpredictable that their use after being summoned can appear more destructive than the careless use of the abilities of Gilgamesh-level Servants. However, it is perhaps to be expected that the Father of Protestantism and the Excommunicated Creator of Saints would have a similar level of power. Plus, thanks to his legend of possessing an unbreakable force of will, the use of Command Spells is unlikely to have a significant effect on Gilles de Rais.

At the moment, due to his paradoxical nature, little is known about Gilles de Rais and his abilities. Being that he's a contender for one of the incarnations of Baphomet and St. John at the same time, his real history is almost impossible to separate from legends, rumors, and far-fetched assumptions.

A reason which is why it is impossible to unambiguously establish his connection with many occult communities at the time of his life.

It is not possible to ascertain his true history, let alone to determine his level of power.

But, as pieces of his past is revealed, he is simultaneously assumed to be one of the most powerful magi of his time while also being one of the most skillful swordsmen of his era. Which is why any study of his history, or any facts about him must be done with the strictest of caution and secrecy in order to avoid possible provocations and conflict from magi that have an opposing viewpoint…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 87: Londinium final battle: continuation

Tesla tried to breathe, but the blood in his lungs made him cough up blood relentlessly in a completely ungentlemanly way.

'Ha, what an absurdity, a defeat in one move.' Tesla would have laughed at such absurdity, if the act wouldn't exacerbate the bloody coughs.

Tesla was already dead, technically speaking. Even a Servant is not able to live without a heart for long, except, perhaps, for a couple of special cases. Among the Legends in Earth's mythos, there were too many 'invincible' heroes, those who 'continued to fight, even after being mortally wounded'. A group to which, alas, Tesla himself could not count himself in.

The destruction of a heart or the head was the only sure fire way to kill almost any Servant. Even Servants who had the disgusting ability to survive even after receiving the most terrible wounds, which could easily end the life of an ordinary person, are doomed to die.

Tesla was not one of them, but he was a Natural-born Genius.

Tesla was not going to die... In the next few minutes at least. After that, it gets a little bit more iffy.

The ability, similar in almost every way to that of Da Vinci's, in Tesla's hands had some peculiarities. But in the end, its function is all the same. Therefore, right now, Tesla were using the vast expanses of his own power in order to copy skills like 'Battle continuation', allowing his body to remain even after the damage he received, which should have destroyed it instantly. To Tesla's great regret, the power of these abilities was not unlimited. And, to no less great regret, all Ainz had to do to unambiguously designate Tesla's death was to use one spell.

Ainz had not done that.

'At least I can see now why the Master is so interested in fighting you.' Tesla smirked, holding back his mirth only by the thought of the subsequent bloody cough. He attacked.

A huge lightning bolt that would make the observers open their mouths in surprise, fascinated as they observed nothing less than God's anger, struck its target. But, like the last time Tesla had done so, the bolt of lighting slid powerlessly over the body of Tesla's opponent. All without causing even the slightest inconvenience to the Necromancer.

A moment later, countless chains woven from hundreds of intertwined bones surged from the ground below Tesla. It dug into Tesla's body, wrapping him completely like a mummy, wrapping the heart-less Servant head to toe.

Even without seeing its effect on Ainz, Tesla understood that his attacks did not work. With his death soon approaching, he was clearly not in the position to keep his trump cards in his sleeves. But, at the same time, Tesla were reluctant to show off his greatest Masterpiece. At least, definitely not while lying in the mud!

In an instant, Tesla's repertoire of skills changed to suit his situation.

As the chains that had previously bound his body trembled, bursting one by one… the next spell hit Tesla's neck.

Ainz, Tesla's opponent, if he could call him that, did not exchange lengthy dialogues and philosophical reasoning about life as he tried his best to decapitate Tesla. No, the Necromancer simply continued to cast his spells calmly, confidently and with nary a peep.

The attack to the neck was supposed to deprive Tesla of his head. Seeing that Tesla could survive his heart being ripped out, Ainz simply went for the next guaranteed kill. Without any prefaces or pause, the guillotine of magic falls.

Unfortunately for the great scientist, even all his vaunted abilities did not allow him to continue to exist without a head.

Unfortunately for Ainz, Tesla was very creative.

While indeed Tesla's 'Natural-born Genius' was engaged in keeping him alive, it wasn't his only skill.

And therefore, Ainz's spell, a flash of cold icy light rushing to Tesla's neck, instantly faded as it touched Tesla's neck before exploding in a column of sparks.

Lightning struck Ainz again kicking up a dust cloud. If the attack that Tesla had used before could be compared to a 'God's Wrath', now it was like Zeus's arrow, announcing the beginning of the Titanomachy.

The flash of lightning struck Ainz, breaking through all of his defenses, making Tesla smile in anticipation for Ainz's reaction.

He was expecting a cry of pain or, maybe, an incredulous exclamation, a shocked roar… Not that Tesla took pleasure in hurting people, he simply liked the reaction of people to his strength and genius.

However, all he heard in response was a light sigh, and perhaps befuddlement. "Hm?"

As the dust cloud clears, Tesla could see Ainz standing, his body untouched by Tesla's attack. Tesla could see that he was no more surprised by Tesla's than the disinterested surprise of a bored employee who noticed a pigeon flying near his office window.

Tesla could not believe his eyes, looking at his unruffled opponent. He had used one of his strongest ability, all to no effect.

Galvanism, his second skill. His excellent trump card. His truest manifestation as 'the scientist who brought the world to electricity'. His embodiment as the modern Prometheus that had cast away the god's yoke, his greatest Trump card against Magic, useless.

Disembodied magic, energy without form, all things that violated the foundations of human society, all are supposed to be useless against Tesla. He, the person that heralded the era of electricity, could treat magic as a nothing more than demythologized force of human science. It was still an esoteric science, of course, but still followed 'laws' like any other science. And, as expected, Tesla, the King of Lightning, the Genius of All Sciences, could subjugate any human knowledge.

Of course, there was an incredible difference between the simple, and concrete Sciences and the complex order of magic. And so Tesla's abilities in manipulating spells were limited. But, if the spell directed against him carried energy in itself, for Tesla this spell was no more dangerous than any spark of electricity. And electricity was under Tesla's control.

Furthermore, Tesla's invulnerability against some spells was not the only function of his skill. No, by subjugating the spells with ease, he was able to extract their own energy from them, turning magic into pure power, into electricity and into his own mana. He was, in essence, the bane of magi, a bona fide Magus Killer.

Tesla's lightning that had absorbed the power of Ainz's spell, was several times stronger, and yet… it did nothing. Tesla could see the lightning striking Ainz, bypassing his defenses, yet it did nothing.

"Hmm," Tesla could not contemplate the scene any further as could see Ainz nodding and suddenly a fire tornado engulfed him. The fire tornado was also turned into Tesla's power, which he then used to cast lightning again, an even stronger one this time. And yet, it still did nothing.

Ainz was too prepared, an attack of even such a level wouldn't be able to injure him.

Experimenting on the peculiarities of Tesla's immunity, a moment later several ice needles struck Tesla. Only, this time, instead of the spell being absorbed, the ice needles was reflected. Unfortunately, turning matter into energy was beyond Tesla's control.

"Hmm, ice spell works?" Tesla could hear Ainz murmuring something. Before he could ponder it further, Ainz disappeared from Tesla's field of vision as an ice tornado rose, engulfing Tesla's figure. This time the spell was absorbed by Tesla's power.

Another lightning bolt flashed, illuminating the London depths with a flash of thunderbolt. It did nothing.

"Hmm, interesting, it was not a weakness to ice-based spells." Ainz's clinical, if bored, voice, grated on Tesla's pride. Like a bored customer could feel when observing a completely ordinary coffee making process.

Tesla felt slighted.

It was unpleasant for him to feel this ineffectual. To be so vulnerable, was anathema to the genius. But, the most unpleasant thing for him, was the disinterested gaze of his opponent, who was evaluating Tesla as if it he were a third-rate museum exhibit.

Worse than the fact that he was going to die, was the disinterest in his opponent's eyes. He was facing the great Nikola Tesla! And yet, Ainz looked bored.

Tesla grimaced as another bout of bloody coughing twisted his gut, forcing him to bow down. Revealing his defenseless form, a geyser of lava burst from below his feet. The scorching molten rock instantly melting his cloak, fusing skin with fabric.

Tesla did not just lose - he was destroyed. Methodically, quickly, and with the perfection of a machine moving at a measured pace, driven by nothing more than cold logic. If he was not the one not being destroyed by the moving gears of logic, he could even appreciate the beauty of it.

Tesla rushed forward desperately, deflecting another attack in the form of a beam of light. His position not even allowing the minimum effectiveness of a retaliatory strike. He grimaced at his own weakness.

To be in a position where using his Trump Card was just wasting time… what a position to be in.

Although he was strong, as strong as the King of Storms or even Da Vinci, it was just that they all could not compete with Ainz.

Tesla grinned for a second, grimacing in a fit of coughing. Perhaps Ainz was indeed that strong. If Ainz can defeat the King of Kings, Tesla will even forgive him for his loss.

However, before that happens… As Tesla got closer, he suddenly stopped moving at the last moment. Ainz, who was preparing to teleport away, stopped, looking in interest at what Tesla would do next.

From what Tesla himself could see, Ainz had realized what Tesla's next move going to be with a clarity honed by years of practice. Ainz could see that Tesla was going to use his last and greatest Trump Card, his Noble Phantasm.

Ainz also knows that it's too late to evade it.

And although it was worth attacking Tesla's defenseless self, Ainz chose not to risk it, expecting Tesla's either suicidal action or that Tesla's Battle Continuation would be enough to allow him to finish his Noble Phantasm. Ainz decided, just in case, to prepare in addition to defend against Tesla's Noble Phantasm.

A smart solution, perhaps even the right one.

Tesla had never seen anyone who was able to withstand the power of his Noble Phantasm, but perhaps Ainz will be the first to surprise Tesla so much.

Tesla looked into Ainz's eyes, feeling how his seemingly limitless powers were rapidly thinning, and smiled, as he shouted out the name of his Magnum Opus. "System Keraunos!"

---

Chrysaor, a paradoxical creature, could not be destroyed.

Either by brute strength, abilities, or legends, nothing could destroy the 'unfinished paradox'. Its perpetual nature forcing anything it faces into an endless battle without a finale. Indeed, his history that did not include the conditions of his death made it unkillable.

The Jabberwock, an English mathematician's invention, could not be destroyed.

The embodied children's fairy tale, the Jabberwock was the prototype of the 'invincible monster' that the hero had to kill with his 'vorpal sword'. And therefore, as long as there was no 'hero' against him wielding the 'vorpal sword', the Jabberwock could not be defeated. Indeed, in his history the conditions of his death were indicated, making it unkillable by any other means.

The monstrous figure of the Jabberwock rushed forward with the brutality of a Berserker. The bronze giant that is Chrysaor deflected his attacks perfectly, delivering devastating parrying blows that slid helplessly over the hard skin of the 'invincible beast'.

Alice continued to stare disinterestedly at the senseless battle. Her eyes filled with a mechanical indifference that could only be rivaled by the porcelain dolls on the shelves of stores.

It was pointless anyway.

Just as the clash of two invincible beasts was pointless, so was the battle between Alice and Medusa. So senseless was the resistance of mere Servants against the King of Kings.

It couldn't be killed, it couldn't be stopped, and it could not be reasoned with. It will absolutely not stop, never, until everyone is dead.

Alice was calm - not because she was emotionless, but because the fight was simply meaningless. If the destruction of humanity could not be stopped, there was no point in resisting the King of Kings and there was no point in feeling anything, in pity, or in horror. If the ending of a book was predetermined, everything else is meaningless, no sentence in it makes a point. If a battle was meaningless, then no action, feeling, or desire in this battle was needed.

Alice didn't want to destroy the world, but resistance was pointless. So she simply watches events unfold with a disinterested gaze.

She watched as the bronze giant, carrying a golden blade, struck blow after blow at the invulnerable bulk of the 'monster that cannot be defeated'. Alice melancholically pondered about the senselessness of futile resistance.

Medusa, hiding behind the bulk of the unexpectedly dexterous bronze giant, should have known the futility of her resistance.

She should have known that some things simply cannot be changed.

That there was no point in resisting some things.

And yet Medusa dragged on with this senseless battle, as if hoping that her Master would appear and save her from the stalemate.

Maybe she was right. Alice could not deny that the chance of Medusa winning were another Servant or even her Master to assist her definitely exists.

However, Alice was also sure that no amount of backup would save her from the King of Kings' wrath. So Medusa winning here is pointless.

Alice knew too many things to think that winning is possible.

Even the card soldiers that Alice had summoned a little earlier were now pointless and were called back. The battle was endless in its terms for the Trump soldiers to do anything other than make annoying noises.

A moment later, Alice's eyes, distracted from the battle, was transfixed to the senseless collision between two legendary monsters… Which is why it took her an incredibly long time, for Servants, to notice a glaring fact.

Medusa was no longer in her usual perch, on the shoulder of Chrysaor.

Alice instantly understood what Medusa's plan was. Still she did not bother to defend herself from the blow that was now coming towards her body. It was pointless after all.

Medusa, taking advantage of her opponent's inattention, was poised to strike Alice down. Bypassing the Jabberwock in speed, she plunged her blade into Alice's body. An effective, albeit not so spectacular move.

The blade of Medusa sank into Alice's body, piercing it through and...

"It's a pity." Alice instantly stopped smiling, returning her expressionless expression to her face.

"Jabberwock!" Alice shouted the name of her beast.

"Chrysaor!" Medusa answered back instantly.

And so, the battle between two legendary and unkillable monsters have begun on the battlefield.

Instantly, a barrier arose between the two combatants before Medusa realized what was wrong.

"This has already happened." Medusa's gaze came across the completely uninjured figure of Alice, standing in another place.

"Yes," Alice answered simply. "Perpetual Engine Maiden Empire"

It was all pointless, not only the battle between the Jabberwock and Chrysaor, but the battle between Alice and Medusa.

Medusa could easily bypass the Jabberwock, striking Alice dead. But did it matter if with each of her deaths Alice could turn back time? Back to the beginning of the battle between Medusa and Alice?

As a story that has no beginning or end, only different book covers that embody it, so does the reader returns each time to the beginning as they reached the end of the book.

Alice could not be defeated not because she was a strong Servant, but because she did not have the very concept of 'defeat'.

Alice was a Servant who longed and heads for a 'happy ending'. As defeat couldn't be a 'happy ending'. A bittersweet one maybe, but definitely not a 'happy' ending.

And so Alice, rejecting her own death as 'an unhappy end that I refuse to accept', would return to the beginning of the book over and over again.

Fighting her was pointless.

Judging by the dangerously flashing eyes of Medusa under her glasses, she understood this as well as Alice herself.

---

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One of the classic of its time, a magnificent example of tabloid literature, which later became a world renowned masterpiece. One of the earliest stories that first discussed the story of human moral duality clothed in the scientific theories of its time. The story about a split personality was truly a product of its time, an early story of science fiction.

Dr. Henry Jekyll, was an exalted gentleman of outstanding positive qualities, philanthropist and aesthete, he was a true British gentleman. A stark antithesis against his alter ego, the cruel and evil, heartless and callous Mr. Edward Hyde.

Dr. Jekyll, disgusted by his other self's nature, suffered from great self-loathing. Mr. Hyde, contemptuous of the weak and soft-hearted gentleman his other self is, too weak to even acknowledge his own human desires and base nature.

Needless to say, Shakespeare was provided with a magnificent stage in which he himself was no less than a god. Indeed, the greatest strength and weakness of Jekyll and Hyde was precisely that the history of a real scientist degenerated into a literary creation by the passage of time and human memory.

A work of fiction has the ability to be rewritten again and again. Each repetition with new reinterpretation, acquiring new focuses and in a way changing the unchanging canons, creating an overall picture of a thousand scattered scraps. And that was exactly what Shakespeare was happy about, because a canvas woven from thousands of rags was so easy to tear apart!

Every rumor and focus whose veracity was lost in the waters of time was a blade available to him, a blade that he could thrust into the weakened mind of a torn Servant.

Every impression of the reader, every unspoken theory was his whip and chain, cutting into the flesh of the defenseless Jekyll.

'He hated himself,' One of the interpretations of Jekyll's story that was thrown by an unknown critic in the past pierced the mind of the Servant.

'Both sides of his personality despised each other, as only man himself can despise himself,' Bile mixed with blood, began rising up the Servant's esophagus.

'The only outcome of his ending was suicide, no other outcome could exist for him,' Hopes, dreams, desires, aspirations, and goals are turning to dust.

Like a particularly sadistic torturer enjoying the torment of his victim, Shakespeare watched Jekyll's figurative vivisection with a badly hidden grin. As the trapped Servant curled in a fetal position, reading the stanzas of an endless monologue that strips his very own existence.

'He was abandoned by his friends, abandoned by his family, but above all else - he abandoned himself' There was nothing remaining of Dr. Jekyll. Just a dried-up shell, a skeleton barely covered with the flesh suffering torment and pain.

While Shakespeare did not enjoy inflicting suffering. But, if he endeavored to write a tragedy, then at the end of the performance, the audience must be no less dead than the characters.

This was Shakespeare's rule. He did not enjoy inflicting misery, but making people miserable was a passion.

Powerlessly, Jekyll stood. He was so weak and empty in front of Shakespeare that it caused the latter to grin.

"And so, that was the end of the torment of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

It took Shakespeare a full second to realize that his last phrase had been spoken in two voices at the same time. And if Shakespeare's voice was known to him and, of course, pleasant, then the second did not fit in with his production at all!

"After the suffering passed - Dr. Jekyll was dead." The voice of the speaker was arrogant and somewhat mocking, not at all fitting with a tragedy. "But Mr. Hyde was not. Marchen Meines Lebens."

Shakespeare instantly found the intruder who had intervened in his play with a gaze, all the while powerlessly gritting his teeth. "Andersen."

The blue-haired boy just smiled in response. "Repeat that name a couple more times, Shakespeare. Who knows, maybe it won't only be your meaningless writings filling your head, but also some brains."

Shakespeare thought that he was writing a tragedy for Dr. Jekyll, he might have written one for himself instead.

---

The battle between Arthuria and Mordred carried a heavy symbolic meaning. It was a reflection of their legendary duel, repeating through the centuries, on the sacred land of Britain. This battle had history, strength, metaphor and… it means nothing to Arthuria.

Arthuria did not react to this battle in any particular way. Not with anguished sadness, not with burning anger. Blow after blow collided methodically, the sound of colliding blades flying around, as Mordred strike blow after blow, accelerating the rhythm of the battle.

Arthuria responded to Mordred's attacks with mocking ease. Although their stats were comparable, if not identical, thanks to Ainz's magic, Arthuria outclassed her opponent enough to continue the fight coldly, disinterestedly, mechanically. Just as she wanted.

Mordred glanced at Arthuria, with a blank look. She continued looking for the target of her next attack. All the while she did not bring her gaze to Arthuria's face, continuing to attack.

With the same fervor with which she always fought, but without the hatred or anger behind it. She fought without her usual bestial cruelty powering each blow. She was weak.

Arthuria could have killed Mordred at any time during their battle. Perhaps it would not be so easy or without any injury, but the moment Arthuria could overpower her opponent, the battle was already over. And yet she did not.

Arthuria fought with mechanical precision, not allowing any of Mordred's attacks to bypass her defense. Each deflected attack that could lead to a battle-ending retaliation was taken, but…

She hesitated.

It was something that everyone would miss. In a battle between the two Servants, there was no place for an observer, there was no place for long thought of action, only Instinct. The flow of a battle changes with every second, even the skill of another Servant could not tell that Arthuria was hesitating with her attacks.

Only Mordred knew.

Mordred knows Arthuria better than anyone else in this world. No matter how many masks she wears and how many times she changed her path, Mordred could see right through Arthuria.

So it is with crystal clarity, Mordred could see her King's agonizing, mocking delay.

"Come on!" Mordred gripped her blade till her hands creaked. "Fight me!"

Arthuria parried attack after attack, going on the offensive which ended in nothing.

"Come on!" Mordred bared her teeth as she attacked, exposing a weakness that Arthuria could exploit. "Strike me down!"

Arthuria hesitated, missing the tenths of an instant which would have been enough for her to deal a crippling strike to Mordred.

"Fight! Fight! " - Mordred put her frustration into every blow - "Fight me!"

But Arthuria hesitated, repelling blow after blow listlessly, as if not even paying attention to the battle.

"Come on!" - Mordred clenched her jaw so hard that her tooth emitted an unpleasant crunch. "Take your blade in your hands and fight!"

Arthuria hesitated, eyeing Mordred not as an adversary, but as a strange curiosity before her.

No regret, no rage, nothing. Something that is almost anathema to the Servant that is Mordred.

"FIGHT ME!" - Mordred was the first who could not stand the cold, studying gaze of Arthuria, "FIGHT WITH YOUR FULL POWER!"

Arthuria did not respond to her exclamation of rage that sounded more like a cry of pain, striking blow after blow.

What should she answer her plea with? How did she feel at that moment? What would she like to tell Mordred? About their battle, about her betrayal, about Arthuria's mission?

"FIGHT!" Mordred roared again, rushing forward, recklessly exposing herself to Arthuria's attack. An attack that never came.

Arthuria could end the battle here and now, with just one blow that would have taken Mordred's head.

But Arthuria hesitated.

Dodging Mordred's suicidal attack, she punished her for her reckless attack with only a minor wound before retreating again.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" Mordred, seeing with painful clarity Arthuria's hesitance, continued to attack over and over again, eager to see Arthuria in battle.

She wanted to see her King serious, fighting with all her might. She wanted her King to kill her, to at least acknowledge even that terse relation.

But Arthuria hesitated, simply watching Mordred's attacks with an uninterested gaze, forcing her to grit her teeth.

Mordred struck another blow to retreat backward, gaining some distance between them. This was a clear sign that Mordred was preparing to unleash her Noble Phantasm. However, instead of the roar of Clarent Blood Arthur activating, Arthuria heard only a quiet wheeze.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Mordred said, with a defeated tone of voice, looking at the floor, squeezing Clarent painfully. "So much so that you don't even want to fight me?"

And, for the first time in the entire battle, Arthuria replied, "No."

Mordred looked up, broken and hated at the same time, hearing Arthuria's next words, "I don't hate you."

Mordred froze for a second before anger finally turned her head, she lunged forward with a cry that turned into a howl. It seems that Arthuria's words had reignited Mordred's anger.

HOW DARE SHE?! HOW DARE SHE?! HOW DARE SHE?!

Mordred's attacks were chaotic, filled with anger, filled with hatred and bitterness. But Arthuria fought back blow after blow with ease.

"Is that the reason why you were hiding your face?" Arthuria, repulsing blow after blow, said calmly, "Then I understood."

Mordred gripped her blade with all her fury, striking blow after desperate blow.

Arthuria hesitated because she wondered why Mordred was hiding her identity.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!" Mordred struck with bestial cruelty as she heard her armor plates crack, barely able to contain her anger, "I HATE YOU!"

"I do not hate you, Mordred." Arthuria answered back calmly, her voice drowned by the clang of metal. But for the one it was intended to be heard by, it was loud and clear.

"And I do not love you, you are just one of my knights, unworthy of my throne. Nothing more nothing less."

Hearing these words, Mordred's anger, her burning hatred froze for a second.

"I STRIVED ONLY FOR YOUR RECOGNITION!" Mordred struck again, - "ONLY FOR THIS!"

"You've got my recognition", - Arthuria repulsed the attack again, - "As a knight of the round table, as my follower, you were recognized."

"Then what are we fighting for?" These words were not a cry, escaping with a strangled wheeze, but a plea. "For what, father?!"

"Because you remained a knight, seeking not recognition, but the throne, praise, and glory." The blow of Arthuria finally crashed into Mordred's body, creating a significant injury.

"For that reason, I will never give you the throne."

Mordred, exhausted, slowly rose to her feet, as if she at once had lost all her desire for battle.

"Why couldn't you just recognize me, Father?" Looking at Arthuria, Mordred leaned on the blade, driving Clarent into the ground.

"Because my burden is the burden of a king," Arthuria answered shortly, "And the fact that you cannot understand me means that you will never be a king."

---

The Storm King's attacks failed to reach their target, forcing her to change her position over and over again, each time dodging Nobunaga's shots.

"I was counting on something more challenging, King of the Storms." Her voice was mocking and not impressed at all. "Is that all you can offer me? Run like a rat to avoid attacks?"

Nobunaga's words cut the Storm King's ear, but she could not react in any way. Her attacks were powerful, but useless. Her Mana Bursts was deadly - but harmless. Her skills were honed - but pointless.

"Tell me, you call yourself the King of the Storms, Artoria Alter, Rider," Nobunaga spoke confidently, moving across the battlefield with lazy steps, all the while showering the enemy with volleys of guns over and over again, as if driving the powerless hare into a snare.

"Don't you think that losing to the 'fake King' shameful? Aren't you ashamed of your title, King of the Storms? What's your name worth without your title?"

Artoria Alter was cornered but showed no weakness or despair as she continued to dodge Nobunaga's attacks.

This battle was not only a foregone conclusion, it was completely one-sided, more like a beating than a battle. Nobunaga could enjoy her superiority to the fullest, but her arrogant, mocking part did not prevail over her rational mind. She could not let this battle continue on, lest Arthuria were to be killed by Mordred.

Nobunaga grimaced inwardly, imagining how much her slowly gaining reputation would plummet if she allowed Arthuria to die next to her, before sighing and invoking her power with a snap of her fingers.

A moment later, Nobunaga was next to Artoria, after which she surrounded her by a wall of guns.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of barrels sprang up around Artoria like an impenetrable palisade. The countless muzzles pointed at the King of Storms from every angle, rising to the very skies, there would be no escape.

"Any last words?" Unable to resist the last moment of feeling her own superiority, Nobunaga looked into the eyes of Artoria, frozen in front of her.

Artoria, the King of Storms, just looked at Nobunaga, lifting her spear. "Rhongomyniad."

A moment later, a wave of power, as if escaping lightning, struck in all directions, breaking even through the immateriality of Nobunaga. The wave of power blew through the enclosing muskets.

Artoria then turned her spear on Nobunaga, who had been blown away by the wave of power. "The Spear That Shines To The Ends Of The Earth."

Nobunaga is not going to lie, for a last words, that was not half bad.

---

An excerpt from the historiographical essay "Comparing Legends of Ancient Empires, Parallels between Ancient China and the Roman Empire":

Due to the peculiarities of the early formations of Nations and Empires, acquiring a significant number of preserved literatures, biographies and myths of various states of the past is not particularly difficult. But still, a detailed analysis of emerging similarities is of certain interest in historical research.

It is like the study of the widespread emergence of the 'flood' myth in early human society.

Divine right, the earliest justification for rule, is presented in the history of ancient China as Heavenly Mandate. While the Roman Empire and its tradition of deifying emperors are significantly related, but of greater interest is the legendary 'violation' of this rule.

In particular, the existence of Jing Ke, an assassin sent to assassinate the future Emperor Qin Shi Huang, is not questioned by modern historians. Yet, at the same time, the existence of an unknown assassin who attempted to assassinate Emperor Nero is currently classified as a historical legend.

An interesting fact about Emperor Nero, is that after the exhumation and analysis of their remains, are assumed to be a carrier of a rare genotype, probably a result of Klinefelter's syndrome, which makes it impossible to correctly determine their biological sex.

Although, the very fact of a possible assassination attempt which ended unsuccessfully with the 'near-death' of Nero, is probable. The participation of a 'murderer from distant lands, sent by barbarians who was killed at the hands of the living dead' does not cause significant disagreement among historians. It is nothing more than myth, probably created by the early Christians at the time.

It seems that this legend was born from not only the degree of despair to which the people were brought to during the reign of Nero, but also the alienation of the very idea of attacking the Emperor in the minds of ordinary people.

In particular, the part of the assassin being from 'distant lands' clearly denotes how alien the idea of killing the Emperor for the inhabitants of the Roman Empire.

The part where the legend tells that the assassin was hired by 'barbarians' reflects how un-Roman like such an act was seen.

And the supposed death of the Assassin at the hands of the 'living dead' clearly reflects the belief of the Romans on the 'divine punishment' one would receive for committing such an act, An act anathema to the convictions of the inhabitants of the Roman Empire.

However, the historical consensus about the legendary act being a myth has not yet caused the closure of existing popular tours to the site of the preservation of the dried mummy of the alleged Nero's 'assassin'. Which, after DNA testing, turned out to be a woman with genetic markers for the inhabitants of ancient China. There might be a grain of truth to the myth.

Although, at the moment, there is no sufficiently logical reason about how exactly a resident of China could have been near Rome at the time of her death. Whatever the reality might be - it will definitely turn out to be more realistic than the existence of the Assassin of Nero that was 'murdered by the living dead'...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 88: Londinium final battle: another continuation

Nikola Tesla. Scientist, myth, legend.

Keuranos system. The grandest invention of the scientist, the basis of the myth, the epitome of his legend.

From the time when primitive cavemen looked up into the rumbling sky, behind the flashing of lightning, behind the glow, they saw the appearance of their gods. Behind the rumble of thunder, they heard the inevitable march of the titans. And beyond the destruction it wrought they saw the manifestation of divine anger.

From the very dawn of reason and thought, man was not able to imagine the flashing of lightning, the rumble of thunder as anything other than the incomprehensible power of the divines. From the thunderer Zeus, the king of the gods Indra, the forefather Perun, all the way to the powerful Enlil, lightning has always been the greatest symbol of the power of the divine. As the arrows of warriors strike their enemies, so does the lightning bolts of the gods strike the wicked.

And so, the power over lightning was ascended to the pedestal of the gods, akin to a force incomprehensible to the human mind. It was declared a great natural element, beyond the control of any mortal.

So it was proclaimed, and worshiped as the wrath of God. And so does mankind admitted their weakness, giving the reins of lightning to the hands of the divine.

That is, until Nikola Tesla, the Professor of Thunder and Lightning, was born.

An exalted scientist, a genius beyond compare. He was hundreds of years ahead of his time, only he had the capacity to stand up against divine will.

For how long people took on faith, the incomprehensible power of the elements. His mission to expel such mysteries, so great was his burden. Just as great was his strength.

"For if the gods do not grant lightning into the hands of man, then I will bring them lightning myself!"

And so Nikola Tesla, the Modern Prometheus, the First Thunderer of Men, overthrew the gods.

Having touched lightning, having touched the invisible laws beyond the control of humanity, he had reached the divine. And so with the greatest symbol of divine power, with the manifestation of their anger - and, having accepted the battle with the very concept of divinity, he subdued the lightning.

"For I will take away your symbol of divinity, I will subjugate lightning itself. For I am a man, and my mind will triumph over the divine principles!"

And so Nikola Tesla conquered lightning, starting his greatest crusade of reason.

Subsuming the invisible laws, he turned lightning from a symbol of divine power into a reforged sword of human will, denying the very divinity of the greatest divine symbol. Raising his understanding like a banner, he led humanity forward, like Danko carrying his heart in front.

And to this modern Promethean the Keuranos system was his life-long dream.

An endless source of energy transmitted wirelessly, it was supposed to open a new page in human history, forever erasing humanity's need for energy, unchaining their potential.

But as Danko's heart was trampled upon, and just as Prometheus was chained to a rock for his actions, so was Nikola Tesla was thrown from his pedestal.

The Keuranos system, a dream that would open the way for humanity to infinity, never came true.

The towers rising above the clouds remained only sketches in the margins of notebooks filled with Tesla's writing. The supposed magnum opus turned into nothing more than an unrealizable dream of a genius madman.

Nikola Tesla was indeed ahead of his time, but the Legend of Nikola Tesla refused to admit it.

The greatest scientist could not be cast into obscurity, his works could not be trampled. The memory of the Thunderer could not be forgotten.

That is why Nikola Tesla was given his dream after his death and passing into legend.

Endless energy that envelops the entire earth with its invisible networks. An inexhaustible road that opens the way for humanity to the peaks.

The Keuranos system.

So what if Tesla's dreams are unrealizable. So what if his projects only remain sketches on paper. And so what if Tesla's future was unfinished, his life heading into the abyss of abject poverty and despair.

The Keuranos system, infinite energy, was now alive right here, right now.

Nikola Tesla was one of the greatest Servants, a Servant who could rightfully stand in the presence of Great Kings, and demigods. He's like the King of Lightning, the Modern Thunderer.

But even that was not enough to make his dream come true. His own Holy Grail, his Great Deed, his infinite source was needed. That was why Tesla was fighting. But alas, to win he has to besmirch his greatest dream.

Servants were created for battle, not for anything else. And therefore his greatest creation, such great aspirations of the noble scientist were not meant to be. His greatest dream in the palm of his hands, but he cannot use it in any other way than to destroy.

Keuranos system, such a small part of his great aspiration, and such a great part of his strength. Endless energy that was to cover the entire earth, an inexhaustible source of human development.

Lightning of infinite power.

This was not exaggeration or hyperbole.

The Keuranos System, Nikola Tesla's Noble Phantasm, was a lightning of infinite power.

Every legend about thunder since the creation of myths has been embodied in a single impulse. Intertwining with the dream of the infinite power of humanity, it was a power born in an instant.

A strike of lightning of infinite power.

The force of the blow was infinite, the impact speed was instantaneous, the power of the legend was endless.

In front of the embodied lightning strike, most Servants would freeze, unable to move from the vast destruction aimed their way. Great devastation and an untold amount of people would die should Tesla's aim be to cause a massacre.

But right now, all of Tesla's might was only focused on one target.

No shield could protect against the Keuranos System. No sword could interrupt the Lightning Of Lightnings. Tesla's unrealizable dream of a free world of endless energy was turned into an all-destructive blade directed against only one target.

And Tesla's blow was terrible.

The underground grotto was illuminated by an unbearably bright light. It was quickly followed a second later by a roar of incredible magnitudes. The blinding light and deafening roar announcing the anger of the God of Thunder. He had determined his goal and delivered his final verdict.

And so, after delivering his mightiest blow, Tesla felt the last remnants of his strength disappear. His last remnant of strength disintegrating along with his body, a smile on his face.

Is it possible that in this battle for the fate of mankind, his adversary, the noble savior of the world, will not surprise him for one last time?

Will he not reveal his trump cards and deliver an aggrandizing speech? Will he boast to Tesla the secret of how he had survived? About how he had grabbed victory with his mind, surpassing even the great scientist in that aspect?

Tesla smiled one last time, as he felt his body disintegrating into thousands of sparks of mana… It seems even all this time, he was still a dreamer.

"Wow!" Imagine his shock when he heard the voice of his supposed to be dead opponent. With all the strength that he didn't know he still has, Tesla quickly raised his head.

Ainz Ooal Gown was alive. Alive and not even a speck of dust on his clothing.

Tesla didn't know if he should laugh or cry at such a sight. Even his greatness as a Thunderer was not enough to triumph in his last battle.

In the end he was elated. Indeed, only such an opponent had the right to defeat Tesla. The King of Kings has a great taste.

"That… Was that… It must be something analogous to the World Class Item of this world!" Ainz's voice sounded dull for Tesla, as if it was passing through a whole wall of cotton wool. It was the last thing Tesla heard as he died.

"Wait, what the!? At least give the WCI to me! Cheater! Filthy cheater! Give me my WCI back!"

But Tesla did not hear Ainz mournful cry, finally crumbling into a thousand pieces.

Though what he would make of 'fucking shitty RNG!' is anyone's guess.

---

Medusa analyzed every movement, every unspoken thought of Alice, as she looked at the diminutive Servant from under her glasses.

Not that it was hard to do though, given that Alice didn't seem to think it was necessary to even breathe or blink as she watched the battle between two invincible monsters. She watched with the same mechanical disinterest as one would expect from a china doll from its place on the counter.

An endless indifference.

Medusa breathed out. She really got the most unpleasant of possible opponents, except perhaps the King of Kings, who is likely a Grand Servant. At least according to Da Vinci's reflections.

Fighting with any other Servant, Medusa could use, albeit not the most elaborate, but certainly a highly effective tactic. It was a simple tactic in essence, distracting them with the invulnerable Chrysaor and then killing them with one precise blow when they were distracted and no longer paying attention to Medusa.

It would be a very effective tactic, considering that compared to Chrysaor, she was a relatively harmless enemy, at the very least the less visible one. And so, the more they deplete their stamina in a battle against the invulnerable and invincible Chrysaor, the better the tactic would work.

That's why Alice was the worst match-up she could face.

Of course, Medusa could have done the same with Alice, and moreover, she just did do that. However, seeing that Alice could simply brush off her own death, as if dust from one of the pages of a book, and return to the fight, as if continuing to read from a pre-placed bookmark… Hmm, it seems that the frustration has been getting to her if she's starting to make puns in her own head.

But yes, perhaps this particular comparison was most appropriate for the current battle.

Medusa exhaled slowly.

Alice could not be defeated by any conventional means. She could not be killed in a normal way and, in fact, could not be defeated in attrition by relying on the infinite mana reserves of her Master, Ainz. Even the buff imposed on her a little earlier or even a short-term enhancement of all physical parameters could not help Medusa in this case.

Ainz's direct intervention could help, of course. Medusa did not even doubt that even when faced with the invincible Servant, Ainz would only sigh, after which he would end the battle with one, or perhaps two spells. All without even looking at Medusa disappointingly or with derision. No, Ainz was simply too kind and gentle with his Servants.

Although Medusa was forced to admit, by allowing a recent memory to surface in her mind, that his kindness was not infinite. If the actions of a Servant began to cross the boundaries of what was permitted, if they needlessly antagonized the other Servants excessively or worse put the completion of the mission in danger, he was more than capable of being 'mean'.

Though in Medusa's opinion, Nobunaga was really asking for it.

In other words, Medusa could not even imagine any negative quality that Ainz could have.

Therefore, Medusa was very against bothering Ainz by asking for help or worse somehow distracting him from his battle.

Especially considering that this Singularity was like a report to Ainz from Medusa. An excellent opportunity to show off her skills and proof to Ainz that the Grail he had bequeathed to her was not wasted.

And so, with no other venue for victory available, Medusa was a bit vexed. It was from the understanding that her last and greatest trump card was the only possible card she could play if she wanted to win. Although she was saving it in case she had to face the King of Kings in battle, she was going to use it now.

Medusa shook her head a little, there's nothing that can be done about it.

Unfortunately, almost nothing in the world goes according to one's plans, but Medusa could at least make sure that her actions did not prove useless.

Medusa sighed for the last time before glancing at the emotionless Alice...

No, perhaps it was wrong to call her Alice. Medusa knew the true name of the Servant in front of her, Nursery Rhyme.

Her current form and name were nothing more than her own invention, her desired body and name.

The Servant, Caster, had no real form, nor was she a full-fledged Servant.

The clue is in the name. She was a Nursery Rhyme, a false Servant created from the hundreds and hundreds of fairy tales. Perhaps the closest thing Medusa could think to compare the false Alice to be is a 'pseudo-Divine Spirit'.

A kind of disembodied unborn god borne of books and literature. She was one of the 'new gods of humanity'. A god who did not take the form of a gray-haired old man or even a mighty warrior representing the might of humanity. But was created from hundreds of books, their readers' dreams, and from the innumerable emotions evoked by thousands of printed pages.

Nursery Rhyme, the nameless god of books.

A Servant, whose strength, whose main Noble Phantasm was in its own existence. Another paradoxical Servant without name and form, embodied in a character from one of the favorite children's books.

Invincible because it does not have a true form.

Alice was just one of thousands of forms that the Servant could take. Perhaps it was the form that the Servant preferred to take. But, in the end, still only one of its forms.

The Servant in front of her could change its form at will, gaining new abilities and embodying new concepts. And therefore she was probably one of the greatest possible Servants of the Throne of Heroes.

The Alice in front of her was invincible, because there was no 'thing' that can be defeated.

Alice herself does not physically exist. Not as a 'self', but as one of the forms of the living nameless god of books. And therefore 'killing' Alice required something much more esoteric than just plain brute strength.

Medusa blinked slowly, as her eyes began to change. Alice, as if sensing what was happening, raised her gaze to Medusa, not at all fearing her accursed gaze. Just as one should not be afraid of just one of the thousands of forms of the Nursery Rhyme.

Not that averting her eyes would help her for what comes next.

"Your eyes," Alice, for the first time, sounded surprised. It is as if just seeing the thing in front of her, she had realized the danger that Medusa posed.

"Those are not the eyes of the Medusa."

Medusa could have made a stupid joke about the fact that it was she herself, the Medusa, who was possessing these eyes at the moment. Which means that they were indeed literally 'Medusa's eyes', but she did not say it.

Likewise, Medusa could reveal the fact that she, Medusa Gorgon, had absorbed the power of the Holy Grail. The process caused her to rise above her past form in incredible ways, even gaining abilities that many Servants would consider… unnatural.

That her Legend itself, her abilities, her skills, her story was changed.

That, having become part of something greater than the 'Medusa' she was far, far stronger. That, by having absorbed the legend that was attributed to her descendant, the motherhood of hordes of monsters, many of her skills were 'changed'.

That her eyes, although they still retain their petrifying power, now looked at the world with much greater understanding, with the knowledge that only the Mother of the Mother of Monsters could have.

That just one glance at an ability used by a Servant was enough for Medusa to obtain all the information about it. That the very fact of Alice's existence had betrayed her true nature, her abilities, to Medusa.

That Chrysaor's, an indestructible giant, sole purpose was to prolong a battle, thereby forcing the enemy to reveal their trump cards over and over again, revealing more and more information to Medusa about her opponent.

And that even that was only the preparatory part of her true strength, for the Third Noble Phantasm of Medusa Gorgon (Echidna).

But…

Why would Medusa tell her enemy about this?

And therefore, after a moment, the Medusa's blade sank into her hand, causing a smile to appear on her face as her blood started dripping to the ground. "And the blood was spilled…"

---

Da Vinci fought Paracelsus without restraint. Innumerable blows and spells, sparkling flashes of explosions, and flashes of light that covers the sky. Their incredible might causes dread and awe to any possible observers, being the pinnacle of magical thought, unattainable for so many dreaming magi.

But, in spite of the destructiveness of their battle, there was no heat or fury between the two combatants. The both of them already know how their fight would end, they're simply doing the motions. There would be no unexpected moves or a rallying cry by the fighters, demonstrating their hidden might in the last moments, averting the inevitable ending.

Both fighters are too aware of each other's abilities to be surprised.

No, the fighting old friends seemed to be playing a chess game between each other. A game in which all the pieces were exposed, all the moves were predicted, and the course of the battle itself was known from the very first move.

Da Vinci knew about every ability Paracelsus possesses and how he would use them. Paracelsus knew about every ability Da Vinci knew how she would use them. Da Vinci knew that Paracelsus knew all about her abilities, and Paracelsus knew that Da Vinci knew all about his abilities.

And so on and so forth…

Though it doesn't mean that the battle between the two old friends ceased to be dangerous. Each of the spells of each of the participants carried sufficient strength to kill their target were any of them committed any mistake or error.

Each fighter fought with the understanding that this game would only end with the death of one of them.

To Paracelsus' great regret, he perfectly understood that he would be the one to die. Da Vinci surpassed him both in mind and in bare power. He's also perfectly aware that Da Vinci also knew this.

Because they already know the ending, the battle between the two old friends has lost all meaning, turning, at best, into a protracted farce or a rehearsed theatrical performance.

Paracelsus could have complained about the pointlessness of the battle, but Paracelsus was not one of those people who could complain about anything. In addition, the only thing that Paracelsus could complain about, perhaps, was his stupidity and principles. The perhaps silly things that made him unable to move away from this pointless battle. His principle not allowing him to let Da Vinci to continue her path to the battle with the King of Kings.

Unfortunately, Paracelsus also understood the fact that even the legendary Da Vinci, the genius of geniuses, would not stand a chance against the King of Kings.

Paracelsus' defeat to Da Vinci is only a matter of time. Nothing that Paracelsus could do that Da Vinci herself would be able to do at a level much higher than Paracelsus himself could. At the same time, Da Vinci could not fight the King of Kings with anything that would not be considered a stupid mockery of his powers by the King of kings.

Paracelsus did not know what he was hoping for, continuing this farce of a battle. Indeed, there exists the tiniest possibility that an incredible miracle will happen, that he will defeat Da Vinci and… kill her.

Perhaps he was thinking that Da Vinci's death at the hands of a friend, who only carried out an order, would be less painful for her than the death at the hand of who was so indifferent, so powerful as the King of Kings?

Or could Paracelsus not be able to keep his treacherous nature in check and thus wanted to betray his Master even in the smallest detail? To kill Da Vinci before the King of Kings did it?

It was a stupid, meaningless action. Perhaps the only thing Paracelsus could do at the moment was to indulge in idle thought. In any case, he was paying no more attention to the ongoing battle than Da Vinci herself did.

Yes, the battle between Da Vinci and Paracelsus was real and dangerous. And yes, it would end with the death of one of the participants. But, such a fact didn't even make the participants a one iota more interested in it.

An explosion that was capable of wiping London off the face of the Earth, swallowed up by a shield as powerful as the walls of the legendary Troy. A blade, capable of cutting through a thousand shields, colliding with a shield capable of stopping a thousand and one blades. Fire that devours cities and peoples, meeting ice that suspends kingdoms and nations.

Paracelsus sighed, his current battle was so definite, so unambiguous, but he could not help it. If he refused to cast any protecting spells or countermeasures, then Da Vinci spell would kill him instantly. Choose another tactic and Da Vinci will be ready for it.

The Elementals who had consumed the Philosopher's Stones rose like an unstoppable army before then crumbling under an unimaginably complex and powerful spell.

Boredom, it was the only emotion Paracelsus could feel right now.

No, of course, Paracelsus would not complain about his fate…

Well, maybe just a little.

Paracelsus exhaled sadly, dodging the next spell, which would not even leave ashes if it hit him, before responding with a spell, a tornado that rose to heaven. Only for it to immediately disperse into harmless gusts of wind from Da Vinci's prepared retaliatory attack.

Paracelsus suddenly stopped moving for a second, staring at Da Vinci, forcing her to stop in response.

"Something wrong?" The smallest dose of indignation pricked Paracelsus when he saw that, unlike their previous fight, Da Vinci was not even out of breath this time.

"No, it's just that I had spent all my strength." Paracelsus exhaled with no small amount of reluctance as he looked into Da Vinci's eyes.

"Oh, so next is your Noble Phantasm?" - Da Vinci smiled knowingly, - "Okay".

What follows is the predetermined outcome of the game. Paracelsus' Noble Phantasm was certainly incredibly powerful. But, against Da Vinci and her own Noble Phantasm, it was useless.

At the end, there would be an exchange between two Noble Phantasms. Da Vinci would receive several abrasions, and Paracelsus would die.

Paracelsus sighed for the last time before reaching out to the hem of his cloak, allowing a peculiar blade to slide into his hands. He then pulled on the blade's handle, revealing his Noble Phantasm.

"The Sword of Paracelsus." Paracelsus intoned as he pointed the blade at Da Vinci. The short gladius, or so it seems it should be called correctly, was waiting for an answer.

"It seems to be really the time." Da Vinci smiled serenely at his old friend.

Shortly after, a beam flashed for a second, rushing towards Da Vinci.

Here, for the first time during their battle, Paracelsus was surprised.

Da Vinci did not defend herself.

---

Rhongomyniad: The Lance that Shines to the Ends of the World.

There have been many illustrious swords throughout the legend of King Arthur. Excalibur, Caliburn, Clarent...

But only one spear. Rhongomyniad.

King Arthur did not rightfully use this spear and did not lift use as his banner, she did not perform great feats while holding the spear in her hands.

With this spear, King Arthur met his death.

During that fateful duel on the hills of Camlann, when she was slain by Mordred, Artoria held this holy spear in her hand.

King Arthur was never supposed to find the Holy Grail. But, the life of King Arthur, an enlightened fanatic in pursuit of God's miracle, was not in vain.

Swallowed by her dream, her goal, King Arthur sought out the Holy Grail, the lost treasure that was not destined to be found. Having let her kingdom to be torn to pieces by itself, King Arthur threw away her crown to find the Holy Grail.

Only one version of the legend of King Arthur did find it. The version that became Artoria Pendragon Alter Lancer.

Rhongomyniad was not a well-deserved treasure, but a reward bestowed. A power received in place of the Holy Grail by the possessed King Arthur.

Walking away from her throne, from her Britain, King Arthur devoted herself to finding the Holy Grail. As if rejecting everything human that once was in her, King Arthur left her Kingdom to her entourage, seeking to find the vaunted holy relic at any cost. Throwing away her humanity, the King took a step to the other side of this world.

Rhongomyniad, the tower that serves as the transition between the human world and the reverse side of the world. It held the human world and the magical world in place, not allowing them to merge, not allowing them to disappear. King Arthur, in pursuit of her holy relic, ascended this tower.

But some treasures were not destined to fall into the hands of its seekers - and so the Holy Grail eluded King Arthur, as it always eluded everyone who seeks it. And so King Arthur climbed the lonely tower, along which she ascended into another world.

And so King Arthur, rejecting Excalibur, rejecting her Britain, was left with nothing.

Without her knights and without a kingdom, without glory and without the thing she seeks, without purpose and without meaning.

And only the path she walked, denying her human life, remained with her.

Only the Tower of Rhongomyniad, King Arthur's holy spear, remained with her.

Thus, Artoria Pendragon Alter was born. A king without a kingdom, a seeker without treasure, a knight without glory, and a warrior without a goal.

All that was left in the hands of King Arthur was only the path she traveled, only a tower that forever turned her away from the world of people, and the world of magic. Two worlds, neither of which gave King Arthur peace.

And so King Arthur was left with nothing but her path.

The paths that tied together her humanity and her unrealizable wish.

Artoria Alter's Noble Phantasm was this tower. Not in the shape of the tower itself, but in the shape of Artoria's path itself.

"My tower is my path to my destruction. My spear is a symbol of my defeat. My strength is the story of the end of my road. "

And Rhongomyniad, the path that connects the obvious and the secret, was stained. And the spear of Rhongomyniad, the holy spear that binds legend and reality, turned into a black, speckled spear as it bears the story of the death of King Arthur.

Artoria glanced at Nobunaga, feeling Rhongomyniad slowly awakening its power under her hand.

The story of her death, the spear of her disgrace, the chain of legends was ready.

A moment later, thunderclouds seemed to swirl from the tip of the spear as thunder roared, along with a monstrous gust of wind reflecting the power of the holy cursed spear.

The story of the death of a hero began to take shape.

Nobunaga's immateriality could not give her any protection from the spear, however...

For a second, the cold mind of Artoria admitted a strange thought. 'Why is she smiling?'

"I was hoping that our fight would not end so pitifully, with a whimper as I kill you unimpeded. Now with this it's a real fight!" Oda Nobunaga looked… Happy. Looking forward, she showed a feral grin. "I was hoping so. Papiyas Metamorphosis - Demon King of a Billion Worlds."

And so the great storm of Rhongomyniad was consumed by fire.

---

"Why are we fighting!?" - Mordred struck blow after blow - "Why are we fighting, father?! WHY, WHY, WHY?!"

Arthuria was silent, as Mordred's blows did not reach their goal and, having solved the only problem that worried her, the reason why Mordred had not previously raised her helmet, Arthuria no longer held herself back. She started fighting with her full strength, not holding back the blows, not hesitating to end Mordred.

Mordred should have cried with happiness as her goal was in sight. Instead, she could only do her best to stifle her tears.

"WHAT FOR?!" - Mordred struck, again and again, despairing at every one she delivers. "WHY?! WHAT FOR?!"

Arthuria's retaliation were full of power, but empty of emotion. For her, it was just one more battle, just one more enemy, just one more strike of her cursed blade.

"WHY, FATHER, WHY?!" Arthuria fought calmly, looking at Mordred only as another opponent.

Mordred struck again and again, in futility as Arthuria was much stronger, much more experienced, faster and more agile than Mordred could hope to be.

As more blows were exchanged, the wounds on Mordred's body grew only more numerous and more dire. Still, Mordred gritted her teeth tighter as she clenched her blade, striking blow after blow.

'What for?' Only one question ate Mordred from the inside.

But Arthuria remained silent. She was measured. Calm. Indifferent

Mordred struck another blow before Mordred's gaze was riveted to the figure around which a storm of power was rising.

Her Father. Another father.

The father who took her in as a Knight again. The father who deigns to give her commands. A father who appreciated her.

Let her be treated as a mere soldier, as a cannon fodder. She would prefer that infinitely more than what she's feeling right now.

No emotion could hurt Mordred more than indifference.

Arthuria continued to strike calmly. Measured, as what she's striking doesn't matter.

Mordred knew that this was the end of the line for her. She could not change the outcome of this battle. Not then, in the Camlann Hills, not now, in London's distant past. Not in this duel, not in her legend. Never.

Mordred gripped her blade so hard her knuckles crunched. Even so, she could not see an enemy in front of her.

Perhaps, even now, she only wanted her father to feel something for her.

Pain or anger, joy or regret. Something, even disgust was preferable than this nothingness.

But Arthuria was silent as she marched forward, and Mordred felt the inexorable march of her defeat.

And so, facing her predetermined end, Mordred did what she would never have done before.

She lowered her blade.

Let her father wonder at her decision. Let her father laugh at her foolishness. Let her father rejoice at her mistake.

Let him experience at least something from this battle! Anything was preferable to cold indifference.

And as Mordred looked up at her approaching father. At her end, she faced his cold gaze and, facing the inevitable, closed her eyes.

At the end she heard one single word.

"Sorry," the speaker's voice was so emotionless and so quiet that anyone could say that Mordred only imagined it.

Mordred smiled. She had achieved her goal. "Excalibur Morgan."

And the Arthuria's black blade rushed towards the defenseless Mordred.

---

An excerpt from the non-fiction literature: "The Lesser Known Life of Gaius Julius Caesar"

... Although there is hardly a person in the world who has not heard of Gaius Julius Caesar, not many people know more about him than his famous Civil War and his assassination. Instead, many interesting facts of his life are often overlooked even by experienced historians.

In particular, although Caesar's appearance at the time of his ascendance as Emperor after seizing power as part of the Triumvirate is known to many, few can remember the fact that at the end of his life Gaius Julius Caesar had become significantly stout. (Which, sometimes, is often cited as one of the reasons for his death from the hands of the conspirators. In his youth, Gaius Julius Caesar did not shy away from outdoor activities. It was thought that if he kept up his figure, his training would be enough to survive the assassination carried out by a group of indolent senators).

Moving on to an obscure fact about his famous assassination itself. Although Caesar's zealous adherence to the Roman cult of Romulus in the last years of his life is widely known, few knew just how zealous he was. With his adherence to the cult as fervent as his persecution of the other occult communities of the Roman Empire, few know that the death of Caesar was associated, in particular, with the activities of one of the secret cults within the Roman Empire. A cult whose members and leaders were executed with Caesar's personal participation and by his personal decree literally a few days before his death…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 89: Londinium final battle: yet another continuation

The first thing people would think of when they hear the name Hans Christian Andersen was that he was a famous writer of children's fairy tales.

The second, for a narrow circle of his acquaintances and unhappy people who were unlucky enough to interact with the author in life - was as a quarrelsome, petty, bilious and unhappy person.

But above all else, Andersen was still a writer of fairy tales.

His fairy tales were not happy in the full sense of the word, where bunnies fart rainbows and prince charming arrives with his stupid white horse to save the day. No, his heroes have to save themselves. But in the end, having gone through pain, passing through trials and all the bitterness of this world, his heroes achieved their 'happy ending' with their own hands. Well as happy as Andersen himself thought was acceptable.

From these facts followed two things that were important for Andersen himself.

First, he did not accept in any way a happy ending for the protagonist when they did not deserve their happy ending.

And second, if the hero deserved a happy ending, Andersen would do everything in his power to make it happen.

Dr. Jekyll had suffered enough to deserve his own happy ending.

He was a naive boy, contrary to any depiction in media, rejoicing even at the very opportunity to be on the edge of the battle against a great evil threatening mankind. He acted stupidly, rushing into battle with an enemy that was unknown to him.

Oh, and Andersen was talking about Jekyll here, so don't get any stupid idea.

Ainz had no plans for Dr. Jekyll to participate in any way. Of course Andersen has no idea what goes on in that monster's head, nevertheless, Ainz was not particularly concerned with helping his likely ally. Only providing Dr. Jekyll with only a few general buffs and not planning to save him if he fell into a trap.

As far as Andersen knew anyway. Let it be repeated that he has no idea what goes on in that scary person's head. He wouldn't be surprised if all this was all as planned. If so, then he wonders just how much Ainz knew about him, to know that he couldn't stand Jekyll's plight.

The lyrical hero has experienced neglect, betrayal and contempt.

Shakespeare was immune to anything Jekyll could bring about. Their 'fight' was more of a farce in the battle between Servants.

The lyrical hero had experienced an unexpected and irreparable defeat.

Shakespeare had trapped Jekyll and imprisoned him in a dungeon of horror and hatred in his own making. He had trapped the hero in a torture chamber, where Shakespeare mutilated his mind, causing irreparable trauma and a terrible wound to his psyche.

The lyrical hero then lost, sinking to the very bottom of the abyss where he could not even lift a finger to defend himself. The hero is all alone against his invincible opponent.

This was, perhaps, enough for Andersen.

Marchen Meines Lebens. Andersen's Noble Phantasm, a tool greatly suited for the glorified writer.

Where Shakespeare's great tragedies were based on already existing works of his predecessors, Hans Christian Andersen created new things. Where Shakespeare used the past as his blade, Andersen used his creativity to cut a new path.

Andersen's Noble Phantasm was great, after all, it allowed reality to be rewritten.

To rewrite lines unsuited for a scene. A paragraph displaying the logical result of other people's actions. Was this not the strength of the writer? As they dipped a pen into an inkwell, each stroke of their instrument displaying a new facet of an adventure. With each sentence creating a new story and details of the life of a character.

In his own hand Andersen could ascribe any fate to his hero. With nary a stroke of a pen gifting powers and unpredictable endings to his characters. Incredible plots and a dizzying victory - he just had to start a new line in his book, describing the victory of his hero.

Still, Andersen was known as a petty, bilious, unhappy man. And his Noble Phantasm, a sublimation of his legend, also reflected this essence of him.

Indeed, in Andersen's tales there was no place for a simple 'happy ending', just as there was no place for a Deus Ex Machina. Each hero had to reach their own happy ending, and so received only the ending that he deserved.

Therefore, Andersen did not act, he could not.

What could he write to help Ainz? An existence that seemed to have no problems anyway? How could he help Da Vinci, the great and invincible scientist, when he could barely understand a word she's saying? He's a writer damn it, not a bloody scientist! Did Medusa Gorgon really need a happy ending, when she has already achieved her happiness?

However, for Dr. Jekyll, who has gone through so many tribulations - faced with so many adversities, so many trials… there's no better material for Andersen.

And therefore, picking up a pen and an empty book - Andersen began writing.

The Death of Dr. Jekyll and the Hatred of Mr. Hyde.

After all, Doctor Jekyll, faced with Shakespeare, could not survive, Andersen knew and accepted this fact.

However, as he could rewrite reality like a book, he could compose another end to this fairy tale.

And this time, in his tale, he has all the actors on stage. The protagonist Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the antagonistic Shakespeare, and himself as the narrator. The stage? The battle taking place in the smog-covered London of the nineteenth century.

Really, Shakespeare had done a bang up job setting the atmosphere, that villainous monologue was just… perfect. Andersen didn't even need to do much!

And therefore, when Shakespeare - with horror, with hatred, looked at Andersen - everything was already over.

After all, Andersen did not need to try and undo the horrors that Dr. Jekyll had gone through. He just needed to write a few lines and his job's done. The ending that Dr. Jekyll deserved.

And so Andersen grinned as Shakespeare, blazing with hatred, took one last look at him.

But Andersen believed he couldn't grin even more when he heard the voice of Dr. Jekyll, - "Dangerous games."

And then Andersen gave history the opportunity to take its own course.

---

The Noble Phantasm of Paracelsus was quite interesting in its structure.

At first glance, there was nothing special about it.

The quintessence of Paracelsus' magic research, the mad seeker of the True Ether, was very simple. His blade, when used, was able to unite the four elements under his control. This is done in order to create his unattainable Magnum Opus, True Ether. For a very short instance.

The consequences of such a creation were very simple and very destructive.

True Ether, the quintessence of magical thought, the very embodied pure magic would be directed in a single destructive stream.

Many scientists would give their right hand for the opportunity to look at such a miracle. But for a person less interested in magical theory, the result of the action of Paracelsus' ability was, albeit frightening, still simple.

It was Destruction, pure and simple. A huge blow created from unleashing pure magic.

It was certainly magnificent, but would be somewhat disappointing if that's all it does for such a great scientist. That's why there's a hidden second part to his Noble Phantasm befitting his nature as a scientist.

Da Vinci certainly knew that the sword of Paracelsus was not a 'gateway to pure magic'. No, it represented the 'unified magic theory' of Paracelsus.

On his way to reach True Ether, Paracelsus had created a thousand works and conducted a thousand studies, not inferior in scale and complexity to that of Da Vinci's.

However, if Da Vinci was always driven only by an irrepressible thirst for knowledge, Paracelsus was only driven forward by a single goal.

For the sake of reaching True Ether, he studied thousands of books and wrote hundreds of works. And so his Noble Phantasm adopted his legend.

Because Paracelsus went through a thousand thoughts, a hundred theories - moving through all obstacles, analyzing all the data, creating his Great Deed, so does his Noble Phantasm.

And therefore, the beam of pure magic was only a minor part of his abilities, as True Ether was only the tip of his scientific path. A path that has been created from hundreds of scientific papers.

And so his attack, although strong, had a fundamentally different ability.

Endless perfect analysis, isolation of significant moments, change in theory and instant adjustment of the experiment to new conditions.

In other words, his attack could analyze everything it came in contact with. It would then transmit the information received to Paracelsus who would then instantly change its properties. Continually adjusting his attack according to his understanding, acquiring a new form and new properties to bypass any defense.

Into fire against ice, into stiletto against a breach, into madness against reason.

The Noble Phantasm of Paracelsus reflected that side of him that was not forgotten even hundreds of years later. His work as a scientist. His great journey to his incredible finale.

That's why Paracelsus felt so uncomfortable fighting Da Vinci, his Noble Phantasm was only a lesser copy of Da Vinci's Noble Phantasm. And that's why Paracelsus was so surprised by Da Vinci's action.

Her choice to not even erect a single barrier was definitely a surprise.

Da Vinci could create tens, no, hundreds of defenses in the blink of an eye. That would be enough to hold back even Paracelsus' strongest attacks.

Da Vinci's skills could make her instantly invulnerable in the face of even the most incredible miracles in the service of Servants.

However, Paracelsus' Noble Phantasm function was to bypass any defenses, whether it's skills or spells. No shield could save one from the Noble Phantasm whose main purpose was to shatter shields.

And Paracelsus saw no way for Da Vinci to win this clash other than simply overpowering his attack, taking advantage of the fact that Da Vinci herself had an even more incredible ability than the Paracelsus.

However, even if Paracelsus was surprised, this didn't mean that his attack would stop.

His attack changed its nature, adjusting to various skills Da Vinci had, destroying the spell shields on the way of his attack. The beam of True Ether crashed into Da Vinci's body.

Paracelsus was surprised by Da Vinci's choice, but still anticipating victory...

Before he froze.

Magic surrounded Da Vinci's body, but not Da Vinci's magic. It was a completely different magic, with completely different principles for creating spells and completely alien strength and energy.

Paracelsus had never seen such magic in his life, and Paracelsus was initiated into the secrets of all existing magic.

However, faced with such an unknown, Paracelsus could do nothing but be at a loss.

He had never seen such magic before. He didn't know the first step on how to approach it. Should he have attacked this part of the spell, or this one? Was it fire protection or ice protection? Could he overload such magic, or did he need to make a gap in the enemy's defenses?

Facing such an unknown, Paracelsus froze for a moment. A moment that was enough for Da Vinci.

"If you are interested, this is how Ainz's protective spells look like." Da Vinci was already a single step away from Paracelsus, and there's nothing he could do about it.

"I will be very glad if you join Chaldea. I spent sleepless weeks trying to decipher it!"

It's not that Paracelsus had run out of mana, his strongest attack is still beating with the same force as before. But his Noble Phantasm, left without its greatest strength, without Paracelsus knowing what kind of protection it had to cut through this time, was so ineffective...

Paracelsus struck with all his might, but the alien magic of Ainz, his Master's personal enemy, withstood the pressure with no trouble.

Paracelsus knew that he had lost. His trump card, his Noble Phantasm, was useless - simply because he was unlucky enough to face something he didn't understand.

But… this was still his victory.

"I will consider it my victory," Paracelsus smiled as he looked at the grimacing Da Vinci, who is now right in front him, in hand's reach. Da Vinci stood in front of him, ignoring the power of his Noble Phantasm.

No, she didn't ignore it, the disembodied power of True Ether was still going strong, but so terribly insufficient… - "Two for one, hmm... Only in this way was the legendary Da Vinci able to defeat me."

"Of course." - Da Vinci smiled, - "I admit my defeat."

A moment later, a blow from Da Vinci's hand cut off the head of Paracelsus from his body. He was dead before he fell to the ground, the already dimming Azoth sword falling from the limbless hand.

"Sorry, but I had to do it this way." Da Vinci smiled sadly, looking at the rapidly disappearing body of her dear friend.

Perhaps she really would have preferred a fair fight, but... Alas, in the current conditions - Da Vinci could not afford to spend her trump cards on Paracelsus, and not on the King of Kings.

After another moment, walking away from the defeated Servant, Da Vinci rushed away.

---

If you meet the Buddha on your road, slay him!

So then Nobunaga's fire flared up with incredible force.

On meeting a patriarch, slay the patriarch!

A pillar of flame ascending to the skies collided with Rhongomyniad's storm.

On meeting an Arhat, slay the Arhat!

A moment later, as if an inviting howl from hundreds of voices rang out, Nobunaga felt the symbol of the True Demon King appear behind her.

On meeting your parents, slay your parents!

Rising as if from ashes, from the very flame, a bone giant loomed over Nobunaga, enveloping her in its figure.

On meeting your kinsman, slay them!

As if out of nowhere, guns covered the entire sky, overshadowing the black clouds created by Artoria Alter.

And by doing so, you attain freedom!

With a sound like ringing thunder, each of the thousands of guns struck a moment later.

Oda Nobunaga, Avenger. The thousands of stories of the rejected King, the killer of everything divine and the enemy of the human race has arrived.

"More, more!"

An inaudible march of thousands of armies of thousands of unrealized stories, carried through the worlds has their voice expressed through the sound of exploding cannonade.

"Fight! I wish to see you fight!"

Oda Nobunaga, the perfect spawn of thousands of unrealized stories. A true Demon King that surpassed the concept of an enemy is in its element.

"Fight and die! Burn! Burn! Burn!"

A thousand stories about the conqueror of the world, a thousand non-existent stories about the death of an entire civilization, a thousand armies that have taken over the world.

"Prove to me that you deserve to be real! Prove to me that my death was deserved! Fight with me to the last drop of blood! Fight, fight, fight!"

Oda Nobunaga, created from thousands of stories, denied the very idea of the possible.

"Miracle? There is no miracle in the world that I did not conquer!"

After conquering a thousand worlds, destroying a thousand temples, killing a thousand heroes, Oda Nobunaga trampled into the mud the very idea of magic.

"Heroes? There are no heroes in the world that I have not killed! "

Thousands of stories in which nothing could resist the legendary commander, thousands of worlds that were not saved by magic from the all-destructive march of the conqueror.

"Enemies? There are no enemies in the world that I did not shoot with my gun!"

Thousands of legends were woven into a single one in Oda Nobunaga, the conqueror of the world.

Her Noble Phantasm was a single idea.

What if Oda Nobunaga were real?

What if Oda Nobunaga conquered the world?

What if Oda Nobunaga could destroy magic?

This expression of the Noble Phantasm was only a pitiful part of its real power, but it was enough.

"We do not accept the gods - for our god is artillery! We do not accept prayers - for our prayers are orders! We do not accept offerings - for our offerings are the bodies of soldiers! Come on, my army! It's time to trample miracles into the mud! "

Only for a short moment Oda Nobunaga made such an idea a reality. The story of her victory. A story about her greatness. The story of her conquest.

A story that denied the very possibility of a miracle.

The fire that rose from the earth was the fire that Oda Nobunaga used to burn magic from the conquered worlds. The giant skeleton was a hundred bodies that Oda Nobunaga had left after her war.

For Oda Nobunaga destroyed the miracle of a thousand worlds - what did it cost her to destroy the miracle of another?

It was the Noble Phantasm that embodied the most terrible action for any Servant, for any magus.

An Anti-mystery-class Noble Phantasm.

Mystery is what supported the existence of magic itself, the Servants, even their Noble Phantasms. What Nobunaga's Noble Phantasm in its essence destroyed the very possibility of the existence of any miracle, any force, any Hero.

An Anti-Phantasm.

The spear, Rhongomyniad, the tower that united magic and humanity, and the fire, Papiyas, the True Demon King, that forever divided these concepts clashed.

A story about the end of a legend - and a journey that denied the very possibility of a legend.

And so the great spear of the thunderstorm collided with the great fire of destruction.

And Nobunaga smiled, looking into Artoria's cold eyes.

Now no one could say that she was weak.

---

According to the Theogony of Hesiod, it was Medusa Gorgon who was the first mother of monsters in Greek mythology, and not Echidna.

Pegasus and Chrysaor emerged from her body. Her blood spilled into the sand turned into asps, amphisbens and basilisks. Her blood that spilled into the water and became coral.

The blood from her body was taken by Asclepius, part of that blood was death, a part could save any patient.

In other words, Medusa Gorgon was the first, and the earliest manifestation of such 'mothers of monsters'.

The last and most powerful Noble Phantasm of Medusa the Gorgon reflected this last part of her legend.

"And the blood was spilled…" - because according to legend, many monsters created by Medusa appeared precisely from that.

And therefore, falling down with drops of blood from Medusa's hands a shapeless mess of scales, fangs, and eyes. Before reaching the ground, they acquired a single form.

The creature that rose a moment later was only vaguely human in shape. It was a three-meter grotesque parody of the human form. In place of its eyes, there were only two objects like disfigured small glasses. His mouth was distorted, exposing many small, sharp teeth that ran in rows into its pharynx. Instead of the left palm, his left hand ended only in a narrow long blade, flickering in time with the creature's heartbeat. And the right palm, instead of fingers, had only whipping tentacles, wriggling every second.

The only thing that could resemble anything like a normal human in the body of the creature was its legs. It looked like a normal human legs, but it was covered, like the whole body, with a multitude of intertwining scales.

These bizarre features would not allow any observer to confuse the creature with anything even remotely human.

The Jabberwock, Alice's beast, rushed forward to confront the monstrosity a moment later. A certain understanding about the creature made Alice feel real emotion for the first time in the entire fight.

Surprise. Fear. "Stop!"

She hurriedly ordered her Jabberwock to retreat.

The Jabberwock, as if realizing the danger of the creature before him - so weak and insignificant at first glance - realized its mistake too late. The unknown creature looked with its false eyes - and cut the Jabberwock's bulk in a single continuous movement of its bladed left hand.

Jabberwock died instantly.

Alice couldn't believe her eyes, the creature just killed something that cannot be killed. As Alice looked at the blade of the creature that just did an impossible deed, Alice realized how.

The creature's left hand was the Vorpal sword, a blade that doesn't exist.

Medusa smiled at her opponent, her last Noble Phantasm was indeed surprisingly powerful.

A moment later, not even allowing the ingloriously dead Jabberwock enough time to fall, the created monster rushed forward.

After another moment, Alice disappeared - using her powers, she instantly disappeared not just in her form, but also from the world.

Discarding one of his hundreds of forms, the disembodied god of books discarded his very vulnerability. But the monster of Medusa did not pay attention to such actions.

His ugly glasses, which served as a substitute for his eyes, saw on a different level of perception, so he did not need to see Alice's body in order to see the Servant Nursery Rhyme.

A moment later, its tentacles, which were moving so chaotically before, stilled. After which, violating the laws of physics and biology, they rushed forward, clinging to the air where Alice was just recently, entangling the gaping nothing, as if capturing its prey.

Alice could drop any of its acquired form, gaining invulnerability, so the created creature gave Alice a form that could be defeated by force.

After another moment, as if realizing what a trap she was in, Alice used all the possibilities of her myriad forms.

Spears emerging from nowhere were interspersed with streams of pure magic, flashes of fire with fires from weapons, in a single hurricane of pure power. The disembodied god tried its best to remember every weapon it could, every form of energy that was described in hundreds and thousands of books that gave it birth.

It was useless.

The many blows and spells slid powerlessly over the creature's scaly skin, touching it and then disappearing without a trace. Since the creature was precisely created to counter Nursery Rhyme, every ability that they could use, every attack, all of it was meaningless.

It didn't take long for Medusa's monster to arrive in the space between realities where Nursery Rhyme resides. With the weak form that had been forced onto her, she was powerless as Medusa's monster unhinged its jaw.

With its tentacles securely wrapped around its victim, Nursery Rhyme was lowered through the jaws lined with hundreds of rows of teeth. His throat was as dark as the Abyss and was endless, where time itself doesn't exist. And so after fully devouring Alice's form, the monster's jaw snapped close.

Its job done, the monster then turned to stone. With Alice still 'alive' inside it.

Medusa morbidly wonders what emotion her enemy must be feeling as she was swallowed whole. Medusa smiled one last time.

Her eyes serve primarily as a preparation for this Noble Phantasm, just as the Chrysaor was created only to make her imminent blow as deadly as possible.

What was the ability of her Noble Phantasm?

It was in creating the perfect monster, a hero killer.

Observing their abilities, movements, and actions of her opponent, Medusa studied them only for the next blow. The monster created by her Noble Phantasm was created as an ideal adversary for her enemy. Protected from the hero's attacks, it would ignore any of their abilities, would surpass any of their defense, safe from their traps, and inaccessible to their mind and invisible to their eye.

A perfect Hero Killer.

Medusa, after studying any ability, does not have the ability to copy any of it, but she could create the perfect weapon against it.

Medusa could create a creature immune to electricity against Tesla. Against Da Vinci - an endlessly changing chaotic creature that ignored any plan, always making the most illogical of decisions. Against Arthuria - an ephemeral monster, invulnerable to blades and the direct all-crushing power of Excalibur. Against Ainz...

Um, Medusa was forced to admit that against Ainz, most likely, she could not create a powerful enough opponent. Protected from magic? Perhaps, but Ainz was good at dealing with creatures whose protection against magic was really great - and he did not have any problems with such opponents...

However, of course, Medusa did not even entertain the thought of fighting Ainz. Firstly, she was loyal, secondly, she was smart, and thirdly she was in love.

However, Alice, hmm...

A being that ignored any disembodied form, for it saw Alice not with sight, but with perception. A thing that could give Alice a form that she could not discard, getting rid of her invulnerability. A thing that could keep entrap her. A thing that could have killed the Jabberwock, an invulnerable monster. A thing that could withstand Alice's onslaught…

Perhaps the most important problem that needed to be solved was Alice's ability to return time after her victory to the beginning of the battle. Therefore, the created monster would not 'kill' the form given to Alice, but instead absorbs it, before instantly petrifying itself. Therefore, neutralizing Alice.

The monster did not kill and did not cause any damage as it swallowed Alice, no matter how terrifying it looked. It was only a prison, a chain that consumed Alice, a prison in which time did not exist.

After all, Alice could not turn back time - if there was no time that could be returned. Alice was shackled as she was swallowed, placed in an endless timeless prison.

Unfortunately, Medusa was displeased to admit that her abilities, although great, were still not infinite. Even she could not easily destroy a Servant like Alice, however, to shackle and lock? Medusa could tell that she could do it.

And so the frozen stone statue of the creature continued to stand in its place, forcing Medusa to nod and rush on to help the other Servants.

In the end, she had to win the battle - and Medusa could easily find such a solution to the problem as victory.

---

An excerpt from non-fiction literature: "The Lesser Known Life of Gaius Julius Caesar":

… The figure that Gaius Julius Caesar represented is undoubtedly favored by men, Caesar, as beloved in his lifetime and posthumously, remained at all times as if an indestructible symbol of the Roman Empire. His figure deified by the Emperor, one mention of which often served as a justification for the right of the Emperors to rule.

It is widely known that during his reign, Caligula argued that Caesar's visions helped him in his reign, keeping him from rash decisions (which is quite ironic, given how many rash decisions Caligula's made during his reign), and Emperor Nero announced the spirit of Caesar as his personal adviser, claiming that he, being a deified descendant of Romulus and Mars, is able to give Nero his advice even after centuries after his death.

It is thanks to this fact that Caesar became a figure that is vilified by the Christians of the Roman Empire. The cruel persecutions of the emperor Nero, allegedly carried out on the advice of the spirit of Caesar often being cited as the reason.

The early Christians, whose beliefs were oftentimes mixed with the pagan beliefs of their time, correlated Caesar, and his legendary patron Romulus, and even at one time Attila, the leader of the Huns, as demonic henchmen in the service of Baal.

Although, of course, in Modern times this interpretation is already long forgotten even by the Church. Furthermore, Caesar was not officially condemned by the Christian Church, unlike a long line of his successors...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 90: Londinium final battle: and yet another continuation

Mashu felt her irritation, locked in her chest, trying to break free. But, unable to cope with the pressure of the situation, it remained locked inside, forcing Mashu to desperately seek a new avenue of attacking her enemy. The King of Kings was not an enemy where such a distraction would not cause her to die instantly.

Jack was extremely fast, definitely faster than Mashu or Jalter. It was in a blink of an eye, and she was already behind the back of the enemy, the King of Kings. But as she raised her daggers to attack, dozens, no hundreds of magic arrows eviscerated her small body. Instantly turning the Servant into nothing more than torn flesh and clouds of blood.

Jalter rushed forward, arriving in front of the enemy only a moment behind Jack. The blade flashing in her hands could strike terror into a dozen Servants in her path, but to the King of Kings Jalter might as well be swinging a particularly large cucumber. Just as Jack's attack didn't even seem to attract the King's attention, so did Jalter's attack was summarily ignored. Not that her blade reached the King.

A moment later, dozens of spears emerged from the ground, seeking to skewer Jalter's body. Was the King's attack some kind of magic or an ability that automatically defended him? Alas, Mashu was not in a position to indulge in such idle thought about the matter. She watched as the spears forced Jalter to dodge to the side. Only to now be in the path of a ring of light that seeks to destroy her in her unbalanced state.

The ring of light unfurled, turning into a dozen rays of destruction, cutting through stone and metal on its way with the same ease as it would cut flesh.

Mashu was not idle. She was in the path of attack a second before it could hit the out of position Jalter. But still, even her steady shield could not hold back the full strength of the King of Kings.

Crashing into the shield like a swarm of angry wasps, some of the target-seeking attacks slid easily past Mashu's shield, bypassing her shield entirely, before crashing into Mashu's body. Only Ainz's spells prevented her from dying instantly.

Mashu wanted to scream in pain, but the pain and the weight she's feeling on her shield did not give her even the leeway to do such a small thing.

'Hold on, Mashu, just hold on!'

Mashu was not sure who said these words - her or Galahad's, but she tried to fulfill them, continuing to hold her shield upright with all her strength.

The King was not interested in Mashu's thoughts, he did not even shift his gaze to note her presence.

Jalter took the opportunity that Mashu had provided with an incredible cost to herself, and she swung her sword towards the King of Kings. Before her blade could even reach, countless chains wrapped around Jalter's body tightly, disallowing even the smallest bit of movement. She was thrown aside like yesterday's garbage through the air, crumpling into a heap as she struck the walls of the cave.

The King merely watched the fallen body of the Servant in dissatisfaction, continuing to silently observe the actions of the Servants in front of him. With Jack dead and Jalter incapacitated, only Mashu and Fran was left.

Fran barely managed to take one more step towards the enemy before a gout of flames engulfed her. Even from behind her shield, Mashu could feel the overwhelming heat from the lick of flames that had consumed Fran completely.

With a blast of electricity, Fran freed herself from the white-hot fires. With a bestial roar, Fran leaped towards the King of Kings and swung her mace.

Galvanism, the ability to harness and convert any magic into electricity with the power of science, belonged not only to Tesla.

However, the King was not even paying any notice to Fran's attack. As Fran descended to land her attack, a maw opened under her feet. The opening swallowed Fran whole before she could finish her attack.

"For Daddy!" Jack, whose vitality, was buffed by the imposed spells of Ainz, struck out of the shadows. Her durability had surpassed what the King of Kings had calculated, causing an expression to appear on his face for the first time in this entire fight.

"Hmm," The King started talking for the first time, "Amazing vitality. Perhaps I will even have to pay a compliment to your new Master, Jack."

Jack then struck with all her possible strengths, trying to plunge her blade into the body of the King of Kings as deep as possible.

However, instead of the body of the King of Kings, Jack's blades ran into an obstacle that had appeared in front of her blade, preventing her blade from reaching the King. The barrier, as if woven from dozens of silvery threads, barely buckled under Jack's full assault.

A moment later, completely without interfering with the bored tone the King had adopted, a dozen of blades pierced Jack's body, pinning her to the cave ceiling like a butterfly on a pin.

"Le Grondement de la Haine!" As she recovered, Jalter used her Noble Phantasm without any hesitation.

An ocean of curse flame rushed forward from Jalter's outstretched hands. It came in contact with an invisible barrier that surrounds the King of Kings like a second skin. Undeterred, dozens of blades then rushed out of the ground before exploding in a fiery extravaganza. However, it was not enough.

The blaze of hatred powerlessly collided against a barrier of hundreds of intertwined threads that had appeared around the King.

Jalter gritted her teeth until it hurt. For the first time… She lacked strength.

Ainz had cast buffs on her, strong buffs. So much so that her fire burned the hottest it has ever been. And... it was not enough.

Jalter only watched powerlessly as the raging flames of her hatred strove to strike the King, but only slid powerlessly against his defenses.

After another moment, the network of magic enveloping the King began glowing with light. It was not difficult to guess about what would happen next.

"Lord Camelot!" Mashu's Noble Phantasm emerged a moment later around the King. The walls of Camelot rose around the King of Kings, seeking to isolate his power. It was almost not enough.

A blast of light exploded in all directions, colliding with the defenses of Camelot's walls. Mashu could see the walls cracking.

'Where does such power come from?!' - Mashu gritted her teeth in vexation. 'It was not even a Noble Phantasm! The walls of Camelot cracked with simply one spell?!'

Unheeding to Mashu's aggravation, the King, however, indifferently watched Mashu's struggle, desperately continuing to stand against the might of the Grand Servant.

After another moment, Jack, whose body did not want to surrender in this struggle, tried to strike again. However, as if nothing had changed, Jack's blades struck another shield that appeared in the path of their blade again. The feat of surviving not once but twice forcing the King to speak for the second time in the battle. "Truly commendable vitality. Indeed, my opponent rightfully bears his title."

"Blasted Tree!" Up, upon the bulwark of the walls of Camelot, Fran lifted her mace and used her Noble Phantasm.

She shouted the only words she could say.

In a flash of lighting, the wrath of the gods once again showed their brilliance, as a flash of grandiose lightning crashed into the King's body...

Only to powerlessly slip over the shimmering shield that appeared on its way, not even the lighting of the gods was enough to penetrate the King's overwhelming defense.

"Your attacks are more powerful than I expected," The King's voice was as calm, as if no matter what his opponents would do, nothing could ruffle his demeanor. "But my opponent is certainly wasting his attention and energy on you. No matter how much stronger you get, mere Servants like you will not even be a hindrance for me."

"Oh, I would like to test your hypothesis!" Never before and perhaps for a long time after would Jalter be so glad to hear Da Vinci's voice, - "Uomo Universale!"

---

According to the novel that had so determined his legend, Dr. Jekyll had developed a serum that was supposed to permanently cleanse him of all his vile thoughts, and all the evil impulses and aspirations that plague him. However, rather than destroying his 'evil', he simply created a potion that divided his psyche.

Did he imbibe the potion to cleanse himself, or was it for a fascination to truly see the dichotomy of human nature put into the starkest contrast possible? Perhaps the truth would never be truly known.

Although, perhaps, in a sense, he had indeed succeeded beyond his wildest imagination. His potion had indeed stripped him of all the 'evil' inside of him.

Dr. Jekyll, a noble and respected gentleman, philanthropist and aesthete, was stripped of all his negative qualities, becoming a truly exalted representative of humanity. He's kind, joyful, optimistic, heroic...

And dead.

In the original book, Dr. Jekyll's evil was not cleansed in a way that he perhaps had hoped for. Rather than stripping him of his evil qualities, the potion had simply concentrated all the good in the poor Doctor, and also his evil, creating another person inside of Dr. Jekyll's psyche. In the end, unable to bear the burden of the crime his other half committed, and fearing that he would lose control of 'himself', the good Doctor committed suicide.

This was the complete, final tragedy of Dr. Jekyll.

And so, in his battle with Shakespeare, Dr. Jekyll's psyche was destroyed just as it was in his legend. And, loathe as he to admit, Andersen admits that the ending was one he could approve of. In his desperation to become 'good', Dr. Jekyll had not noticed the moment when he finally lost the thread of control he has on his mind. Becoming a man at the mercy of his alter-ego by his own inaction and passivity.

However, his second self, Mr. Hyde, although dying along with Dr. Jekyll, was not destroyed. Not in the book, and not in Shakespeare's attack. For in the final throes where living and dying is determined, it was Mr. Hyde that won the battle for dominance in the end.

"Finally, the weakling Jekyll is dead, it's time to make some noise here!"

The serum in the hands of Dr. Jekyll was his Noble Phantasm. It was the very serum from the book that was created in order to forever destroy all the evil that was inside the Doctor. But in the end it also became the gate through which the evil Mr. Hyde entered this world...

"Haha, guys, guess who's going to rip your ass out now?!"

Dr. Jekyll's bottle contained only one sip of the wonderful serum. A dose enough to give Mr. Hyde the ability to break from the prison of Dr. Jekyll's psyche.

Shakespeare swore profusely when his grand play was interrupted by the scribbles written by Andersen's unsuccessful book hack. But in the end he was able to calm himself, if barely.

Oh, what a pity! His magnificent play was ruined by the hands of a presumptuous child, what great disrespect for his talent!

Well, he only needs to write another one, then!

While it was incredibly unpleasant to have someone daring to rewrite his perfect story, he was not in any danger, no matter what his enemies deign to do. Thanks to his skill, as long as the playwright always remained 'off the stage' and 'out of the play', he was out of any harm. It means that as long as his Master was out of danger, and his current Master, the King of Kings, was always out of any danger, he was invulnerable and could allow himself to be, if not relaxed, then at least calm.

And therefore, when Dr. Jekyll underwent his change Shakespeare did not budge, just watching such a transformation with interest. Oh, and what a transformation it was, one could scarcely believe that they were supposed to be the same person!

The glasses that usually rested on the face of Dr. Jekyll had fallen to the ground and was trampled. His hair, usually kept in the very image of kemptness, now rose in a madness of whirlwinds as if under the influence of an invisible wind. With his unbuttoned vest, and his tie seemingly falling to the ground by itself, the transformation was complete. Transforming the British gentlemen that is Dr. Jekyll into the vile and maddened Mr. Hyde -

So, assured of his invincibility, Shakespeare didn't even have the chance to mutter a word as Hyde's hand ripped his head from his neck. Something had happened, unknown to Shakespeare, had put a sense of danger to the King of Kings. Something that had made the supposed to be sidelined King of Kings, part of the story.

And so, Shakespeare died without knowing the reason why. Shakespeare died by the quite literal Deus Ex Machina.

Shakespeare did not even have the time to be surprised at such a development of events. He did not have time to say his last parting words filled with pathos. He did not have the time to laugh at the enemy before his inevitable finale. He did not even have the time to compare his actions with the actions of the villain in one of his plays.

Shakespeare died just like that. Perhaps if he had read more of the literary works of modern times, he would realize just how much 'death flags' he had just tripped. And with his powers basically being based on literary conventions, Shakespeare should really have known better.

With bestial cruelty and force, Hyde's hand tore off Shakespeare's head, dyeing the blue curtains that framed the open window purple. Shakespeare's spilled blood, the finishing touch on his unfinished drafts on the table.

Shakespeare had died - but Hyde, now finally free, wanted more.

And he was interested in catching a much larger fish.

---

Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm, who had suddenly ceased acting on Mordred, could not ward off the retribution falling on her. The blade of Arthuria, the black Excalibur is still falling towards the no longer controlled Servant. Even without Shakespeare's control, Mordred couldn't undo her past actions, couldn't make herself an ally of Arthuria, and it couldn't save her.

Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm was perhaps the thing that had put Mordred into enacting her betrayal, but canceling it did not magically solve Mordred's current problems.

All in all, it was probably almost pointless to undo Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm at a time when Mordred herself was so close to death.

Or perhaps…

Mordred did not have time to finish her lament - the unrelenting rush of black Excalibur's might had replaced any thought could have had Mordred with excruciating pain.

Mordred's body was ripped apart as the cursed power of the black sword gnawed Mordred's body relentlessly. The black blade cleaved Mordred into miserable pieces of meat that would have died a moment later.

But Mordred didn't die, not yet.

In the past, in the distant hills of Camlann, Mordred had also met her death. In her fight against her father, Mordred was also killed by a blow from Artoria's spear. And yet, even when defeated, and on death's door, Mordred still struck back.

At the edge of life and death, Mordred's tenacity had created a miracle. Battle Continuation, the ability to keep fighting even when dealt a mortal blow.

Mordred had also survived back then when she should have died, even for a second more. And then, she stabbed and killed her father.

Maybe… Perhaps she will also do the same today.

"Clarent Blood Arthur!" Were the last words uttered by Mordred.

History does love to repeat themselves.

---

The spear that unites magic and humanity, collided with a flame that destroys every miracle.

The Thunderstorm of the King Without Kingdom and the fire of the Enemy Without Enemies.

The strength of both Servants was great and almost without comparison.

If it was Arthuria that was in the path of the black spear instead of Nobunaga, then there wouldn't even be a shred of her left. Physically and spiritually, everything would be wiped to the last. The incredible power of Artoria's spear would have destroyed Arthuria completely, tearing apart everything that makes the Saber-class Servant a Servant.

If Mordred were in the way of the all-consuming fire of Nobunaga, not even a speck of her legend would have remained. Nobunaga's fire would have scoured even the smallest portion of the Saber-class Servant. Her flames devouring and digesting everything from metal to legend.

The two great forces clashed in confrontation and the world was torn in half. A line was drawn in stark contrast with fire and lightning, between Avenger and Lancer, between King and King.

Nobunaga's fire consumed anything thrown against it - Artoria's spear shattered everything that tried to reach it.

For a moment, a precarious balance was established. The two titanic powers collided with each other, and yet not yielding a single iota of space.

The balance wouldn't last however...

"Clarent Blood Arthur!" As soon as the voice reached her ears, a flash of red lightning now joined the red flame. The lightning, so terrifying in other conditions, now seemed completely childish, almost a toy, in comparison against the two titans of power that are colliding with each other.

And yet, even such a small part against the background of the cataclysmic forces was enough to tilt its balance in one direction.

And so Clarent once again found its target, ending the life of King Arthur.

Artoria was frozen in disbelief as Clarent's blade reached her. And so the spear, previously so radiant with power, fell from nerveless hands.

It didn't take long for Nobunaga's fire to take advantage of this lapse in opposition. And so, the all-consuming crimson flame of Nobunaga consumed the figure of the lonely King.

In the clash between the two titans, Nobunaga had won. Still, the victory was not won by Nobunaga's hands alone. The achievement of slaying the King of Storms was not hers.

---

'Father, did I do my best?' Mordred slowly falls into the darkness.

'Father, was I helpful? Father, did I help you win? Father, are you glad? Are you proud of me, father?'

Mordred tried her best to fight the encroaching darkness, trying to open her eyes to see her Father even for a moment before dying.

'Father, am I your son? Father, did I fight for you? Father, have you won?'

With all her remaining strength, a moment before her death, Mordred was able to open her eyes one last time to see her Father.

But Arthuria was not near, nor far away.

Arthuria was nowhere to be found.

Having finished one battle, she went on to finish another. To fight another's battles. To fight another's wars. To follow another's orders.

In the end, Mordred was once again alone.

'Father, why are you not here?' Mordred fell into darkness for the last time, her strength leaving her. 'Why aren't you with me, father?'

And so, as she returns to the darkness and her body crumbles into motes of Mana, Mordred's last thoughts were only of her beloved Father.

---

A universal person.

A term first used in the seventeenth century to describe the outstanding, and unique people whose scientific and creative potential went beyond all human reasoning.

Literary critic, art connoisseur, playwright, physicist, chemist, designer, artist, physician, philologist, theologian, were amongst the long list of the thousands of disciplines that the universal man had mastered.

The Universal Man was amongst the Greats of Humanity. Theirs were the knowledge and pursuits of great varieties and depth that anyone reading their history, could be forgiven for asking the question - 'what does this person not know?'.

The answer of Leonardo Da Vinci, the most famous even amongst the famous people of the Renaissance, was simple. "Nothing. I know everything."

All manners of philosophical debates and problems of shipping, in the logistical sense and also in the romantic sense, the management of empires and chemical experiments. How to build all manners of mechanical devices, from nuclear bombs to a windmill. There was nothing in the human world that Leonardo Da Vinci did not study and did not master.

While observing the migration paths of migratory birds, she could pen a letter criticizing a literary creation to her friend with one hand, while the other hand was used in writing down the results of theoretical calculations of super-complex equations. All the while reflecting about the nature of the goings-on of modern states and the historical precedence for waging wars.

Da Vinci's repositories of knowledge were almost endless, and from this breadth of knowledge the rest of her excellence showed itself.

Mathematical equations solved the problems of physics. Theories of physics reinforced the knowledge of chemistry. Knowledge of chemistry became the basis of biology. And the works of medicine grew on the understanding of biology.

In such an incredible repository of knowledge like Da Vinci, thousands of facts and conclusions could be instantly reasoned out. So much so that indeed, 'there's nothing that Da Vinci doesn't know' is a truism. Even the unknown is simply a matter of logical deduction and time for Da Vinci.

And therefore, faced with a seemingly insoluble problem, Da Vinci would only chuckle. Then recalling hundreds of similar, long-answered questions, would give out the answer with no sweat of her delicately manicured eyebrow.

Therefore, anything facing her could not win in any way.

Unlike Paracelsus, Da Vinci's strength did not need to adapt to each opponent, she already knew everything about everything.

Her Noble Phantasm could be called one of the sharpest blades in human history. Greater even than the Last Phantasm Excalibur.

A blade called knowledge.

When her Noble Phantasm reached the King of Kings, Da Vinci instantly knew everything about him.

About each vulnerability, even the smallest ones. About his abilities, from the greatest to the most insignificant ones.

Da Vinci saw each of the billions unseen cracks in the armor of the invincible creature called the King of Kings. Weaknesses that even the King of Kings himself did not know about.

Da Vinci saw how she could deliver the strongest possible blow she could against the King of Kings.

The moment that the Mystery that is the King of Kings is revealed, so does Shakespeare's invincibility run out. Now that the King of Kings theoretically could be in danger, Da Vinci had unknowingly caused Shakespeare's death.

Of course, just knowing that there is a weakness, it doesn't immediately follow that the weakness could be taken advantage of. Humanity has long known the necessary amount of force needed to destroy the Earth, doesn't mean they could do it.

Da Vinci couldn't find a way to defeat the King of Kings.

Her knowledge was, unquestioningly, the greatest in the world. But no amount of knowledge could defeat the King of Kings, pure, simple power was needed.

A power that Da Vinci didn't have.

With her unmatched knowledge and with her magic, she could inflict a colossal blow that would de-incarnate, destroy, rip apart any Servant.

But that was not enough to defeat the King of Kings.

The King of Kings has his vulnerabilities, but even seeing each and every one of them, Da Vinci simply did not have the strength to take advantage of it.

Da Vinci still tried, she struck with the most destructive attack she could.

If Nobunaga were here, perhaps even Artoria, Tesla, or even Megalos were here, Da Vinci would have won. With their power, directed by Da Vinci, perhaps it would be enough to mortally wound the King of Kings.

But they were not, and so they would lose.

Her blow was incredible, terrible, and monstrous. It was enough that the King of Kings felt pain for the first time in his existence. He felt the power, such an incredible power that it when solely directed against him was enough to cause injury to him.

But it was not enough.

It was enough that the King of Kings, the unshakable bulk, were made to move, he took a step back.

But… that's it. All the abilities that Da Vinci could scrounge up at this moment, all the force that Fran and Jalter that she could direct was not enough to kill the King of Kings.

And so, they would lose.

As the King of Kings regained his balance, he placed all his attention towards Da Vinci.

Da Vinci no longer looked her best. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face, her hair was disheveled, and she herself breathed roughly and desperately, greedily re-filling her lungs with air. There was not even a drop of mana left in her body, just a little more and her body itself would begin to de-incarnate, turning into nothing but pure mana.

However, even with all that, the only thing she managed to do was to make her opponent take a step back, and to gain the full attention of the King.

And the King looked very angry.

As if to make physical the King's burning rage, Da Vinci was surrounded by a ring of flame. A position from which she could not defend herself, having used all her strength for the first, and only attack she could do.

But… the desperate struggle of Mashu. Jack, Fran, Jalter, and Da Vinci had bought enough time.

Medusa, who had arrived from her fight against Nursery Rhyme, rescued Da Vinci from the enclosing ring of fire, taking advantage of her unmatched dexterity.

As Da Vinci was being rescued, a hail of bullets struck the King's shield from all directions. Nobunaga's attacks then exploded in a bouquet of blooming crimson flames.

As the King was blinded by the fires of hell, Jalter's blade rushed towards the King's body, echoing Arthuria's action, who had attacked from behind the King.

But, even under such onslaught, the King was not defenseless. Before their blade could reach, the ground under the King's feet exploded in a burst of fire, almost engulfing both Jalter and Arthuria.

Only Andersen's effort, who was not far away, disregarding even his well-known rule to never meddle in battle, was able to pull Arthuria away from the conflagration.

Jalter on the other hand was rescued by Jack who was waiting for another opportunity to attack. The King's retaliation didn't end there, his next target being Fran and Mashu.

Fran defended herself from the dozens of magic bolts by turning them into harmless electricity. While Mashu simply put up her shield, defending herself from a dozen steel spears that struck from behind her.

Even with the King of Kings' might, with so many Servants attacking him, an opening inevitably opened up. Though the one that took advantage of it was definitely not someone anyone expected.

"Hey, guys!" Hyde's voice was overflowing with maddened glee. - "Come on, it's time to kick some ass!"

Taking advantage of the King of Kings' lapse in attention, contrary to any law and common sense, and not even possessing enough strength to really do anything, Mr. Hyde punched the King of Kings right in the face.

If Da Vinci injuring him, angered him. Then Hyde's fist on his face, turned him apocalyptic.

---

In the original novel, Mr. Hyde, created by Jekyll's serum as his evil alter ego, eventually escaped from the grip of his creator. With each time he appears, slowly swallowing the original Doctor's identity. With every second spent in captivity, Hyde only grew that much stronger, slowly undermining Jekyll's psyche and strength before in the end breaking free as Dr. Jekyll killed himself.

This part of the legend was reflected in the ability of the Servant, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Jekyll as a Servant wasn't really that weak per se. While his strength was not enough to match Artoria, his agility and speed inferior to Jack's, and his stamina was incomparable to Hercules, but he was not at all as weak as his opponent might think at first glance.

However, this strength of Dr. Jekyll could only be known by his Master, or any Servant with skills capable of piercing through the obfuscation of secrecy. His strength can only be seen if one can look at his parameters and list of skills. A Servant facing him in battle, would only see a useless weakling, that is barely stronger than an ordinary person, unable to defeat even the most useless of opponents.

Truly, when one meets Jekyll, one would be hard-pressed to even notice that he was actually a Servant.

In the end, Hyde had undermined Jekyll's power by taking it for himself.

Jekyll's particular skill, Hyde's existence, all of this took away Jekyll's powers, leaving him with only the smallest, most insignificant part of his real abilities, literally forcing Jekyll to resort to Hyde's help in case of a fight. However, where did Jekyll's power go, was it devoured by switching to Mr. Hyde?

It went nowhere, that strength was greedily absorbed by Mr. Hyde.

And so, after spending a month and a half, deprived of all strength, having to give every grain of his abilities to his alter ego, Jekyll, as soon as he broke the seal, exploded with the power of Hyde a moment later.

In that moment, he was stronger than even Hercules, and faster than even Achilles.

In that fleeting moment, such a weak Servant like Dr. Jekyll was able to pierce through the King of Kings' defense, wounding him. All his strength would then return to normal, and he would almost assuredly die.

But for that one well-placed blow to the jaw of the King of Kings, that was enough for Mr. Hyde.

And so the King of Kings, the unassailable mountain of strength, was once again wounded and this time even more significantly. And this wound was not caused by the excellence of desperate Servants, but by a lucky blow of an insignificant gnat.

If an ordinary person were in the place of the King of Kings, only a bloody mist, like fog, would remain as their body evaporated. If it was Andersen, then the scraps of his body would have to be collected from the ground by a mop. If it was Arthuria, Hyde would most likely have broken her spine, while breaking her skull in half. And if it was Hercules… well at least he would have gotten a broken jaw.

The King of Kings, however, only shook his head to the side before slowly returning it to its previous position.

However, it could not be said that Hyde's blow was pointless. The King of Kings, slowly returning his head to its usual place, bore the part that had been hit by Jekyll's blow. Part of the King of Kings' head was missing altogether, the wound showing only a gaping abyss oozing black and red blood... Or not quite blood in this case.

"How dare you?" The voice of the King, usually so pompous or bored, but always human, has changed. Now it was more like the roar of a bestial BEAST. "HOW DARE YOU?!"

As if obeying its own laws of physics, a black and red mess, so similar to the body of the Demon Kings, instantly rushed forward covering the King's face, healing the wound.

The King's expression has changed - the eyes themselves have changed. From those saturated with contempt and arrogance, but still human ones, into one that looked more like those sported by Dead Apostles. Now his eyes were consumed by a black sclera with a red iris brimming with undisguised hatred - "HOW DARE YOU?!"

A roar like the roar of a wild Beast, a monster, echoed with a booming echo, and the world was engulfed in the King's black and red flame.

Jekyll, the closest one.

Andersen, rushing to help a friend.

Jack, unable to retreat.

Fran, hoping to stab the enemy from the back.

All died instantly.

Not even ashes remained as the King's black and red flames spread in all directions. The flames rushed forward like a pack of hungry dogs towards their next target, the Servants of Ainz.

Mashu could only watch defenseless, her Noble Phantasm no longer available, she didn't even have the strength to raise her shield. She could only watch helplessly as Death came for her. Ainz's help couldn't come as the King had blocked any communication with the outside world.

Well, Mashu was right in a sense. Death had indeed come for her.

"Mass Teleport." In between one blink of the eye and the next, Mashu found herself in a completely different place. It was as if the flames coming for her was nothing more than a figment of a nightmare.

Almost immediately, Mashu looked at her new surroundings, trying to find the reason for the abrupt change in her situation. Mashu could see the rest of Ainz's Servants in various positions arrayed around her. It didn't take long before she stumbled upon the figure of the magician standing not far in front of her.

Ainz Ooal Gown was furious, if not apocalyptically so. For some reason Mashu could see Ainz holding on to some dust in his hands.

"Hah, damn you Tesla… Can't you drop your WCI? And now some 'random' person has killed a person I'm supposed to protect. He even dared to scuff my collection." Ainz's voice sounded calm, but Mashu understood that it was only the calm only before the storm. Mashu hoped that Ainz still remembered that they're supposed to save London and hoped that there would still be something that remains of the very unlucky city.

"An attempt on my Servants... Jack's death... And that damn WCI, I was trying to restore it now for almost twenty minutes… And nothing to show for it."

Ainz exhaled slowly, and Mashu, although she could not see his expression, could tell that Ainz's expression would be very scary. "I officially declare. I am very unhappy with your actions... Whoever you are." Thankfully, Ainz was facing away from Mashu.

---

An excerpt from the scientific work "Romulus: Historical Fiction or Something More?":

The story of two brothers, Romulus and Remus, who was raised by a she-wolf, is a fairly well-known legend. Just as famous as its ending where Remus died at the hands of Romulus, who later founded the city of Rome on the site of his brother's death, a location that was the source of the conflict in the first place.

However, the question of Romulus's existence as a real living person, or maybe even as a person who was later used as the source of the myth of Romulus is still in question.

To begin with, it is worth saying that for obvious reasons, some of the 'war emperors' that arose for a short time in the Roman Empire, was in no way the real Romulus. It was ridiculous to even suggest that Romulus was still alive centuries from the founding of the city with his namesake.

A clear fact that was called in question by the cult of Romulus, a tool many a future would-be conqueror would use to solidify their power by taking on his name.

The military rulers who took the name Romulus as proof of the legitimacy of their rule was almost a dime a dozen. For example the 'Romulus' living during the rule of Emperor Nero, who declared himself the true Emperor and as the reincarnation of the founder of Rome. Of course the usurper of Nero's throne only dared to claim such a thing after his traitorous legions captured Rome.

For a few weeks, Rome was ruled by the supposed 'Romulus' using the widely spread cult of Romulus as his support.

For clear reasons this 'Romulus' would be ignored.

In the same way, this investigation will not use the mystified legends about a living giant of the people who watched over Rome, protecting it from the invasion of barbarians. Who then supposedly disappeared from the capital the moment the Christians were accepted as wards of the state, as citizens of Rome.

A farcical legend where Romulus supposedly disappeared from Rome because the Christians vilified him as one of the younger demons on earth in the service of Baal. Truly the early Christians were blamed for everything.

Instead, the most plausible source of the legend, which seems the most logical to this researcher, was that Romulus was based on one of the ancient military commanders of the time. The ancient Latin commander who would lead the then still small Latin people, would then be worshiped by the following generations of people that lived in the small settlement of seven hills. A settlement that through the annals of history would then be called Rome.

A City named after Romulus, or a legend so named after a City?...

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 91: Londinium final battle: end

Ainz was angry.

For the first time since the death of Medusa, and for the second time since his stay in this New World, Ainz was angry.

Very, very angry. Furious even.

The loss of a WCI, a cheat among cheats, an item that alone could raise the player to the TOP level, was a huge blow for Ainz. A blow to his unquenchable thirst for collecting new things. A blow to his curiosity, which seeks to analyze the most dangerous and effective abilities of this world. And, of course, a blow to his desire to increase his own fighting abilities.

Once upon a time, when Ainz Ooal Gown was still called Nine's Own Goal, and was at the height of its power, one of the WCI in the guild's collection was stolen.

The conflict that arose from the incident was immense. So much so that one of his guild members, annoyed by such a failure, stopped playing Yggdrasil altogether, accusing Touch Me and his inept guild leadership as the cause of losing such a valuable item.

Subsequently, this became one of the main reasons why Touch Me left the post of guild master, giving this role to Ainz and thus was the main catalyst for the birth of Ainz Ooal Gown.

Of course, Ainz had not lost one of his WCI. That would merit… quite the response. But had only failed to receive one of the WCI of this world that he had coincidentally found, which softened the blow a little, but the resentment and anger he felt at Tesla could not disappear completely.

The death of Jack was a huge problem for Ainz. Not only did he lose a very rare opportunity to research the undead of this world, and perhaps even have the very rare chance to communicate with one of the representatives of the highest race of ghosts, his minion was destroyed. And not one of the mindless and impersonal summoning that he could summon a dime a dozen, but a very real Servant, a unique one at that.

However, Ainz could at least assuage the anger a little that the captured Jack was not one of 'his' Servants. So, formally speaking, no violation of Ainz's own rules about protecting his Servants had occurred. Besides, Ainz was not even sure that he could have taken Jack out of this Singularity without her being connected to Chaldea. But it certainly did not serve as a remedy to Ainz' anger.

It's like finding a gold bar in the middle of a road. It's not like he had spent any energy in finding such a thing, but losing it would still sting somewhat.

And, lastly, the thing that angered him the most, of course, was that his Servants were injured, beaten and exhausted. Which, in general, was relatively expected and that none of 'his' Servants died means that he didn't really have a reason to go on a murderous rampage. But had he hadn't interfered, they would have all died… And that pissed him off like nothing else.

Of course, Ainz understood that receiving injuries in battles were inevitable. But the realization of just how close it had been for him to lose them all, evoked a great anger in his soul. A great anger towards himself and towards his opponent.

In other words, if for example only one of the three things had happened. Say for instance, his Servants almost dying or the lost WCI. Ainz would exhale heavily and look at his opponent seriously.

If for instance, two of the three events happened at the same time, Ainz would clench his fists with anger bubbling inside him, barely suppressed by his skill, and then would start fighting somewhat seriously. He for example might use one of his Super-Tier spells to show his doomed opponent just how angry he was.

But, for good or ill, the three factors had come together at once. And so Ainz was unbelievably angry. He won't be making this 'King of Kings' death short in any way. Just like Euryale and Stheno, his death is going to be long and traumatic. There would be no mercy.

But, before he put on the screws on the King of Kings, first he had to make sure that his Servants were okay.

Quickly glancing around at the Servants around him and finding that his Servants were somehow, if not uninjured, then at least alive and stable. Then a thought popped up in his head that he immediately dismissed when he 'saw' the King of Kings in the distance, they would be useless in the coming battle.

Ainz, satisfied that his enemy hadn't planted some kind of curse on his Servants, began moving forward. In the distance the figure of his opponent could be seen walking towards him.

He was a young man that if he were not an enemy that he would crush, Ainz could charitably say even look attractive. With his bronze tanned skin, mottled with many exotic tattoos, and with the black lines rising up his arms to his chest giving him a sense of exoticism no less than his thick mane of white hair gathered in one huge braid running down his chest. A braid framed by red and black jewelry woven into said braid.

Ainz could charitably say that he looked like a guy that has no trouble attracting women's attention. Though now that he looked closer, the tattoos on the back of his hands looked more like complex multi-sided black seals.

Wearing a pompous outfit of black and red toga with a white cloak adorned with numerous patterns made of red strings, his outfit was very eye-catching. Though for Ainz, the thing that attracted his attention the most was the nine gold rings and one silver on his fingers.

His outfit is literally screaming of how great the status of the man in front of him is.

If he were any other person, and they were not about to do their best to kill each other, Ainz would say that he would be expressing awe or admiration at his opponent's appearance. But he was himself and was about to do his best to grind his face to the ground, so no, he wouldn't be expressing any other emotion than spite and anger.

But, well, judging by the expression his opponent is showing in his eyes, a black sclera and a red iris, looking with malice, joy, interest and contempt in equal proportions. And with a face literally contorted with hatred that exposed a mouth full of pointed teeth barely resembling human ones. It seems that his opponent is of the same mind.

"So…" Ainz's opponent looked at him. "You are the one who has ordained himself the title of my enemy?" Ainz ignored the thundering voice as he continued to move forward. It seems that his opponent is not as mad as Ainz if he still has the capability to speak that rationally.

"I must admit that under different conditions I would not have held back my joy at meeting you." - Ainz moved slowly, encroaching ever closer to his enemy. "Still, as I saw your strength from the front ranks, I could graciously say that your claim, no matter how untrue, was not devoid of a bit of common sense."

The other Servants, if they were in any condition to pay attention to the oncoming clash, would notice how dramatically the voice and behavior of the King of Kings have changed the moment when he saw Ainz.

But Ainz himself did not pay attention to it, approaching his goal, with a slow determined gait. Slow and steady, inevitable and imminent. Death will arrive.

"Tell me, my enemy, do you know of whomst you have decided to fight against?" The speaker grinned, baring a mouth full of pointed teeth. - "I am Solomon, the King of Magic, Grand Caster, and King To All Of Human Kings." Solomon then seemed to puff up his chest, prideful of his titles. Not paying attention to how little it mattered to Ainz. Ainz paid no attention to Solomon's boasts.

A Magic King... Ainz have killed two of them? Hmm, if you count the Emperor of Magic, then three. If the Living Incarnation of Magic counts then at least two more Gods of Magic - and three more Majin… Eight, it turns out. He has killed eight of such… 'Thing' that have decided to anger him so.

"Grand Caster, Caster of All Caster." Solomon, as if intoxicated by his own voice, continued to speak. " The Creator of magic. I was the one who had created the magic of this world, I was the one who laid the foundations of civilization. And I will be the one who will end the age of humanity…"

Ainz, after taking the last few steps, took one last look at the Servants in the distance. Hmm, it looks like he's gotten close enough.

Ainz turned his gaze to Samson - or something like that - and sighed.

If Ainz had been a little less angry, he would have at least tried to say some comments about Sigismund's - or something like that - pompous speech. But, since Ainz was angry in the full sense of the word, he just glanced at his opponent emotionlessly.

If his opponent was expecting a decent conversation before their battle - or, perhaps, a peaceful resolution to their conflict. He obviously got the wrong opponent to be doing it to and in the worst moment to try it.

Truly, if he wants some sense of mercy, he really should leave his Servants alone.

"Maximized Magic: Delay Teleportation, Maximized Magic: Hold of Ribs, Maximized Magic: Hold Species, Maximized Magic: Paralysis, Triplet Maximized Magic: Explosion, Triplet Maximized Magic: Astral Smite, Maximized Magic: Death, Drain Energy, Triplet Maximized Magic: Napalm, Triplet Maximized Magic: Hell Fire, Triplet Maximized Magic: Call Thunder, Triplet Maximized Magic: Cloud of Super Acid, Triplet Maximized Magic: Claws of Ice, Triplet Maximized Magic: Black Hole, Triplet Maximized Magic: Burst, Maximized Magic: Karma Conflict, Maximized Magic: Cry of the Banshee, Triplet Maximized Magic: Drifting Master Mine, Triplet Maximized Magic: Explosive Land Mine, Triplet Maximized Magic: Gravity Maelstrom, Negative Burst, Triplet Maximized Magic: Obsidian Blade, Triplet Maximized Magic: Ray of Negative Energy, Triplet Maximized Magic: Shark Cyclone, Triplet Maximized Magic: Thousand Bone Lance, Triplet Maximized Magic: True Dark…"

---

Mashu ceased to understand the course of the battle long before even one second had passed since the beginning of the battle. However, in that sense, she was not alone.

Jalter, Arthuria, Nobunaga, Mashu, Medusa, they all understood only one philosophical truth.

I know that I know nothing. Hey, if nothing else they could say that they have received true Wisdom.

None of them could even discern any specific spell or action, effect or attack, in the battle between two opponents in front of them. Any action has merged into one absolute white noise.

In one moment bursts of explosions were suddenly replaced by hundreds of light rays that crashed into dozens of transparent and indestructible barriers. Only for said barriers to crumble like glass under the blows of clots of darkness crashing into them. Clots of darkness that were immediately cut down by flashes of steel that was covered with fire, then covered with ice the next moment that then split into pieces upon contact with silver threads.

In another part of the pandemonium tornadoes were rising in the sky, devouring greenish drops of viscous liquid. With what's left of the viscous liquid that was not devoured by the tornado falling to the ground, only to immediately evaporate as they touched the sparkling blades and spears.

And then, as if to add more chaos to the chaotic exchange of spells, intertwining pillars of light and darkness are crashing into each other…

It was impossible for them to even discern who had cast this or that spell. Never mind who's winning or losing, they couldn't even tell where Solomon or Ainz are! Flashes and spars of colors had covered the entire battlefield, forcing the Servants only to look dumbfounded at the view before them.

Of all those present, only Da Vinci could understand anything. But this did not mean anything good for her. For the first time in her life, Da Vinci couldn't understand something… she even feels no matter how long she studied what she's currently seeing, she couldn't understand even one iota of what she's seeing.

For the first time in her life, Da Vinci felt inadequate.

For an ordinary magus, Casters like Da Vinci, were like an unattainable ideal. They would either react with deadly envy, or burst into tears as they needle said Caster to teach them even an iota of their knowledge. Or they would fall into despair as they see a towering mountain that they could never climb. Despairing as they see their greatest works being so out-shined that they feel inadequate, an emotion that Da Vinci could now sympathize with.

Da Vinci couldn't even imagine a way for her to reach or even imitate what's happening in front of her. Perhaps it is good that Paracelsus and Tesla are not here… Da Vinci couldn't imagine that they would react any better than she did.

What else can they think then 'this is the work of the gods, Creators, and Demiurges. There is no chance that I will ever be able to even figure it out, so there is no point in me worrying. This is so much beyond the level of a human being that I can only bow my head before this force and step back.'

In Da Vinci's eyes, this battle was already beyond the very concept of magecraft. Not a single spell Da Vinci saw could even be classified as magecraft.

As unreachable and mysterious as Da Vinci was superior to an untrained common man that had never even heard of magecraft at all is the battle going on in front of her.

It was no longer a battle in the literal sense of the word, it was more like a confrontation between two elements, not gods, but something more. Two fundamental laws of the universe, two creators - two ineradicable principles of mankind. A battle between two Grands… no, Da Vinci has never really seen one fighting, but even to her lackluster senses, the two in front of her feels even more than that.

An ordinary magus would retreat, bowing their head in defeat. They would shrug in acceptance while admitting their weakness, then go about his business. They would not be bothered by the acts of gods they had witnessed, perhaps even trying their best to forget what they have seen.

However, Da Vinci, the one who was so exalted among the magi, saw in this… revelation, if she were to call what she's seeing as anything. It was like a divine revelation that had opened her eyes.

As the Disciple John foresaw the Second Coming and yet not understanding anything, so did Da Vinci watched the Battle of the Two.

In the previous Singularities, she had a chance, for example, to observe the use of one of Ainz's spell Napalm. It was, albeit strange, albeit unusual, albeit being extremely strong, it was still a spell that she can understand. Now seeing it casts again… it was worlds apart. It was like… a miracle, she could only guess. A true miracle that magi of all times have longed for.

It was not magecraft, but Magic. Not a craft, but an art.

Each of the spells she saw, the spell she could even see, each one from both sides seemed to be denying the very existence of the boundaries of magic. Each of these spells could be classified as a Noble Phantasm! A rank, A+... Goddamn it, even A ++, on par with the damn Excalibur, the Blade of the King That Was Promised! And that was only one ordinary spell!

She couldn't begin to understand what would happen if Ainz or Solomon started using their strongest arsenal. Da Vinci struggled to even imagine what their Noble Phantasm would look like.

It was a stage that no other could enter. Truly what was the point of their struggles if Monsters like these can invalidate anything they put out?

Da Vinci in that moment suddenly realized that her great knowledge, which extended so far beyond the limits of what is humanly cognizable, seemed so small and limited now.

Truly, no more truthful words have ever been spoken than these.

I know that I know nothing.

---

Ainz teleported once more without losing sight of his opponent.

Indeed, as a guild master, his abilities were... Satisfactory. Nothing special, nothing outstanding or insufficient, more of a middle of the pack than anything exceptional. Truly he fails more than he succeeds in that regard.

His abilities as a negotiator or manager were relatively good, slightly above average due to his real-life job. But it was nothing that a stubborn newbie could not master in a short period of time if they put their mind to it.

And as a king, ruler, symbol - Ainz was bad. Not so much because he was so stupid, he was not stupider than most, but it simply because he did not understand what it meant to be a ruler, a leader, or a symbol.

He perhaps, if he were put into a position where he has to rule, could have made the most palatable decisions and would hardly have incurred the wrath of the people. But this, perhaps, was the end of his successes. The most ordinary and plain-looking king, which later would hardly even be worth the errant mention in history books.

There was only one area in which Ainz was unmatched. Only one field of competition in which Ainz did not yield the top spot to anyone.

And that strength of Ainz was in fighting.

He was not gifted with a bestial instinct for defeating enemies. Was not presented at birth with a particular talent for observation. Nor, was he skilled in warfare and or with a keen mind to create amazing tactical maneuvers.

Ainz achieved everything solely by his own labor.

Twelve years of grinding.

An explosion loomed over Ainz, as if trying to wipe him off the face of the earth. Anyone would say Ainz should have run, teleport away, but...

'Explosion is a spell with a spread from the central area from 1.2 to 2.6 meters, damage ranging from 80,000 to 120,000, with the damage dropping 0.89 - 1.22% per meter traveled by the blast wave, and about 0.044% per point of Magical Defense. When used with the metamagic 'Maximized magic', the area of the central explosion and the damage done is its maximum, the dissipation of damage is reduced to the minimum.

If, on the other hand, the spell was used with the metamagic 'Triplet Magic', then the spread of distance between the three explosions is not more than 200% of the area of the initial explosion and not more than 300% of the area of the second explosion. Also, the spread is not less than 50% of the area of the initial explosion, the distance between the second and the third explosion is not less than 200% of the area of the explosion...

This means that teleportation is not needed, for inflicting even one unit of damage from the Explosion it falls short about 1.22 to 2.4% from penetrating my Magical Defense.'

Even Da Vinci could only watch the battle between Ainz and Solomon in confusion, in admiration, and in awe.

Ainz on the other hand did not see the battle in front of him as a battle. He saw only a set of formulas and equations flickering here and there, memorized so many years ago.

Ainz was not the greatest lore master of Yggdrasil in his guild. No, he was very well versed in the plot of the game, but in order to catch all the subtle references and twists and turns created by the authors, it would be better to turn to Tabula or, perhaps, Genjiro.

Ainz was not the greatest fighter in the Guild. He would give that tile to Touch Me.

Ainz was not the greatest long-distance fighter in the Guild. He would have to give that title to Peperoncino.

Ainz was not even the greatest Magic Caster in the Guild. He would have to give that title to Ulbert.

But there was nobody else that knew the mechanics of YGGDRASIL better than he does.

Hell Fire's cooldown is 3.46 seconds...

The casting time of the Gravity Maelstrom is 0.48 seconds...

Chance to interrupt the casting of Call Thunder when teleporting: Damage * Tier of magic of teleportation - ((Magical Defense * 12) * Remaining Mana) + Magical Defense of the enemy * 84.5... Less than zero, I need to teleport.

While Da Vinci contemplated the greatness of the battle, while Solomon used all his abilities in glee as he went all out, Ainz simply showed the world the true power of humanity.

Sleepless nights, the uncounted consumption of cheap junk food, and dozens of hours spent trying to memorize meaningless formulas in order to acquire more of even an insignificant chance of winning.

Who knew it would be so useful?

---

Solomon, the King to All Kings, fought with all he has.

The spells that emerged at the snap of his fingers, each of which was strong enough to be a top-tier Noble Phantasm, collided with the spells of his opponent and... were destroyed.

His opponent did not push him with bare power, of course not, it would be simply absurd for anyone to be stronger than he is. But... He was winning. Slowly, bit by bit but still he's gaining ground.

Solomon's attacks, capable of crushing mountains, collided with shields that were able to serve as walls of ancient legendary cities, and were both destroyed at the same time. Solomon's shields, each capable of withstanding Noble Phantasms, stood in front of the blade of his opponent, only in order to fall a second later, barely capable of holding back the power of his opponent.

Two great magicians that surpass the understanding of magic, set their whole might against each other.

And although even Da Vinci could barely understand what's going in their exchanges, or to even foresee the result of this battle, Solomon himself understood that he was… losing.

His opponent was winning by a miserable thousandths of a percent each time… But he was winning.

His attacks were slightly more accurate. His movements are a little more economical. His actions are a little faster.

Just a little bit, for insignificant gains, but... His opponent, his enemy was winning.

Solomon felt...

Anger, definitely anger. How could he, the Perfect Life Form, Solomon, lose?!

Interest. Unhealthy interest. Could someone really resist him?!

Anticipation. Expectation rising in a wave from within Solomon's body. If his opponent could resist him, can he still resist even when he goes all out?

Solomon was powerful. Perhaps it would not be superfluous to say that Solomon was indescribably close to defining what 'invincible' means.' Servants, even the greatest, even hundreds of the greatest, were nothing in the face of a Grand Servant like him.

But, right now, Solomon was not fighting at full strength.

Not the time or the place.

And his opponent… were not fighting with his full strength, too. This Solomon could understand in their exchanges. He was not losing with that bare percentages because his opponent was only that much stronger than him, at that moment.

No, he was losing bit by bit, simply because his opponent was making him lose 'bit by bit' on purpose. His opponent has that much of a leeway.

Solomon saw, felt, understood that his adversary was holding back just as Solomon himself was holding back.

Was he holding back his true might because he didn't want to leave London as a melted goop of ruins? The bacchanalia of spells, their cavalcade of explosions created by Solomon and his adversary had long ago destroyed the walls and ceiling of the grotto, slowly carving their way for the surface. More likely than not, a couple of spells from Solomon - or his opponent's, probably had already made their way to the surface, destroying a couple of houses, if not districts.

If Solomon had fought with his full strength… Never mind London, England, or even the whole Great Britain, there wouldn't even be anything left of the whole World!.

Was his opponent aware of his level of power? Was he equal to Solomon? Did he fight while also fulfilling his mission to save the Singularity? Or was he not as strong as Solomon, and he was mistaken in determining his level? That indeed what he's currently showing was all he could do?

Once upon a time, the very idea that Solomon could be wrong would have been laughable to him, but his opponent was truly that amazing. He so bravely, so recklessly swept away all of Solomon's ideas about the world to the point that Solomon was even ready for such an incredible assumption. The assumption that he had made a mistake.

Solomon fought off another attack, noting the mechanical calculating way his adversary fought.

So similar in forces, so similar in movements and in methods. Were they really that similar? Or was it all just a stupid assumption Solomon has made?

But could anyone truly fault his hesitance? It was the first time he had encountered something so unusual, something that he had not foreseen?

Solomon fought off another attack while looking closer at his opponent.

Thousandth of one percent, but his opponent was winning.

And, as much as he wanted it to be, now was not the time for their real battle.

But at least he had achieved his goal. Solomon wanted to see his opponent, and he had received comprehensive answers to all his questions.

Solomon took a step back before a smile appeared on his face as he fends off another attack from his opponent.

Of course, he interrupted his speech and behaved extremely rudely, if not impudently, but...

Solomon could allow such a small liberty to someone who not only dared to take on the burden of the title of his enemy, but also had confirmed his right to this title.

"I'm somewhat saddened to say goodbye to you, my enemy," Solomon smiled at Ainz… Who immediately started casting another spell.

"Maximized magic: Dimension Lock!" After a moment, magic, truly unique magic, one of the many demonstrated by Solomon's adversary during this time, interfered with the work of the already opening breakthrough through realities… By blocking Solomon's teleportation.

Solomon, faced with another unexpected action from the enemy, even lost his calm for a second before trying to break through the fabric of reality again.

The fabric of reality did not give in, and one of Ainz's spells, until then held by Solomon's magic, burst a little closer to him this time, exploding in a burst of fire a little closer than usual. The attack forced Solomon to shift his gaze and attention somewhat.

Hah... It was... Unusual… Solomon smiled again.

What a rare emotion to one such as him, surprise...

Solomon appreciated this emotion. This emotion that his noble enemy had evoked in him.

Solomon even allowed himself a slight grin before the ring on his finger lit up with a bright light...

"Ha, legendary rings!?" Ainz only managed to frown, "Damn it, I will not let go of the legendary rings too!"

Solomon, however, only nodded in response. "I'm sorry my enemy, but I'm afraid it's not in your power to hold me back at this moment. I would be glad that if the next time we met, we could indulge ourselves fully."

After another moment, Solomon employed the magic trap...

"Maximized magic: Delay Teleportation" However, rather than teleporting as the spell cast by his enemy that blocked his teleportation got erased, Solomon's movement suddenly slowed down to a great degree. As if he was stretching in time, or being forced to pass through a viscous jelly.

After another moment, Solomon frowned a little, after which the second ring on his finger flashed, destroying the second magic of his opponent...

"Maximized magic: Hold of Ribs." After which, rather than teleporting, a rack of ribs emerging from the ground pierced Solomon's body, pinning him in place.

Solomon frowned again, causing the third ring to light up...

"Maximized magic: Hold Species." Rather than teleporting he was once frozen in place, again. He began to raise his fourth ring… "Maximized magic: Paralysis"

Solomon blinked, realizing that he had been paralyzed before he could use his ring...

Ha…

Surprisingly, he could not escape his opponent in any way. What a... Delightful surprise!

Solomon sighed as he saw spell after spell beginning to cut into the shields around him. Before his shield could be pierced through, nine of his rings caught fire at once.

"You are really amazing, my enemy." Nine rings that flashed at the same time, instantly covering Solomon's body with its radiance. "I'm looking forward to our second meeting."

Then, after a moment, Solomon finally disappeared, causing Ainz to instantly burst into another tirade. This time about the lost legendaries… Truly today was the worst day for the Necromancer.

---

Excerpt from the scientific work: "Analysis of the Reign of Caligula and Its Consequences for the Roman Empire":

... Although in modern popular culture, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, better known as Caligula, is associated with the image of a wasteful tyrant and a madman, in this scientific work, we will try to move away from biased assessments of his reign. We will do our best to analyze the period of his reign from the point of view of modern historiography.

In particular, the analysis of our study covers both the early years of his reign, the period where the city of Antium was designated as the capital instead of Rome. A decision made due to the fact that at that moment, Rome was in the custody of one of the 'War Emperors' that popped up during Caligula's reign.

And then the later years of his reign. In particular, the period after Caligula's psychoses fully developed, with his declaration of being the reincarnation of the legendary Remus being the center point of this period. Particularly his fight against the catastrophic uprising of barbarians, who had managed to besiege Rome after the only successful campaign of the barbarians of that era. An uprising which resulted in the capture of part of Italy and Latium as well.

As we go through the periods we have outlined, as the goal of our work, we set out to debunk the myth of Caligula's madness as a consequence of his progressive schizophrenia and crazed love with the moon goddess Diana.

Not that Caligula didn't go mad, but to clear away the myth behind his afflictions. Instead, we will do our best to present a more 'medical' background as to the 'why' of the late Emperor's mental degradation.

We would posit that the main reason for Caligula's insanity was as a probable psychosis that developed against the background of an undiagnosed brain tumor. An illness which could also serve as the reason for the physical change in his appearance in his later years of life.

While at the same time also conducting a critical analysis of his actions during the barbarian uprising and to serve as background for his significant role in the education of his heir, Nero...